#and stop forcing those two ladies down our throats

[ponytailcoby]

Me when I see articles about Juju Watkins becoming the face of college basketball

[seresinhangmanjake]

The Harkonnen's Sweet Thing

Feyd-Rautha x Atreides!Reader

Summary: You watched your brother kill the man you love--a man you were once gifted to by the Baron--and now that he is gone, you think Paul will use you as a political pawn in his war. And you're right. But you're shocked to discover who is demanding to have you.

Words: 2650

Notes/Warnings: Ignore canon ages in the timeline. I don’t know what they are, but everyone young is in their twenties, cool? Cool. Dune inaccuracies. Jessica and Paul kind of (very much) suck. Feyd’s a soft boy for our reader. Angst but also fluffy-ish stuff. Implied smut. Mention of pregnancy. I think that’s it. TG:M people ignore me. I don’t know what I’m doing here either, but i'm embracing it for now. 

Part 2

When your brother pierced through armor into pale flesh, you felt it as if he had driven that blade into your body instead of the body of the man you love. You felt the shock of icy steel penetrating warm and delicate tissue, and the suffocation that came from the mutilation of your lung. You felt droplets of blood run down your front as you reached for the blade that was not there. As children, you were taught not to remove it. Not unless sufficient care was nearby to stop the bleeding before too much was lost.

Paul did not respect that knowledge. He yanked his knife out of Feyd’s torso and watched with relief as he collapsed to the ground. His body landed with a thud that matched the heavy beat of your heart. A beat that reminded you your blood was rushing strong, keeping you alive while your lover was draining dry of the strength to keep himself from leaving this world, from leaving you. 

You wailed in the silence of those around you. Screamed at the top of your lungs as tears streamed down your face. You tried to go to him but the Fremen snatched you before you could reach him, forcing you to your knees, one of them slapping a hand over your mouth. This was not the time for hysterical outbursts; it was a time to stare in awe as a new leader accepted his victory and claimed power over the emperor and his daughter. 

“Shut up, girl,” a male voice spit in your ear. He was tired of the struggle you were putting up against the hand squeezing your face. You were ruining his opportunity to witness a beautiful moment in history. A defining moment. A moment you didn’t give two fucks about. 

No one spared you a glance save for the witch whose vibrant eyes were drilling into the side of your skull. A woman your father had instructed you receive as a stepmother following your third birthday. A manipulative woman whose smile in front of the Duke had masked the scowl permanently seared onto her face when looking at you—a decades-long act that the capture and death of your father had freed her from. And she’d wasted not a second displaying her distaste for his daughter. 

Not long ago you'd thought to thank Lady Jessica for not loving you. Her lack of love made her so terribly desperate to rid herself of you that when cornered the night your family was attacked, she’d thrown you right into the arms of the Harkonnens—a fate she believed would destroy you rather than thrust you into a life you would come to cherish.

“A gift for you, nephew,” the baron had said after the fighting ceased and the soldiers, with you in their grasp, had returned to their unfamiliar home.

Feyd-Rautha had not rushed when he descended the staircase and approached you for the first time. His eyes were unblinking as he’d taken in his present; a slow drawl from head to toe that sent shivers down your spine. 

“An Atreides,” Feyd had said in a low voice, deep and thick and eerily lovely.

The baron’s voice did not contain the same appeal. “Yes. Do you like it? A new pet for you to ruin.”

You’d stood frozen as Feyd traced a knuckle down your cheek before grasping your chin and running his thumb over your bottom lip. He’d possessed not a lick of shame when his index finger drew a line from the dip of your throat to your cleavage. There had been no consideration for your feelings when he tucked that same finger between your breasts and the neckline of your nightgown and lightly tugged you forward. 

You had gasped with your stumble, your hands pressing against his chest to catch your fall while he smirked at the blush tinting your cheeks. His tongue then darted out to dampen his lips before he moved his hand to the curve of your waist and squeezed. 

“Perfect,” He’d said, not in a loud declaration of appreciation, but in a tone meant for your ears only. Then he’d grabbed you by the wrist and led you to his chambers.

When the door had slammed behind you after you were jerked inside the room, you were suddenly filled to the brim with panic. You’d heard the rumors. What would he do to you? How would he do it? Would you suffer long? 

A tear had slipped down your cheek that, once noticed, was brushed away with his thumb. 

“Do not worry yourself unnecessarily.”

You’d swallowed, stuttering, “Wh-What do you mean?”

He’d pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside, exposing pale skin taught over defined, well-trained muscle. Then he’d stepped into your space, inching you backward until your spine was flush with the wall. He’d fisted the flimsy, nearly see-through fabric of your nightgown in his hand and slowly dragged it up your body until fingers could sneak under the hem to graze your inner thigh.

You’d sucked in a sharp breath at the pleasurable waves of heat that rippled from his touch.

“Atreides or not, you’re much too precious to ruin the way my uncle suggests,” he had said, his lips a hair's-width away from yours. “I've been looking for you for so long. You're mine now, do you understand?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Are you afraid of me?”

He hadn’t loved your hesitation—you could see it in his eyes and in the downturn of his lips—but he was satisfied when you’d truthfully said:

“No.” Because you weren’t. Not after he had brushed that tear off of your cheek.

His next question had caused your heart to skip a beat from the concoction of emotions it shot through you. Fear of the unknown mixed with unexpected excitement.

“Have you done this before?” 

You’d shaken your head and in response he lightly nodded, his nose nudging yours. 

“You want to?” he’d asked, hiking your leg up to his hip, and you found yourself nodding as well. “I won’t make it hurt.”

You’d replied with a soft “Ok” before accepting his kiss with as much fervor as he was giving it, thankful that what you’d imagined was awaiting you upon your arrival in foreign territory was far from what you were receiving. 

Days later, when you had mentioned that he did not live up to the rumors of his cruelty extending to all areas of his life, he’d hummed. Said, “I make many bleed, and enjoy it. I feed off of their pain. Those who have been in my bed are not spared this, and it will not be uncommon for you to see me stained with the death of others, including my former pets.” 

He’d paused then, allowing you a moment to question your future as one of those pets, if that's what he considered you.

“But I have been searching for something that I’ve wanted for a very long time,” he’d said. “Something that hasn't existed within these walls. Something I will never want to harm. Something…soft…and sweet,” he had admitted to your surprise.

He’d then told you that you were that sweet thing. That he’d known it from the moment he saw you. That he was choosing you. 

But it was a choice that had its repercussions. 

All things must have balance, and you had tipped the scales. From his gentleness toward you, a darker, more gruesome beast emerged when facing off with others. A brutal warrior who never surrendered and never lost. A sadistic man who showed no mercy to the opponents whose blood you would later wash from his body. He had annihilated his previous reputation as just the famed killer of Geidi Prime and evolved into something more, all because of you.

That was why you thought he would win against Paul. Your brother was skilled, but the universe had long known the name Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen for his prowess in combat and his ruthlessness which had only grown with time. 

So why was it not your brother on the floor with his love sobbing and struggling to reach him?

In the thirteen days since your lover’s death, it is that question that has robbed you of all peace. 

Despite your brother having escorted you back to Caladan for the time being, you find no sense of home or happiness in your birthplace. You walk the beaches and fields that, as a child, you dreaded one day leaving, but they are not the same. Nearly a year has gone by since you were last here, however, so much of what you once loved about this planet is overshadowed by the shattered heart caused by Feyd's death. 

When you were young, your father would often express his wishes for your future. He would paint a beautiful image of you bringing your children to play in the gardens of your childhood home, carefree and unburdened. It was a source of comfort that he used to mask the reminder of your duty as an Atreides: that you would not be marrying and having children out of love, you would marry in the name of peace and produce heirs in the name of security. And it seems in the end, he was right.

With Feyd unable to claim you, Paul will be the one to secure new arrangements for your future, which just so happens to greatly fare in his favor. After all, he just declared war, and you are the ripened political pawn at his disposal.

“Are you well?”

You turn as sharply as you can at the intrusive voice, but the uncomfortable skirts of your dress are thick and stiff, restricting your movements. Feyd never made you wear anything like this and you forgot what it's like to be weighed down by layers of fabric. You fucking hate it.

Paul stands a few feet away, his hands clasped behind his back and a light smile on his face. Clearing his throat, he joins you on the balcony attached to your old room. 

“I know we haven’t spoken much about what’s to come. I’m sure you’ve been curious,” he says. 

You shrug, shake your head, and return your gaze to the horizon where ocean meets sky. 

“We have matters to discuss.”

Matters such as where he will be sending you off to be married, you imagine. He must act quickly if he intends to establish and gain control over house alliances, since they weren't overly enthusiastic about accepting him as their leader.

“Let's sit down,” he tells you. He grasps your hand before you can object and guides you to one of the balcony benches. Once you’re settled, he takes a seat beside you and says, “I am going to ask you something. And I want honesty.”

You sigh. “What?”

“When you were with the Harkonnens for those many months, were you treated like a slave as I had feared, or were you something far from it?”

Your eyes narrow. “Why are you asking me this?”

“Because it’s important,” Paul states, staring you directly in the eye. “I’ve been thinking about the way you wept over him after we fought, and how he denied every offer I made in exchange for your release…” With his pause, he shakes his head. “I thought maybe he had messed with your mind, confused you, and that was why you were so hysterical over his loss…but that’s not right, is it.”

“Paul–”

“Does he love you?”

It takes conscious effort to keep your body from shifting uncomfortably. “What is it to you?”

“He survived his wounds,” Paul says. 

The casualness with which he shares that news heavily contrasts everything that runs through you. Your heart stops. Your lips part, unsuccessful in drawing in oxygen. Your eyes no longer see anything but Feyd’s face as it flashes in front of you. The way he looked when he last smiled at you. The way he looked the last time he came inside of you. The look of him when he died—or almost died. Death had been there, looming over him. 

You’re trying to will away the tears. Paul is watching you too closely. “Wh–What?” you say.

“He’s alive, and he is demanding you be returned to him,” he informs you. “So, tell me: is he truly threatening me so aggressively over one of his ‘pets’? Or is he threatening me to get back the woman he loves?” 

The woman he loves. You never imagined yourself in a situation where your brother would ask if a member of a centuries-long rival house loves you. But then again, you never imagined a member of a centuries-long rival house loving you to begin with.

You remember the night he told you. It was late and your bodies were bare after having bathed together. You were searching for your nightgown when he said “Come to bed, my love.” 

You sighed, defeated. He’d called you that before, but whether it was real or not was such a mystery and it hurt your heart a little bit more each time. “You shouldn’t call me your love unless you mean it,” you finally told him. 

You heard his footsteps when he stood from the bed. He walked up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling your back against his chest. “Why would I call you that if I do not mean it?” he asked. Then he hummed and said “You know me better than that, my love” before dipping his head lower and nipping the shell of your ear with his teeth. 

So yes, he loved you—loves you. But there’s something in Paul’s voice as he asks you that question that gives you pause. It’s too gentle as if luring you into a false sense of security. The Harkonnens are not known for their capacity to love, and Feyd loving you could be seen as a weakness; his one vulnerable spot.

As monotone as you can manage, you reply, “If you’re being threatened you should just send me back and be done with it. I know you have more important things to worry about.”

Paul’s lips thin in disappointment. “I can’t send you back,” he says. “Not yet.”

“Why not?”

He sighs. “Because I believe he loves you. And I need to see how far a Harkonnen is willing to bend for an Atreides,” he says. “If he wants you back, he will have to be open to negotiations.”

You stand sharply, take a few steps from him, and blow out a heavy breath through your nose. You were told your brother changed after drinking that magic water and it shows. Holding you hostage for political gain is not the same as marrying you off. 

“I would like to be done with this conversation,” you say with a huff.

“I understand,” he replies, so you turn to enter your bedroom. But before you’re fully through the door, he says, “There’s more, though.”

You freeze. 

“I had a dream,” he says, his voice coming closer. “There was a boy, no more than five years old. He had your features and your hair but his skin was of the same paleness as the Harkonnens.”  

Sucking in a breath, you brace yourself with a hand gripping the door’s frame. 

“You’re pregnant, sister,” he tells you, leaning against the opposite side of the doorway. “But I'm very glad to know that the heir of Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen is a product of love rather than an unfortunate incident,” he says. “Additional incentive, should it be necessary.”    

In your shock, you can’t look at him. He doesn’t need you to. You can see his smirk in your peripherals, then he pushes off the frame and heads toward the main door of your room. 

“Try to get some rest, sister,” he calls over his shoulder. “You really shouldn't be on your feet too long.”

[mindmelter]

Serving The Alien And Its Puppets - Part 2

"I will be waiting inside the car," The Arab prince said. He was now just a puppet for the Alien Master, his pretty head was filled inside with alien slime.

The Alien Master liked the Arab Prince so much that he switched his original form from my stepbrother's body to the Prince. My job today was simple and easy, all I had to do was help put some alien slime inside my hot coworkers... Of course, I'm being ironic, I was very nervous about the whole thing.

The company I worked for was mostly made up of Middle Eastern men and all of them were very hot. I was one of the few with European descent, and it was torture for a gay guy like me to work with such fine specimens.

Typically, the Alien needs to assimilate a brain per day, sometimes two. However, today he expressed his desire to assimilate every person at my workplace. I was perplexed and attempted to ask him why, but he just told me to be quiet and do as I was told.

I was very excited but also a little nervous. Once inside the building, I spotted my first victim, Ibrahim, the receptionist, sitting on a chair distracted by his phone, not even noticing me walk in.

Ibrahim worked at the front desk, he was a tall, muscular guy with a grumpy personality. All I knew about him was that he was a ladies man, and he wouldn't stop talking about pussy. I smiled to myself, he would be perfect.

I slowly walked to his desk and put a purple slime on his table, Ibrahim looked at the purple blob, and before he could say anything the slime leaped onto his face, squirming its way into his nostrils and burrowing towards his brain. He let out a deep, guttural grunt, his eyes rolling back as violent convulsions overtook his body. His muscular arms hung limply by his sides, his head drooping backward. That moment, I knew the transformation had begun—the slime was already feeding, replacing Ibrahim's brain with something new, something better.

Ibrahim then looked at me, with the same lust that every puppet would always give me. "Come here boy, you're going to get what you deserve!" He said, his voice now husky and deep, he pushed me down on my knees and unzipped his pants, freeing his huge, hard cock. "Suck on it while I talk with my date for tonight!" He ordered. "I usually would never let a fag like you have a taste of my cock, but you are my Master's human slave and your job is to serve his puppets!"

I started sucking as he kept thrusting his hips forward, I took his entire cock into my mouth, sucking and licking it as best as I could. He moaned loudly, his hips bucking against my face as he fucked my mouth, his eyes were on the phone all the timeand. He quickly came down my throat. "Drink it all, human."

"What the fuck is happening here?" Mr. Tarek, our supervisor asked as he walked into the room. He stopped in his tracks when he saw me with my face buried in Ibrahim's crotch.

Ibrahim quickly coughed one purple slime and threw it on the floor, the small slime quickly crawled and disappeared under Mr. Tarek's pants. Mr. Tarek groaned as the slime forced its way inside his ass, seconds later Mr. Tarek was also a puppet for the alien.

"Come here human slave, you're going to be our slut now," Mr. Tarek ordered. I stood up and walked to him, he pulled me for a sloppy kiss, while I unbuttoned his shirt.

Mr. Tarek was such a hot Daddy, I always wondered what he looked like under his clothes, especially his huge pecs, now I not only knew how I could feel too. I ran my hands on his meaty pecs and started to suck on his nipples as he moaned. "That's a good slave, suck on Daddy's tits," He moaned, and I did as I was told.

I lost myself in those pecs until I felt Mr. Tarek's hand pull me away by the back of my hair. "That's enough, you still have others to help convert into our Master's puppets." He then coughed another slime and handed it to me.

He was right, the Alien Master was waiting for me outside, I could play with these puppets later, it was time to move on to the next victim. I knew exactly who was going to be next, walking inside the other room I spotted the young intern, Khalid. I felt a little guilty, Khalid seemed like a nice guy, but after seeing the bulge in his pants it passed away.

He was sitting at his desk when he noticed me and welcomed me with a warm smile. "Hey Eric, can I help you with something?" he asked.

I stepped closer, my heart racing as I approached him with a blob of purple slime moving on my hand, his eyes widened in surprise and confusion. "What the hell is that?" He stuttered, standing up and moving away from me.

I didn't respond, after all, what could I say? "Hey, Khalid? Would you let me put this goo inside your head so it can feed on your brain and replace it with a slime?"

So I just threw the slime toward him, but I failed when he protected his face with his hands, making the slime fall to the floor. He then ran to the door, he was about to walk out, but he bumped right into Mr. Tarek's large pecs.

"Mr. Tarek, you need to help me! Eric has with him some weird creature!"

But Mr. Tarek looked completely blank and unresponsive as he blocked the door with his body.

"Mr Tarek?" Khalid asked. He was starting to question why the supervisor was with his shirt open, and was that saliva on his nipples? but before he could react, Mr. Tarek grabbed Khalid by his chin and forced a kiss, Khalid tried to fight but Mr. Tarek was stronger.

I could see some purple slime being passed from Mr. Tarek's mouth and into Khalid's, the intern's eyes went wide in shock, and then his body went limp as the alien slime started to take over his body.

Mr. Tarek then whispered into his ear, "Welcome to the family, Khalid." with that, Khalid nodded and gave me an eerie smile.

"Take off your pants and bend over my desk, now!" Khalid said with a commanding tone, but his voice was the same, it was terrifyingly sexy. I felt my face flush red, seeing innocent Khalid acting in such a dominant way made me very hard.

As I bent over the desk, I soon felt Khalid's hands on my ass, ripping my underwear and spreading my cheeks as he buried his face and started to eat my ass. I was in heaven until I felt a hard slap on my ass.

I looked behind me and saw Ibrahim, Mr. Tarek, and Khalid, all standing together behind me without their pants and with their hard dicks pointing at me. Suddenly they all started to speak in unison.

"The Alien Master is angry that you almost let one of his puppets run away, he wants us to punish you!"

The three of them took turns, one fucking me hard while the others watched and stroked themselves.

Ibrahim was first, his thick cock pushing into me without any mercy. I moaned loudly, feeling him fill me up and stretch me wide open. He fucked me hard and fast, his grunts and groans echoing through the room. Mr. Tarek was next, his cock was even larger than Ibrahim's, and he was not gentle either. He grabbed my hips and pounded into me, making the desk shake beneath us, pens, papers, and a mug, all fell to the floor. Lastly, Khalid, his cock was thicker than the others and he took his time, savoring the feeling of his cock sliding in and out of me.

The Alien Master, watching through their eyes, was enjoying the show. His slime was pulsing inside each one of them, making their cocks even harder and their strokes more aggressive. When the three finished inside me, I stood up with three loads leaking from my ass and smirked at them.

"There's still plenty of puppets to make, give me one more copy," I said.

But the three just laughed at me and spoke in unison. "Master don't want you to help him anymore! We will do the takeover from here, you will just watch."

I sighed. It seemed that I had really angered the Alien Master, and now I feared for the future of my brain. I nodded and followed them to the next office. I watched as they forced a kiss on the other men, and within seconds, those men would be under the alien's control, forcing a kiss on other workers. They moved swiftly and efficiently, and before I knew it, the entire floor was filled with puppets.

There was Amir, a muscular Daddy fitness enthusiast, who worked as the manager. He was so huge that it took both Ibrahim and Mr. Tarek to hold him while Khalid infected him with the slime.

Amir was known around the office for his stern demeanor and unwillingness to be dominated by anyone. Now, under the alien's control, he was leading a group of his fellow converted colleagues toward the next department.

Then, there was also Karim, the office gossip, he spread a rumor once about me ogling the men's bulges, now his mouth was used to spread the alien's slime rather than rumors.

I was kneeling between his legs, looking up at him as some commotion was going on in the background.

"You like staring at our bulges huh? You're such a perverted human," He said as he shoved my face into his bulge, his hard cock pressing against my face. "If you like staring at men's bulges so much, then here it is!" I couldn't help but feel a bit of spiteful satisfaction as I started to lick the bulge in his pants, feeling it pulse and throb in my tongue.

"There you are!" Amir called from behind, yanking me up by the shirt collar. "Omar wants to have a word with you!"

"Can you carry me in your arms? My ass is really sore." I asked, trying to give him my best puppy eyes. Amir took me in his huge strong arms as if I was made of paper, as he carried me to Omar's office, I caressed his pecs.

Then there was finally Omar, the office heartthrob and the executive assistant. Whose hot body was now a vessel for the alien slime. Amir put me down on my knees as I looked up at Omar sitting on his chair, he was holding a mug.

"They put some slime copies on the coffee machine; I have to admit, that's pretty clever," Omar said as he stood up, loosened his tie, and approached me with a hungry look. I knew what was coming next.

"You've been a naughty human, Eric," he purred, his voice low and seductive. "Our Master thinks you need a more thorough lesson in obedience."

The other puppets walked into the room forming a circle around me, Omar pushed me to my knees and ordered me to unbuckle his belt and blow him. His cock grew before my eyes, the slime making it swell and pulse with an otherworldly need. I couldn't resist the urge to touch it, to feel the power of the alien through this beautiful vessel of a man. He groaned as I wrapped my hand around his shaft, stroking it gently before taking it into my mouth. The puppets gathered around us, their eyes gleaming with lust as they watched me service Omar.

Omar let out a primal roar, tearing open his dress shirt to reveal his perfectly sculpted, hairy chest. One by one, the others followed his lead, ripping their shirts apart with a savage fervor, there was no humanity left in them. It was like watching a scene from a twisted sci-fi porn, where the alien's insatiable hunger was not just for brains, but for power and sexual control.

They were all jerking off around me and soon they came at the same time, all over me. I was a mess, covered in the cum of 32 men, but I didn't care. I felt like I was part of something big, something powerful.

I felt like a slut in a sea of hot, alien-controlled men, and I couldn't help but love every second of it.

After hours of servicing those men, I walked out of the building, feeling used but oddly satisfied. I couldn't believe I just helped turn all my coworkers into brainless hosts. The copies filling their heads don't need to feed like the original Alien inside the Arab prince, so they would go back to their old lives as normal, the slimes would act just like them, only I would know what was inside their heads.

I stepped inside the car where my Alien Master was waiting.

"I'm fed and satiated for now, you almost did a good job, my human slave," he said, his voice still deep and commanding.

"Thank you-"

"I said 'almost', you almost let one of those humans run away, he would have if it wasn't for one of my puppets. That's what I get for trusting a human."

"I helped you turn my stepbrother and stepdad into your dumb puppets! What else do I need to do so you can finally trust me?" I said. But when I looked at the prince's face, I immediately regretted it. "I'm sorry Master, I promise-"

"Quiet," he cut me off. "You will be punished for that later, now give this puppet a blowjob while I drive us to his hotel!"

I took the Arab Prince's cock into my mouth as he drove off. Once at the hotel, I decided to take a shower, I needed a good shower to take the sweat and cum from the day's events off my body.

I walked out naked of the bathroom, there was no reason for modesty anymore. I saw the prince smoking on the balcony, looking over the city lights, he then turned to look at me.

"Sorry for being too harsh on you today, my human." He said, blowing out some smoke.

I couldn't tell if he was mocking me or being sincere, but I didn't dare to question it. "I've been thinking, you have been a great companion to me, I never thought I would ever let a human with an intact brain for so long, I hope you realize how special that makes you."

I was speechless, it was the first time the Alien Master was being kind to me.

"Thank you, Master," I murmured,

The Prince then sat on the bed, his cock already hard again, he looked at me with hunger in his eyes.

"Come here, my sweet human," he ordered, and I knew I had to obey. He grabbed me by the waist and gently pushed me onto the bed, spreading my legs and climbing on top of me.

His huge cock slid into me easily, and he started to fuck me with a slow, deliberate rhythm that made me moan.

This was different from the other times. The Arab Prince, or rather the Alien Master, was not as rough. His movements were tender, almost loving, and his eyes bore into mine as he whispered how much of a good human pet I was.

As he thrusted, he was pinning my hands above me on the bed as he kissed my neck. Once we came, The Alien Master cuddled me in the prince's muscular arms, his cock still hard inside me. It was the closest thing to affection I had ever felt.

"Who do you think should be the next puppet?" He asked.

"I'm thinking of Mr. Wahid's son? he's a hot arrogant hunk, just like his dad."

Suddenly the prince's eyes became completely purple, scaring me for a second, it was the first time I was seeing it.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"I'm accessing the copy inside Mr. Wahid's mind right now," Right, sometimes I forget that the Alien can have access to all his puppet's memories at any moment. The prince's eyes went back to normal.

"It looks like his son is traveling for a business trip, but he will be back tomorrow morning, It'll be the perfect opportunity."

"I agree, Master."

"Then you should get some sleep; we're heading to the airport in the morning."

[not-neverland06]

How About a Nuke?

Part VI / Part VII / Part VIII

Series Masterlist

Cooper Howard x fem!reader, The ghoul x fem!reader A/N: @weakling-grace did some fanart for the series that I absolutely adore! And I want you all to look at it. It’s on her blog, or reposted on mine under the tag How about a nuke? Summary: The wound’s infected. It shouldn’t be, but here you are anyway, barely holding on to life. You make it as far as you can and then it’s up to him to decide whether you get to live or die.

“Have I told you yet that you are the most gorgeous woman in this room?” You couldn’t stop the smile from spreading on your face even if you tried. 

“Only about a dozen times.” His hand reaches for yours across the table and you take it eagerly, linking your fingers together and enjoying the way his hazel eyes linger on yours. You could get lost in them, as cliche as it sounds. You and about every other woman in the world fell in love when you first saw those smiling eyes on the silver screen. 

“I’ll just have to tell you a dozen more.”

God, you would swoon if you could. But, unfortunately, you are in the middle of a very nice restaurant and you’re sure they wouldn’t enjoy your fainting spell. It’s not like you could help it, he was so effortlessly charming, everything he said with that rasping accent of his sounded like music to you. 

Your smile slipped slightly when you caught two women staring at you both. They weren’t even trying to hide it, pointing and whispering behind their hands. You clenched your jaw, trying your best not to let the anger show on your face. But he caught it anyway. 

Cooper dropped your hand and tucked his back in his lap. He sighed and glanced over his shoulder, they caught his eye and gasped, stopping their cruel whispers. You opened your mouth to try and make him feel better but he interrupted you, “Hey-”

“I told you this was gonna happen sweetheart.” You hated how sad he sounded, how resigned he was to his new place in life. It was no secret that most of your fellow actors despised him now just because he did a few ad campaigns for Vault-Tec. But that didn’t mean the rest of the world did. There were still plenty of people who adored Cooper and asked for his autograph. 

Granted, those ladies clearly weren’t fans, but you didn’t care. You didn’t care if you got spotted together in public and rumors started up again. You didn’t care what that meant about future roles. “I want to be with you, Coop, but I can’t keep having this same conversation over and over again.” You sighed and finally drew your hand back to yourself, he tracked the movement like a hawk. 

“If this is too much,” you forced yourself to swallow past the lump in your throat and put on a stilted smile. “If being with me in the public eye is too much then maybe we should-”

“Enough,” he reached back over and forced his hand into yours. “I’m sorry, I’m just worried about you.” He stopped you before you could interrupt him, giving you a knowing smile. “I know that you don’t care what being around me does to your career, but I do. There’s no reason for the both of us to be washed up celebrities.”

“Hey, you’re not washed up, plenty of people still want to see you on the silver screen.”

He smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. He squeezed your hand once before letting go and picking up his fork, “Let’s just enjoy our meal, sweetheart.”

“Pick up the pace! I’m not gonna wait for you forever, sweetheart.”

You glared at him and leaned on a tree for support. You’re not sure what’s going on. You feel hot under your skin but also like you’re freezing, you’d thrown up twice during night watch and you’re about five seconds away from keeling over. 

Your sweaty palm slips against the bark and you go sliding over. You hear his boots stomping through the grass before they stop in front of you. Rough hands steady your shoulders and shove you upright again. His eyes rove across your face, the muscles above his eyes turning down in concern. 

“Shit, you look like,” he trailed off, “well, to be perfectly honest you look like shit.”

You laughed but it came out strangled and he flinched back in disgust when you started coughing. “Good to know you’re still a gentleman, Cooper.” 

He sighed and led you over to a rotted log. You threw yourself down on it, wincing as it jarred your sensitive stomach. The gash was aching a lot more than it should. 

When you’d been shot, you could barely even feel it by this point. Now the wound was burning, itching so bad you just wanted to rip the stitches out with your bare hands. Your head rolls back and you clench your eyes shut as another wave of nausea goes through you. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat, rattling like a hummingbird in a cage. 

He kneels in front of you and reaches for your shirt. You lean back on your hands to give him better access. “Stimpak should have worked by now,” he mutters. He pulls your shirt higher up on your abdomen and hisses through his teeth. 

“What is it?” Your tongue is glued to the roof of your mouth and the words come out garbled. 

“Shit!” He yanks your shirt down and reaches for your bag, digging through it until he finds another one of the Stimpaks you’d taken. 

You’d be more panicked if your head wasn’t floating right now. “What is it?” He doesn’t answer you, he hovers the injector over his mouth and lets the medicine shoot in. You wince when he immediately turns to spit it into the grass. 

He wipes the back of his mouth and chuckles. “Should’ve fucking known,” he mutters. He goes through the rest of the supplies you’d grabbed and starts chucking them further into the forest. 

You’re getting pissed off now. Pissed off and worried, you just needed him to talk to you, tell you what’s going on. “Cooper!” You snap, hand clutched over the burning wound on your stomach. He sighs and looks up at you. “Tell me what’s happening.”

“Fakes,” he says, mouth set in a firm line and eyes hard against your worried gaze. “See, darlin’, some people like the men we met last night hand out fake supplies.” If you weren’t so worried you’d be mad about how condescending he sounds. 

“They take empty injectors and fill ‘em with chems to keep people sick and coming back to them. It’s a steady income,” he says, like it’s a respectable career. “Your wound is infected, probably only worsened by whatever chem they put in the Stimpak I stuck you with.”

Your eyes are wide with horror. You can’t decide what’s worse, that you’ve essentially been poisoned and are probably experiencing sepsis right now. Or that people were capable of being so cruel and profited off of it. He pulls your canteen out of your bag and unscrews the cap. He holds the water up to your nose, “Sniff.” You do and he waves his hand, prompting you to tell him what exactly you smelled. 

“Smells like metal,” you shrug, not sure what that means. 

“Infected and you’ve got rad poisoning.” At your confused glance he continues, “Water’s not purified either, sweetheart. Whatever you got is about to get a hundred times worse.” When he turns his back to put the water back in your bag you finally risk a glance down at your stomach. 

You wished you hadn’t because you’re immediately bending over to throw up what was left of your rations. The skin has swelled over the stitches, practically swallowing the black thread. The place the knife went in is red and puckered, pus forming at the corners. The sides of your stomach have an odd green tint that you’re trying not to think about too hard, most likely a side effect of whatever chem you’d been dosed with. 

He presses the canteen into your hand and you shake your head from where it is between your knees. “Can’t, radiation.”

He laughs, the sound unkind, “It’s a bit late for that, honey.” You snatch the water out of his hand and gulp down as much as you can stomach. It’s not much, the taste of the water is too metallic and bitter for you. “The place we’re going, they’ve got medicine. We get you there and I’m sure I can work something out with them.”

You know what that really means. He’ll get paid for his bounty and then he’ll get what he wants, whether they offer it freely or not. “If I get there,” you mutter, still holding back the rest of your breakfast. 

“Enough,” he snaps. His hand wraps around your elbow and he yanks you to your feet. “We need to get a move on, power through.” If you had the strength, you’d slap him again. 

“Here you go,” he placed a bowl down on the coffee table, steam still wisping over the edge. He sat down beside you on your couch and brushed some hair away from your face and you leaned into the warmth of his palm. You were freezing but he seemed to think you were burning up. 

“Did you make me soup?” Your voice is groggy with sleep. He helps you into a sitting position and hands you the bowl. 

“No,” he laughs a little and leans back against the cushions, arm spreading out behind you and pulling you into him. “But I warmed it up for you.”

“Cooper,” you whisper. 

“Get a move on!” He shouts from a couple yards ahead. “You either move your ass or I’ll leave you here, because I’m sure as shit not carrying you.”

Oh shit. 

Hallucinating is never a good sign. You would swear on everything above that you were just on your couch with Cooper. You could still feel the warmth of the bowl in your hands, the old plush fabric of your couch on your cheeks. 

You swallowed down bile and did your best to catch up to him. You blinked a few times, trying to get rid of the fog over your eyes, but it didn’t help much. It took you a minute to realize it was from the sweat dripping down your brow and burning against your retinas that was causing the problem. 

You glanced around, surprised to find yourself surrounded by sand. Weren’t you just in the forest? You lifted a shaking hand to try and get rid of the glare of the sun. He was walking closer to you now, keeping a keener eye on you. You trip over your own feet for the inth time and try to keep pushing yourself. 

“Any chance we could dim those?” You squint and point up to the lights hanging above the set and one of the PA’s runs off to fulfill your request. You shake your boots out, tired of all the sand that’s been getting in them. You understand you’re meant to be chasing an outlaw through the “Wild West” but this is getting ridiculous. 

You’ve done about a hundred retakes of this scene, you’re not sure when the director is going to admit defeat but you hope it’s soon. You don’t know why the studio is even bothering to do cowboy stuff anymore. Everyone knows since Coop was forced out of the industry no one’s wanted to see these types of movies. 

The actor you’re working with this time is a dick. He’s commanding and rude, he’s got no sense of boundaries either. Or a nose. 

What the fuck?

He stands over top of you and you finally realize that you’ve collapsed into the sand. You let your head fall back and rub your forehead. One second you’re on a set and the next you’re in the Wastelands at the end of the world. You’re struggling to remember which version of reality is real and which isn’t. 

“I mean it,” he threatens, “I ain’t carrying you.” Your hand flops uselessly to your side, muscles fatigued and the burning in your gut sucking the energy out of you. The only part of yourself you’re physically aware of is the stab, you can’t feel anything else. You can’t twitch your toes or wiggle your fingers, everything is off kilter. “Alright then,” he leans down and yanks your arm over his shoulder. 

Before you’re processing what’s happening the world is being tilted on its axis and you’re being hauled to your feet. You don’t remember much about traveling through the sands. Everything is one long blur of red and orange. When the air in front of you starts to get wavy your eyes lose focus and you black out.

She nearly made it. They’re only about an hour away from this compound he’s been trying to get her to. He sighs, looking down at her prone form in the sand. There’s sweat beading along her forehead, her lips are cracked and split and her face has an unusual tint to it that can’t mean anything healthy. 

He squats down next to her and debates how he wants to go about this. The wound on her stomach has only gotten worse since they started walking, it’s just looking angrier and angrier. With how infected it is, it’s possible that even a stimpak might not help her now. 

He could leave her here, get the bounty, and go on his merry way. He could shoot her, put her out of her misery and leave. Or he could throw her over his shoulder and walk the last hour to the compound, hoping that whatever they have there will help. No matter what choice he makes, it’s her life in his hands. 

His hand drifts forward, brushing the hair off her cheek and lingering on the soft skin there. He sighs before scooping her up and tossing her over his shoulder, she whines, her wound rubbing against his shoulder and probably causing her a heap of pain. It didn’t matter how much it hurt, though, as long as she was feeling something that was a good sign. 

“Nearly there, sweetheart,”; he muttered. He tuned into her shallow breathing, the long pauses before her next breath and let that be what keeps him going. She better not fucking die on him. He grunts, shifting her higher up on his shoulder and wrapping an arm around her legs. 

He could feel how hot she was through each layer of their clothing. This was more than just the sun, she seemed like she was about to combust. “Cooper,” she whimpers. He frowns, she’s been muttering to herself since they left the forest. Talking about things that weren’t possible. 

He’s seen it before, with infection or rad poisoning, the hallucinations start pretty early. Only problem is, he’s never met anyone who lasted as long as her. She should have been dead hours ago. He has no idea what’s keeping her going, but she better fucking hold onto it. 

You laughed, your dress swirling around your legs like a blooming red flower as he spun you through the room. His hand wrapped around your waist and he pulled you back into his chest. You smiled at him and he reached up to brush the hair out of your face. 

Sinatra’s smooth voice cracked and then began to stutter. You laughed again but Cooper just rolled his eyes and walked over to fix the record. You smoothed out your dress and sat down on his couch, reaching for his glass of whiskey on the table. 

You took a sip, hoping for some liquid courage, and regretted it. You’d momentarily forgotten your distaste for alcohol. You tried to fight the tickle in your throat but failed, you probably ruined your lipstick with how hard you started to cough. 

He walked over to you and chuckled, taking his glass from your hands and stealing a swig. “Can’t handle your liquor, honey?”

“I can,” you wiped your mouth and gave him a playful glare. “That just tastes absolutely disgusting.” He smiled and took a seat beside you, arm draped behind you. He crossed a leg over his knee and titled himself to face you. You found yourself taking a deep breath, trying to prepare yourself for the question you were going to ask.

“Everything alright?”

You glanced down at your dress and fiddled with the hem of it. “I know the divorce was finalized a few days ago,” Cooper looked away from you, his face hardening, and reached forward to place his glass back on the table. Your heart leapt into your throat at the way he slammed it down. Maybe this was a mistake. 

You know when Barb came over to pick up Janey yesterday they’d gotten into a fight. You didn’t know what exactly it was they fought about, you’re pretty sure it had to do with you. But it didn’t truly matter. She always found a way to rile him up. You’d been hoping that coming by tonight might make him feel a little better,  but he still seemed to have a residual tenseness to him. 

Bringing the divorce up after one of their fights isn’t smart. But you need to talk about this and he’s been avoiding the conversation for a while now. 

He ran a hand down his face and sighed, “What about it?” 

“I was just wondering what that means for us?”

He scoffed and glanced over at you. The look he’s giving you, you’re certain the fight was about you now. He’s never looked this angry with you, “For us?” You nodded and he shook his head, standing up and heading towards his room. “It doesn’t mean anything.” Your heart stuttered in your chest, eyes burning as he slammed the door to his room without another word. You let your head fall into your hands and took a few deep breaths. You knew you shouldn’t have asked that. 

“That was a mistake,” you muttered. 

“The hell are you telling yourself back there?” Your eyes peeled open and you frowned, you seemed to be looking at something that looked a hell of a lot like Cooper’s backside. You tilted your head to the side to find the world upside down and something stabbing repeatedly in your stomach. 

You clawed your way up Cooper’s jacket, shakily holding yourself up so you could stare down at him. “Settle,” he warns, like you’re a damn horse. 

“Put me down,” you mutter, weakly kicking out your feet and trying to get off of him. He just shakes his head and shoves you back down. You let him, not having much fight left in you anyway. 

“Just,” he pauses, “keep dreamin’,” the words seem to pain him and you wonder why. You don’t linger on it long, letting your head hang against his back before the world is going dark again. 

She keeps muttering Cooper in her sleep. He knows what she’s thinking about. Their old times together, when everything was just dandy and the world was as sweet as peaches. Well, he wasn’t some saint back then neither. He had his own problems, vices, same as any man. 

Only difference between then and now is that he doesn’t have to hide who he is. Doesn’t have to worry about the public’s opinion or how his job will be affected if he speaks his mind. Cooper’s no better than the Ghoul. 

He sighs, barely even believing himself. She whimpers in her sleep, the noise strangled and pained. He squeezes her leg, barely even noticing the action, in an attempt to bring some minute form of comfort. She never should have dived in front of that blade, it was stupid of her. 

Course, she couldn’t have known that he would have healed, it’s not like he ever told her that. But she shouldn’t have risked it anyway, he wasn’t worth her dying for.

He can see a large building about a mile ahead as he crests the ridge of the dune he’s walking on. The compound, nearly there. “Hold on,” he’s not sure who he’s talking to but it doesn’t matter. She’s made it this far, she’ll make it a few more minutes.

“Stop right there!” Only one armed guard comes out from behind the gate of the compound. He scoffs, fucking amateurs. He drops her to the ground at his feet with as much care as he can, which isn’t a lot. Slowly, he raises his hands as the guard approaches, the tip of his rifle pressing into the hardened skin of his chest. “State your business.”

Well, someone liked making themself feel important, he was gonna have a field day beating this boy black and blue. For now, he simply smiled at him, unbothered by the gun. “I’ve got a bounty to deliver.”

“Alright, hand it over.” He reached into his pockets and the boy’s trigger finger twitched dangerously. He pulled out the only thing they’d wanted from the body, dog tags, and held them out for the boy to take. He darted forward, trying to snatch them but he yanked them out of the guard’s grip. 

He lunged, wrapping a hand around the barrel of the rifle and yanking it out of the kid’s hands. He tucked the tags back in his pocket and pointed the barrel into the boy’s chest. His face blanched and he held up his shaky hands. “Not so big now, are you?” He kept the gun trained on him and leaned down to scoop her back up. 

She was just cognizant enough to wrap an arm around his shoulder, keeping herself steady. “My friend here needs help. So help me boy, I swear if you fight me, I’ll slaughter everyone in that fucking place and just take what I want.”

He poked the gun into the boy’s chest and he jumped away from him with a frightened little whimper. With a grin, he bullied him into unlocking the gate and leading the both of them inside. 

“Please-”

“Shut the fuck up and get me inside.” It didn’t take long, the kid seemed to be the only guard they had patrolling right now. He led the pair inside the compound and then shoved them inside a room. 

“Here, you can clean her up here.” Before he could say anything the boy was running down the hall and out of sight. He figured they didn’t have long before the rest of the compound was alerted to what was going on. 

He knew enough about the place to know they had a water purifier set up in the back and some odd little ditty they’d created to use water to generate power. Having a radiated ocean behind them was a lot more convenient than Cooper ever would have thought. 

“Alright,” he propped her up on the bed and threw the boy’s rifle to the side. “Wake up, darling,” her eyelashes fluttered but she didn’t move. He used his teeth to pull off one of his gloves and pressed a hand to her clammy head. Still burning up. He cracked his hand across her cheek, chuckling at the way her eyes flew open. 

“Come on,” he hoisted her up and shoved her towards the bathroom in the room. There were holes in the wall, the faucet was really a metal can with holes poked in it, but it was running water. Who was he to complain? He propped her up against the sink and cranked the odd lever in the wall. There was a loud rattling sound before water came pouring out of the rusted can. “Clean yourself up,” he muttered, closing the door behind him.

Barely a minute later he heard a loud crash and the sound of porcelain cracking. He ran back into the bathroom and found her half collapsed against the shower wall. What was left of the decrepit sink was broken on the ground, only the faucet sticking out of the wall. He sighed and looked over at her. 

“I fell,” she muttered, a million little cuts bleeding on her arms. 

He sighed and tugged his hat and gloves off, tossing them onto the bed outside. He came back in, pulling her away from the shower and straightening her up. She clung onto him, broken nails digging dully into his scarred arms. “Come on, sweetheart,” he tugged her shirt up, her arms slipping limply out of it. 

Her wound was practically festered by now, turning a color that he knew meant she didn’t have much time to waste. He undid the button of her pants and knelt down, hands dragging down her legs and pulling her pants with them. She stepped out, hands braced on his shoulders and tripped slightly. He grabbed her thighs, steadying her and stood back up. He wrapped an arm around her waist, stopping her from falling and leading her into the shower. 

She sighed as the tepid water hit her back and he grimaced at the brown water pouring off of her. Maybe he should have let her clean up in that lake. He didn’t do much to help her as she cleaned herself up, mainly just stood there and let her hold onto him so she didn’t hurt herself further. 

He cupped the back of her neck and helped her tilt her head back to clean out the rest of her hair. It was odd, being this close to her. Less because of how stark naked she was, and more because of just how vulnerable she was being. Like a deer rolling over and presenting its neck to a wolf. He could do anything to her, and she just let him hold her like this. 

She leaned forward, clearly tired after moving around so much. Her head fell into his chest and she wrapped her arms around him tighter. She sighed, “I love you, Cooper.”

He flinched, knowing this was just a part of her delirium. Having running water for once was probably just confusing her more, making her think she was right back home. He leaned forward, lips pressed against her forehead and brushing some hair back. “No you don’t, darling.”

There was a knock on the door and he was quick to draw his gun. The door opened and a middle aged woman flanked by two guards stood smiling at him. She took in the gun in his hand but seemed unbothered by it or the threat he posed. “I hear you two need some help.”

“Mhm,” he glanced at the guards behind her but they didn’t seem particularly interested in reaching for their weapons. The woman took her in from where she lay on the bed, panting and sounding like she was struggling to get her breaths in. “I have a bounty to turn in, figured part of my payment could be you giving us a Stimpak. Then, we’ll be out of your hair.”

She laughed and took a step further into the room. He stood up now, gun pointed towards her slightly. She ignored him and took a peek at the festering wound. “She’ll need a lot more than a Stimpak. We can clean her up, don’t worry.” He didn’t get a chance to argue before the guards were coming in. He stepped out of the way as they grabbed you by the arms and legs, hauling you out of the room. 

He made to follow them but the woman placed a hand on his chest. “Sylvie, I run the compound. The bounty?”

He sighed and fished the dog tags out of his pocket, passing them to her. He glanced out the door, trying to track the path they took you down. “She’ll be fine, trust me.”

He laughed and glanced over at her, “No offense, ma’am,” he says the title with a lack of respect that makes her brows furrow in irritation, “but if there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s not to trust anyone. No matter how pretty their promises are.”

She gave him a long look before smiling and motioning back towards the hall. “Follow me and we’ll go find her.”

They had a decent set up here. Not as nice as the vaults, clearly, but pretty good for surface dwellers. A decent supply of meds and rations, running water. Everything in the building might be run down or covered in mildew, with cracks in the wall, but it was better than the hovels he’d camped out in. 

They’ve got her set up on cot, a bag of Radaway hooked up to her arm and her hair braided away from her face. They had to cut out the stitches he’d sewed and open the wound back up to flush it out. She’d been patched back up and while the skin still looked irritated it seemed to be doing a lot better than before. 

He’d been keeping a close eye on her breathing and she’d finally stopped wheezing on every inhale. He figured another hour here and they could get the fuck out. These people were starting to bother him. Every half hour or so they would come in to check on her, the women would spray some water on her face and mutter something before running back out. 

He seemed to scare them, enjoying the way they would avoid meeting his eyes. But it wasn’t enough to keep them away from her. Their insistence should’ve had alarm bells going off in his head, but he was already preoccupied worrying about her. He didn’t even notice when Slyvie came to stand beside him. 

“She’ll be alright,” she tried to place a hand on his shoulder but the look he shot her had her stopping short. She cleared her throat uncomfortably and tucked her hands back behind her back. He gave her another long look before going back to staring at the girl on the bed. 

“We have a place for her here, if you’re interested.”

He scoffed, “Room for us, huh?” He let himself picture it for a moment. He wouldn’t fucking stay, of course, he couldn’t. There’s no way, after two hundred years of wandering, that he could be locked down to one decaying old building. Showers or no. But he could always come by to visit her, stay a few nights and then leave again. 

That’s assuming she’d even want him to visit. Didn’t matter, he’d come anyway. But, he couldn’t do that anymore. Couldn’t live that life even if it would be temporary. It just wasn’t in him. He stayed stagnant for too long and two hundred years of bloodshed and loss would drive him insane. 

Sylvie shook her head and frowned. “I’m sorry, I should have been more clear. We have room for her, you have to understand, without a steady supply of Radaway we can’t risk having a ghoul here.” She moved towards her and brushed some hair out of her face, “Think about it.” She walked out and he stared blankly at the cot. 

She shifted on the bed, face pained and mumbling something under her breath. Finally, her eyes fluttered open and she frowned. “Coop? What’s,” she trailed off, struggling to sit up and glancing around the room they were in. “What’s going on?”

“Relax, we’re at the compound.”

She rubbed her forehead and glared at him, “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

He swatted her leg and she recoiled, “No, smartass. Just relax, we’ll be out of here soon.” She nodded and leaned back against the pillows they’d given her. It was odd, finally seeing her clean again. He could see clearly just how tired she looked. It was in her eyes, mainly, a weariness towards the world that left her exhausted. 

He’s surprised she’s even made it this far without giving up. She’d been dealt some shit luck, but he supposed it was better she be exposed to how cruel the world was as quickly as possible. She groaned and her head flopped forward. 

“What’s wrong with you now?” 

“God,” she muttered, turning her face away from him and shaking her head. He huffed and sat up straight, glaring at the side of her face. 

“Talk,” he demanded, not in the mood for games. 

“I meant it,” she sounded pained, like the words had to be forced out. “I mean, I hate that I meant it, but I did.”

He rolled his eyes, “Meant what? You’re gonna have to be a little clearer than that, sweetheart.”

“What I said in the shower. I meant it. I haven’t stopped loving you, despite how much I want to. I don’t want to want you anymore, I don’t want that connection to the past to constantly be shoved down my throat.” She sighed and tugged at the braid they’d given her. “You’re cruel and mean and, fuck’s sake, you’ve shot me twice. But you’re also the only thing I’ve got left, and despite how much I want to, because trust me I do, I can’t let you go.”

He sighed and turned away from her. She was still tired, still a bit woozy from the fever. He could see the sweat on her forehead again and knew that whatever this was, was just drug induced. He couldn’t handle it. He couldn’t handle her wanting him like this again. 

Being around her already made him vulnerable enough. Whatever twisted connection he held to her now, would be nothing compared to letting her love him again. Two hundred years on his own and she thought she could just come barreling back into his life and everything would be lovely again?

No, that’s not how this world worked. Not anymore. 

He stood up and threw his bag over his shoulder. “Get back to sleep, we’ll leave soon.”

She sighed and sank back against the pillows, shivering as she did so. “You’ll be here?”

“Of course I will, sweetheart.” She nodded, eyes already drifting shut, and turned away from him. He let himself admire her, taking in her relaxed features and soft expression. She reminded him so much of before. Before the world went to shit and before he turned into what he is now. 

He could feel parts of him, the ones he’d buried a long time ago, come up around her. Twisted as they were, how he felt about her before still lingered somewhere within him. But he couldn’t afford the risk that they presented if he did let her back in. He wasn’t even sure she could fully handle him if he did. 

She’d nearly died about five times, most of them because of him, and she’d been up here for such a short time. She’d be better off without him. He walked towards the door, the spurs of his boots clicking against the tile of the floor. He found Sylvie lurking a few halls down and whistled, getting her attention. 

Sylvie turned to him with an expectant smile. “You got room?”

She nodded with an eager smile, “We do. And you’d be compensated, of course.” Before he could question what exactly she was paying him for she snapped her fingers and some guards approached. They handed him a bag that he quickly rifled through. Not only was there enough Radaway to last him at least a month, there was purified water and rations that would keep him going until the next bounty. 

She’ll be better off here. 

He tucked the bag away and smiled at Sylvie, “Pleasure doing business with you, ma’am.”

She gave him a lecherous grin, “You as well,” she nodded and the guards escorted him to the gate. He didn’t let himself look back, knowing he’d just want to go get her. At least now he didn’t have to constantly worry about saving her ass. 

He was better off on his own. Always had been, always would be. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the game/show Fallout, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[dark-and-kawaii]

This thought just punched me in the face about Kieran and Rolan...but it might be a bit out there...

I can see Kieran having your face pushed into a wall as he has you bent over in the taverns dark ally. Just being his cocky self as Rolans chastising him about getting caught by someone. That's when Kieran is rolling his eyes (and pounding into you harder because Rolan is starting to piss him off and of course he takes that out on you) "Well if your so worried about it why don't you skip your turn while I finish here. Archemage..." Kireran pinches your clit to make you moan and get your attention, "he doesn't experiment with you much does he princess?"

That's when when Rolan will narrow his eyes at him and pull you from Kireran, with a quick spell Rolans cock is lubed and he starts fucking your tight ass. Kireran lets out a low whistle from Rolan bouncing you hard on his length. "You've prepped her for that?" and Rolan just scoffs "of course I have...she's mine after all." Rolan fucken growls as he tears your ass up. I imagine Kireran doesn't say it but he's slightly impressed he thought Rolan was a bore...this is an interesting development...

Summary: You get stretched, used and abused by your two favorite tieflings.

₊˚⊹♡ Pairings: Rolan x F!Tav/Reader x OMC

₊˚⊹♡ Content: NSFW - Stretched By Two Tiefling Cocks - Your Poor Little Ass - Cunny Being Stretched So Good - Creampie - Asspie - Leaking Cum For Days - Double Penetration - Anal

₊˚⊹♡ Notes: @reverieblondie Please don’t ever stop thirsting for these two men, because my god I read this on repeat babe!!! This was so good and so much fun and I just love you!!!!

The abrupt stretch of your ass had you half screaming and half crying from the pleasure. You were shaking and drooling as Rolan used your tight little ass as his own personal fuck toy. He was so damn meaty, this you knew, and those thick veins- the thick ridges that adorned it only added to his girth… “R-r-Rolan!!! Aha- ah- NGH- W-WAIT!!! S’TOO MUCH- TOO MUCH- AHHH~!!!”

Kieran just chuckles at your broken screams before grabbing you by the throat, “Don't be such a whore, we don't want the whole city hearing you, now do we?”

The look you were giving him was so precious, he only wish he could make a painting of it. Those big doe eyes filled with tears, cheeks flushed, and lips plump and red as you bit your bottom lip. And the way those tits of yours jiggled as Rolan was mercilessly using your ass… It was beautiful.

“That’s a good girl, we wouldn’t want some slimy man stumbling upon us and stealing our treasure would we?”

You whimpered and shook your head as Kieran pressed his thumb against your lip, “Or would you enjoy that? Some man, or a group finding you being defiled by two hellspawns, our cocks filling your holes-“ he forced his thumb into your mouth and watched as you sucked and slobbered all over it, “Is that what you'd like, doll?” His eyes were dark, his thumb pushing further in as you choked on it, your eyes watering once more, “A crowd of men touching themselves, watching you and waiting their turn while you're fucked into oblivion by the two of us-“

“Kieran!” Rolan growled, “That’s quite enough! There will be no others!”

The tatted up tiefling looked at Rolan as he gave a smirk, shrugging while he removed his thumb from your mouth, a line of drool connecting the digit to your plump lips, which were still parted, “I was just asking the lady what she would enjoy. She can't exactly answer anyway, can she? You’re using like some common whore, mage boy~ Cutting off her words and making her cry- what a brute, you should apologize to her.”

Rolan huffed, but then looked down at your face, and how blissed out you were, the way your tongue was hanging out and the way you were drooling before thrusting his hips harder. Kieran just grinned and leaned back, taking in the view of your body being wrecked by Rolan.

He could see the way you were getting close, how you were starting to tremble, how your eyes rolled back and your legs started shaking like a newly born fawn. But just as you were about to reach your high, Rolan pulled out, leaving your ass gaping.

“Awh, now that’s just cruel, Rolan.” Kieran smirked, taking out a cigarette and lighting it with his finger.

“R-Rolan?” Your voice was shaky, the high you were riding leaving you confused and dazed, your vision a little blurry and unfocused. The wizard gave you a smile as he rubbed your hips, kissing your shoulder, his lips soft against your skin.

“Trust me, my dear.” He twirled you around, his tail snaking around your leg to help him hoist you up. He pressed his cock against your entrance, feeling the heat radiating from it, your slickness dripping down and staining his robe. With a single thrust, he was deep inside you, the feeling of your walls squeezing him causing him to let out a soft groan. He gave you a moment to adjust before pulling out and slamming back into you, his tail coiling tighter around your thigh, “say my name, darling, I want to hear your lovely voice.”as you sing for me- only for me~”

Rolan was panting as he rammed his hips against you, his pace hard and brutal as he held you close, his arms wrapping around your waist as his fingers dug into your sides.

“R-ROLAN!!~ MM’ROLAN! ROLAN!!! M’YOURS~”

Well that just won’t do…

The cherry of Kieran’s cig flared up as he took another drag before blowing a cloud of smoke into your face. The way you coughed and scrunched your nose up in disgust was absolutely adorable.

Tangling his sharp nails in your hair, he yanked your head back, your neck straining as he kissed you- forcing his tongue to explore every crevice of your mouth. Once you were out of breath, he pulled away, a string of saliva connecting your mouths before he licked his lips and smiled at you, “whose are you, princess?”

Rolan saw the way Kieran was looking at you… He should’ve known the bastard was up to something…

Taking advantage of that gaping asshole you have, he thrusts his thick cock in and begins pounding away. The noises that fall from his lips are downright sinful. The way your eyes widen and the way you scream out his name, oh yes, now that is music to his ears.

You felt so full, stretched beyond what you ever thought possible, your gummy walls from both holes clinging to the large cocks that invaded your warmth, “M-my- my body! I-it's yours! Ha-Ahh~ It's y-your- ngh-! I-It's y-your toy!!! Mmgh!!~ Y-you can do whatever y-you- hah- want with me- ah~ Rolan~ ROLAN!! KIERAN!!! M’YOURS!!!”

Kieran gave a sinister laugh as he bit down on your neck hard enough to break the skin. Blood pooled in his mouth as his tongue lapped over the wound. You tasted sweet, sweeter than any wine or liquor he's ever had. You were perfect, “such a pretty little cocksleeve” His fingers pinching and pulling at one of your nipples, yanking it to stretch out the sensitive bud, earning a loud cry from you.

You were fucked senseless for what felt like hours… Until finally they both erupted inside you. Rolan’s hot cum filling your womb, Kieran’s searing seed painting your bowels a pretty white… You were filled so full that you could feel how their white messes spilled past their cocks and onto the dank alley floor.

You had been reduced to a babbling, drooling, sloppy mess… Your tongue lolling out still as Rolan and Kieran pulled out, their thick cum pouring out of your stretched abused holes…

Kieran just tapped your cheek thank you for such a good time, and Rolan simply kept you in his arms- covering you with his robe before hoisting you up bridal style so that he could carry you back to his tower…

[danikamariewrites]

can i request feysand x reader where they’re all pissed at each other. they’re all petty and pissed and won’t pass the butter or close the door and everyone else is like wtf are you doing

Grudges

Feysand x reader

A/n: everyone would be so tense lmao

Warnings: slight angst I think

The sound of cutlery against porcelain plates was especially loud this evening. You, Feyre, and Rhys sat as far away from each other as you could.

Everyone could feel the tense energy rolling off the three of you. Cassian looked around tentatively, meeting Mor and Azriel’s gazes. Then Elain’s, her usual soft brown eyes hardened and annoyed.

Nesta and Amren looked done with your bullshit. Both wearing twin scowls with the same brow raised.

Rhys looked around causing everyone to focus on their food again. “Can someone pass the salt?” He asked monotonously.

Azriel went to reach for it but you beat him. Picking up the glass shaker you hold eye contact with the High Lord. Feyre didn’t bother looking up, muttering to herself as she violently cut into her steak.

Continuing your state down with Rhys for the salt you start unscrewing the top of the shaker. Never once breaking eye contact. “Stop.” He says sternly.

You throw the top on the floor. The tiny metal piece making the loudest clanking against the wood floor. Turing it over you dump all the salt out onto your mashed potatoes.

Rhys slumped back into his seat. His jaw tightened as he gives you an angry look. “Sorry. We’re all out.” You say sweetly, tilting your head. Rhys goes back to his food as he too started muttering to himself.

Without warning you hurl the glass shaker at Rhys’s head. Missing on purpose of course. Rhys shot up staring daggers at you that you returned tenfold.

“HA HA,” Feyre screamed sarcastically.

Amren slammed her tiny hands against the table, pushing up with so much force the room shook. Anger and annoyance swirling in those dark eyes. “Everyone out,” she seethed, “except you three.”

Cassian dashed for Nesta, pulling her along quickly as Elain and Mor followed quickly behind with Azriel at their backs, shielding them from the start of a rough conversation.

Amren motions for the three of you to sit across from her. None of you look at each other. Crossing your arms and legs so no one touches anyone. Amren takes a deep breath, composing herself.

“This idiotic behavior has been going on all day. We are sick of it. You are getting over it now.” Feyre rolls her eyes. Amren hissed at her, slamming another hand down. “Listen girl!” You all sit up paying extra attention to her. Amren takes another deep breath composing herself.

“Varian has told me I should try listening more. In a calm way, to help mediate better instead of just commanding everyone. So let’s go down the line and work through this.” She looks to you first. “You seem to have the most anger,” Amren narrows her eyes at you. “What’s got you so worked up?”

Resting your elbows on the table you clear your throat. “Thank you for deciding to hear the truth first, Amren.” Your mates roll their eyes. Feyre makes something like a fake puking noise and Rhys just grunts leaning further back into the chair.

“This morning this one,” you emphasize by pointing at Rhys, “decided no one was going to have a good day. Usually we all get ready together but he just slammed the bathroom door in our faces, taking an hour in the bathroom.

“As much as he preaches communication and empathy he wasn’t doing that much. So Feyre and I ignored him but I could tell it was getting under her skin. I tried talking to her but then she pushed me away. I’m not sure why else they’re mad but that’s me.”

Amren looks between the High Lord and Lady. “Well, is that true?” They let out a synchronized sigh.

“Yes, but he hasn’t been talking,”

“Yes, they won’t give me space,”

The two speak over each other getting louder and louder, trying to outdo one another. You joined in yelling and begging with them to stop.

“Silence!” Amren commands. Stopping your chatter immediately you stare at the tiny fae terrified. “Work it out yourselves. If you’re going to bicker I won’t be part of this.”

She dramatically pushed her chair in stomping out of the dining room. Leaving you to look at each other longingly, hoping this fight wouldn’t leave you all feeling empty inside.

[fandom-chic]

Please Please Please: Chapter 4

Summary: Y/N is only a child when she and Tommy Shelby meet. The two quickly become best friends as they grow up in Small Heath. As the years go by, Y/N and Tommy realize there may be more to their friendship than they originally thought.

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Y/N

A/N: Hello everybody! Hope you enjoy this chapter. Love seeing all the comments, they make my heart smile. You guys rock my socks <3

Previous chapter

James and Y/N drove in silence through the streets of Small Heath. It was a silence that hung in the air like the end of a bad joke, except no one forced a polite smile, especially Y/N. All she wanted to do was curl in a ball on her bed and hope for sleep to take her away from Tommy. It seemed to be the only time she could truly escape from his grasp on her. It was when she saw the outline of The Garrison did she realize she had another outlet to forget about Thomas Shelby.

“Let me out here,” she said, not bothering to glance at her date. She felt the car slow to a stop and she hopped out. It was then that she spared a glance at James. There was a pitiful air to him, one that told her this was the last time she would see him.

“Get home safe.” Was all he said, before pulling her door shut and driving off. She watched the automobile disappear into the darkness. She would get home how she got home at this point, all she knew at this moment was she needed a glass of whiskey in her hand. She walked through the front door of The Garrison and was surprised to see it almost empty, except for a few patrons and one familiar figure.

“Look who the hell decided to show up.” she teased, a smile musing upon her lips. Arthur turned to face her, a goofy smirk on his face.

“If it ain’t Y/N,” he got up from his spot at the bar, approaching the younger woman and enveloping her in a hug. “How are you, love?”

“I’m alright,” Was all she was willing to disclose to him. He didn’t dig deeper as he ushered her toward the bar. 

“And what will the lady be drinking tonight,” he asked, motioning for the bartender to approach.

“The strongest whiskey you have,” she replied, eliciting an eyebrow raise from the bartender. He could sense her present level of intoxication, but he didn’t question it. He poured her a glass, nodded toward Arthur, and began to clean the bar. She took a large swig, letting the amber liquid slide down her throat. It burned going down but the buzz that was there afterwards made up for it. 

“I never took you for a whiskey girl,” Arthur said, taking another sip of his own.

“I guess it’s one of those nights,” she said, preparing herself to guzzle down the rest.

“So, who’s the bastard who broke your heart this time?” She smirked to herself, knowing Arthur had seen this show before. He was well acquainted with the bad luck that seemed to revolve around her love life. During her years of friendship with Tommy, Arthur would be pulled into the teenage drama that revolved around the duo. He pretended to be annoyed by all the chaos and gossip that accompanied the teens, but she could tell he enjoyed hearing about their lives.

She waved down the bartender, asking for another drink before responding, “Your fucking brother.” 

A sigh escaped Arthur’s lips, “What’d the fucker do this time?” he asked. She shook her head to herself as the bartender poured her second drink of the last few minutes.

“He told me he didn’t want to see me anymore,” She took a sip, “He said our friendship didn’t make sense. What the hell does that even mean? It doesn’t have to make sense! It’s not a bloody algebra problem! It’s such bullshit.” She could feel the steam coming out of her ears.

“What a bastard,” Arthur said wistfully, as if there were words between the spaces of that sentence that needed to be said. 

“A bastard indeed,” Was her response. She stared straight ahead as Arthur turned to face the younger woman.

“Tommy will kill me if I told you this but,” he gestured to Y/N, “I can’t see you looking that sad. It breaks me heart.” A stifled chuckle escaped her lips, bringing the cup up to her mouth to take another long sip. Everything inside her tried not to look at Arthur because she knew the second she looked into his eyes, she would break. 

“What is it?” she asked, not sure she wanted to know the answer. 

A long exhale escaped her friend as he responded, “He misses you like hell, kid.” She impulsively turned toward the man beside her.

“He sure has a shitty way of showing it,” she said, a quiver in her voice. 

“Since whatever happened that day on the lake, he hasn’t been himself,” Arthur said, taking a swig of his drink, “He’s been more solemn than he already is and that’s saying a lot. Usually, you’re the one to make him less depressed” A bitter laugh erupted from her as she tried not to roll her eyes.

“So, he didn’t say that he missed me, you just think there’s the possibility that he might miss me.” She watched the way the ice settled in her drink, wishing she could sink.

Arthur shook his head to himself, knowing that he would not convince Y/N, “I know my brother, Y/N. Something went out in him after that day. The only thing I think it could be is you.” 

“Well,” she said, putting her drink down on the bar, “if he truly missed me, wouldn’t he have said something rather than push me away?” Arthur cocked an eyebrow at Y/N as she relayed the events of that night. 

Arthur finished off his drink before responding, “Tommy is who he is, and whatever is up his ass might just need a bit more time. You know as well as I do how he can be.”

“We’ve never fought for this long, Arthur,” she gazed away from him toward the bottles of liquor behind the bar, “Even as children when he hit me with the baseball, he was at my door within minutes to apologize.” If a child can see the difference between right and wrong that quickly, she could only imagine what an adult would do in that exact situation. To her surprise, she heard a light chuckle leave Arthur’s lips.

“Did he never tell you what actually happened that day?” Arthur questioned. Y/N looked toward him, tilting her head in confusion. “I guess he didn’t. Might as well tell you.” He brushed a hand through his hair before continuing, “That day, he wasn’t going to apologize.” This made her sit up straighter.

“What?” she asked, her whole friendship with Tommy rushing before her eyes. 

Arthur smirked and nodded, “He was ready to let you go, that’s how he has always been with everyone. Then I asked him if he was really willing to let you go over a stupid baseball game. I don’t know what it was about that but something clicked and he ran after you. That night when he came back home and I asked how the apology went,” Arthur paused, looking at Y/N, “he smiled and said ‘I think I met my best friend,’” Y/N could feel her heart soften at the end of that story. She knew she felt that way that day but she didn’t know Tommy felt the same. She felt a tear come into her eye and a finger go up to her eye to wipe it away.

“Why are you telling me this story?” she questioned.

“Sometimes, Tommy needs some convincing to realize he is making a shit decision,” Arthur motioned to the bartender to top off his drink, “And I just don’t think anyone has called him on this shit yet. I’d say you will have Tommy back soon.” Arthur’s words along with the alcohol softened Y/N.

“You really think so?” It felt like a plea coming from her lips.

Arthur nodded, “He needs you as much as you need him.” Y/N was ready to hug the older man when she noticed something, the music on the phonograph slowed to a tune she could recall from anywhere. It was The Girl With The Flaxen Hair by Claude Debussy, one of her favorite songs. Arthur saw the change in her expression and smiled at her.

“Care to dance?” he asked, holding a hand out to her. She looked around the room but the bar seemed empty except for the stray patron or two. Perfect.

“I would love to,” she responded as Arthur led her to the center of The Garrison. Her left hand goes into his and her right hand falls onto his shoulder. His left hand gives hers a squeeze and his right hand falls onto her back. She couldn’t help but smile at the man before her. He was the brother she always dreamed of having, tough but loving. She closed her eyes and rested her head on his shoulder as the song went on. For the first time in a long time, she was at peace, but that was only momentary. She felt Arthur stiffen as the song came to an end. She looked up at him to see him staring at the entryway. She followed his gaze to see a man she did not expect to see tonight.

“You two look to be having a good time.” Tommy’s voice felt like a dagger, punctuated by the exhale of a cigarette in her direction. Arthur immediately detached himself from Y/N, taking a step away as well. Y/N looked over at Arthur, her eyes pleading for him to say something, anything to make this situation less terrible.

“I’ll give you two some privacy.” That was the last thing she wanted him to say. Before she could interject, Arthur had already made his way into the back of the bar. 

Tommy turned to the remaining patrons, “Out. Now.” As if his words were a spell, they followed what he said. Now, they were truly alone. He takes his jacket and hat off, placing them on a table before asking, “What are you doing here?” 

She shrugged her shoulders, “It’s a bar and I wanted a drink.” 

Tommy let out a sigh, bringing his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose and rubbing it, “You know this is my bar.” 

She gave him a sarcastic smirk, “I didn’t think you would be coming here tonight, your date seemed like a pretty sure thing.” At that, Tommy approached the bar, opening up the side door to go behind it. He began to pour himself a drink.

“I can at least say I tried.” He mumbled to himself.

“Tried what?” Y/N asked. 

“To make you leave.” He puts the bottle down. “Seems I can’t get rid of you.” He throws back the drink.

“Tommy,” she said, approaching the bar, “Why do you want me to leave? Did it ever occur to you that I don’t want to go away?” Tommy didn’t meet her gaze, as he poured another drink.

“I want you to be safe, Y/N.” He put the bottle back on the counter, “You know the way that my life is going, that won’t be possible anymore.” 

The alcohol went around her shoulders like a blanket, giving her the confidence to say, “That’s so stupid, Tommy.” A real smile and laugh came out of Tommy. One that she had not seen in six months.

“Now that is not how I expected this conversation to go.” He took another drag of his cigarette, “In all the ways I thought of this talk going, I did not imagine you calling me stupid.” 

She giggled to herself, taking a seat on the barstool, “So, you knew we would speak again.” 

He leaned against the bar, his face inches from hers, “I told you, I can’t seem to get rid of you and you can’t seem to get rid of me. Maybe that’s just how life is supposed to be, you and me.” Her thoughts began to swim. She wasn’t sure if it was the booze or the fact that Tommy smelled like whiskey and soap. All she knew was that she didn’t want to move away from him. She only moved when the next song came on, one that she remembered well. The movement was a chuckle that turned into a laugh as Tommy followed suit. 

“You remember this song?” She asked, motioning toward the phonograph. 

He smirked and nodded, “How could I forget?” 

The first time that Y/N heard this song was a moment that replayed in her head from time to time. It was a hot August day. She was 16 and Tommy was 17. There was nothing to do that day but lay on the floor of Tommy’s room and listen to music. They stayed side by side for hours as track after track played. Finally, a track with provocative lyrics rose from the phonograph, causing Y/N to giggle and blush. Tommy looked over at her and smirked.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing!” she said, shaking her head as if she was trying to shake the blush off her cheeks. 

Tommy nudged her shoulder, “Come on, tell me.” 

She paused before answering, “I don’t know, the words are just so… raunchy.” The blush came back onto her lips as Tommy let out a belly laugh.

“What? Have you never had a shag?” This caused Y/N to burst out in laughter.

“I haven’t even had my first kiss, let alone slept with a man.” She expected Tommy to laugh along with her but when she looked over at him, he was already sat up, looking down at her. 

“Really?” There was a hint of disbelief in his voice.

She sat up and faced him, “Really,” Y/N said. She shrugged to herself, continuing, “I just don’t think anyone wants me in that way.” There was a long pause as Y/N expected Tommy to say something sarcastic but all he did was stare. Y/N matched his gaze. 

He then took his best friend's hand, “Don’t say that,” and continued to stare. He took a deep breath before saying, “If you’d like, I can kiss you.” Y/N didn’t know how to respond, all she could do was gaze into her best friend’s eyes. Neither teen knew what to do except let their faces grow closer together. His breath graced her lips, so close. Then the song changed, and so did her mind. 

“No, Tommy,” She backed away. “Not like this.” He backed away.

“I understand.” He said with a nod.

“I want it to be with someone I love who loves me back.” 

Y/N felt her mind come back to 1913 as she giggled to herself,  “Fuck that is what you said!” Tommy said as he took a large sip from his drink. 

She shrugged, “I was harsh, it might be why I didn’t have my first kiss for another year.” 

“I remember that,” Tommy said, sitting beside her at the bar, “George Milton, right?” 

She nodded, “By the bridge. He bit my lip and it bled.” Tommy let out a snicker. A comfortable silence fell over the two old friends. Tommy was the first to break it.

“So, why did you say no.” She looked up into his blue eyes to see a sense of curiosity there.

“I told you, my sixteen year old self wanted it to be with someone she loved,” Y/N took a sip of her whiskey before continuing, “She wanted magic and delusion. Still haven’t found that yet.” James crossed her mind for a fleeting second and left as quickly as he came. Tommy’s gaze did not leave hers, watching how the words stayed in her mind. Then the song changed again. The tune was a waltz, one that made a smile come onto Y/N's face. 

Tommy held out his hand, “Arthur can’t be the only one dancing with you tonight.” Y/N gave Tommy her hand as he led her out to where she and Arthur danced earlier. Their hands found their homes on each other's bodies easily as the couple began to sway to the tune. Y/N looked up into Tommy’s blue eyes and he gazed down into hers. His hand relaxed on the small of her back, sliding down and pulling her closer. She laid her head on his chest feeling his heartbeat against her cheek. She moved her arm behind him, holding him tight. The pair swayed as Tommy laid his head on top of hers. 

“Y/N?” She moved her head off his chest to look up at him, “You’re not delusional. You just want what you deserve.” That was when she felt her lips begin to grace his. As soon as they touched, Tommy backed away. 

The pair stopped and pulled apart.

“I have to go,” Tommy said. Before Y/N could question him, he was out the door.

Next chapter

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[artyandink]

amoralism | three

Summary: You and Dean Winchester are the top agents from Major Crimes. You’re also assigned as partners on the same case- a crime syndicate is running loose and buying out most of downtown New York. He hates you cause you hate him. You hate him cause you think he got in his position with his daddy’s influence. But this case is personal to one of you more than the other- and you may be getting too personal for comfort.

TW: Organised crime, hostage situation, crime syndicate, sexual tension, fantasising, blood, firearms, references to sex, masturbation (use of vibrator and fingers) Agent Dean Winchester (yes, he’s a warning), hostage situation, crazy aunt and uncle

SERIES MASTERLIST

Song Inspo: Under the Influence - Chris Brown

cynicism

After you and Dean were out of the auction house safely, you found yourself getting a call from Sam, which had you wondering if the FBI kept cameras on you two to see if you’d finally given into the copious amounts of sexual tension.

“Agent Winchester.” You cleared your throat, wiping your smeared lipstick off with a makeup wipe. “Talk to me.”

‘We have a situation down on 7th.’ You heard him sigh out, and you could feel the forehead rub through the phone like it was your own. ‘Hostage situation. Our syndicate’s mark is on the front of the bank. You and Dean are the only two units in the area.’

“We’ll see what we can do.” You nodded, saying a quick goodbye before cutting the call and turning to Dean. “We have a situation.”

Dean perked up, stopping his boots from scuffing against the floor in wait. “Did Sammy pee himself? If so, we’re no longer brothers, he hadn’t done that since ninth grade.”

“What?! No!” You scoffed, pinching the bridge between your eyebrows. “Bank on 7th, it’s a hostage situation. Your brother needs us on the scene.”

“Oh, right.” He cleared his throat. “But we’re in, y’know, party clothes.”

“Oh, we’ll get a bulletproof vest, let’s just go.” You groaned, getting in the Impala, while he ran to the driver’s seat, getting in and the purr of Baby’s engine filling the empty street, tires screeching as you both drove off.

You and Dean walked up to the scene of the hostage situation, dressed in your party attire like a couple of melons, but you didn’t exactly bring a change of clothes in the Impala.

That’s why the cops looked sceptical until the badges came out from your thigh holster (Dean didn’t miss the way the guy at the caution tape looked at your bare thigh peeking out from the slit as you got your badge) and the inside pocket of Dean’s suit jacket.

“Well, I’ll tell you somethin’, agents, we’d need special forces in there.” Detective Quixley sighed, shaking his head. “Our criminals are in with the hostages. Refuse to come out, wanna keep an eye on ‘em. They threatened to empty their clips if SWAT stormed the building, and they have men on every exit.”

“They’re meticulous. Know what they’re doin’.” Dean sighed, fixing his cuffs. “We just came from an undercover gig. The lady and I can handle it, but we need bulletproof vests, refill clips and guns with attack damage and horsepower.”

“The recoil is gonna be pretty strong on those ones.”

“We don’t give a damn about recoil.” You cut in, strictly business now that you were on the scene. It was remarkable, how quickly you and Dean could switch. “The guns. And the vests. Quick.”

The tone you were using put some R-rated thoughts in his head, but he shook it off and plastered a smile just as Detective Quixley went away to arrange the guns and vests for the both of you.

“So authoritative.” Dean murmured to you in a lilting tone, a crap-eating grin on his face. “If you weren’t FBI, you’d make a good chef. Barking out orders-”

“Shut up or I’ll kick you where the sun don’t shine.”

“See? God, such a tightly-wound coil. You should release some of that tension. I’ve got a Thai place.” He chuckled under his breath, smirking. “Got a hand of glory there.”

“Workplace boundaries.” You groaned, holding a hand up to his face with disgust. “Really, TMI.”

“We broke workplace boundaries five years ago, sweetheart.” He quipped as you two received NYPD vests, strapping them on. “Well, sort of. We didn’t even breach first base.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “My job depended on first base. I’m not throwing that away for your dumb ass.”

“You wound me.”

“Good.”

You and Dean made your way to the bank’s easiest to access exit that wasn’t the front door, the sound of pacing footsteps telling you there was only one guy.

Your guns held ready, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you both made hand gestures to each other that made absolutely no sense.

You had to abandon all sense of hand signatures altogether.

You’d been much more in sync with the older Winchester five years ago. Before both of you had risen up the ranks. Where you were a growing Major Crimes agent and he worked Narcotics, and the two jurisdictions had to cross.

You two had definitely gotten along better then.

With the whiskey, the laughs, bonding over little siblings, the wet dreams, the near-kisses, the hot sexual tension that threatened to burst.

It’s like meeting after those years had cut the first part and left the second. Only the second.

The second part left you at odds, desperately trying to resist each other and overall frustrated from lack of contact. The contact you almost had five years ago.

God, there’s a hostage situation. Keep it together.

After a fairly obvious mouthing of the word ‘GO’ (Dean’s aggressive mouthing made it seem to be in capitals), you rushed in, grabbing the guard from behind with your arm around his neck so Dean could move in to knock him out.

The guard went limp, eyes rolling back and half lidded as you lowered him with a soft huff of breath as to not alert anyone else. Taking his walkie and his gun.

Dean Winchester laying someone out really did look sexy.

You continued on to the next room, this time Dean holding the guy to allow you to give him an early bedtime. Dean squatted, taking the walkie and gun, storing it in a thigh holster he’d procured.

Is it wrong to feel envious of a thigh holster?

Probably. But you couldn’t ignore the way that thing practically hugged the powerful muscle.

Your eyes even landed on the pout of his lips, the undeniably hot glint in his eyes as he looked down on the unconscious gang member.

“You ok?” You asked while Dean regained a steady breathing pattern, recovering from the onslaught of adrenaline while you did the same.

“Yeah. You?” You didn’t get the chance to answer that, feeling a bat-shaped impact on your back shoulder, sending you crashing to the floor. By the sounds of it, the SWAT team had taken advantage of the brief moment of weakness to storm the room containing the hostages and getting them out.

While you held your shoulder with a low groan, then attempting to push yourself back up, you saw a red headed woman swinging said bat for kicks while approaching Dean. Leather jacket, red-painted lips, leather pants and heeled boots.

She either completely disregarded necessary fighting clothes or she didn’t need them to beat your asses.

“Cheap shot.” You murmured, wincing at feeling tender skin under your vest. That would probably bruise bad, cold compress be damned.

Dean went down easily after a few parried shots from the lady, one leg swept from under him so he stumbled to his knees, her smoothing back his hair and grabbing the short strands in her fist, dropping the bat and grabbing his collar with the other. His hand flew to cover hers, a weak attempt to stop her from doing anything more.

“Dean Winchester.” She practically purred, her thumb rubbing circles into her scalp while she grinned, tongue tracing her teeth. “Famed daddy’s boy. Never thought I’d see the day.”

Dean smiled as cocky as he could while being womanhandled, chuckling. “Oh, I’m famous.”

“I had fun messing with John’s head.” She smirked, tilting her head. “He caved. I wonder if you will. It’s so… satisfying… when they do.” She added that in a murmur, trailing a painted finger down his jaw, having released his collar. “Be a good boy and let this one go for me. Or I could grab my knife, carve out a chunk of that pretty neck and see where it gets you.”

Dean’s eyes flickered to you, struggling to get up behind this random chick, wincing at the pain in your shoulder that you had a hand trying to stabilise, and realised he needed to stall. “Are you gonna kill me or are we gonna make out? Cause I’m gettin’ very mixed signals here.”

“Always such a flirt, aren’t you?” Whoever-This-Lady-Is chuckled, then smirked. “Who would I be if I didn’t introduce myself? Abaddon, handsome. The Knights of Hell say hi-” She was whipped around by you, the fist on your injured shoulder’s side connecting with her jaw. Abaddon’s head snapped to the side for a moment, but then you received the same treatment, your hand reaching to gingerly touch the corner of your mouth and wiping blood from the offending area.

Ah, Jesus.

“Really?” She raised an eyebrow, scoffing lightly. “Thought that’d do something?”

“Made you look.” You grinned, and Dean sprang into action, clamping metal handcuffs around her wrists after drawing them together. Abaddon looked up at you in shock and horror, which prompted you to use your good arm to help Dean push her down to the floor and keep her still.

“FBI.” Dean growled lowly, the timbre of voice sending a jolt through you (not the time, get your act together-) as you forced Abaddon to stop struggling and just lay still. “You’re under arrest.”

“I had that under control.”

That was all Dean could say as you held the cold compress to the back of your shoulder, wincing every time it shifted and put more strain on the bruised skin as you sat at the end of an ambulance. It made your blood boil.

“Gee, no problem for saving your ass.” You drawled back, rolling your eyes, which had Dean shifting uncomfortably before scoffing.

“I could take her.”

Your eyebrow raised to your hairline at that. “You mean the woman who- let’s see - had you by your hair and giving you some weirdly sexual innuendos? Yeah, you had it under control. And you can clearly take her one on one.”

Dean couldn’t help but note the sarcasm dripping off your words, and folded his arms with yet another light scoff. He deserved more respect in that regard. He was one of the best of Major Crimes.

He’d cuffed this supposed Knight of Hell.

“Shut up. What are you even doing, huh? First day working this organised crime thing and you’re already busted in the shoulder.”

“I’m doing my job!” You scoffed, holding the compress over your shoulder. It hurt to move it, honestly, but you’d rather take a banged up shoulder rather than Dean Winchester scolding you.

“And I’m not?” He retorted, hands on his hips. “We’re working this case together.”

“The only reason you’re even in Major Crimes is because daddy dearest pulled some strings.” You seethed, which had Dean bristling.

“That’s not how it went.”

“Then how?”

“What happened, princess, is that yes, my dad was your old CO.” Dean folded his arms, bulging biceps straining against the fabric of his suit sleeve as he did. Your eyes flicked to them, that spark of anger quenching for a moment before forcefully reigniting. “But I worked to get to the Major Crimes unit on my own. Just like Sammy did. Believe it or not, I ain’t just a pretty face.”

“And a hot ass.” A female police officer around your age purred in Dean’s ear as she went by, slapping said ‘hot ass’ firmly.

Dean’s eyes followed her own for a moment before he smacked down his tendencies for the sake of winning an argument.

“Emma. Old hookup.” He cleared his throat, then huffed out a breath. “There’s a point to where I’m goin’ with this. For us to work this case, sweetheart?” He gestured between you and him. “We need to sort whatever this is… out.”

“Last time I checked, we didn’t reach that point five years ago. Working this same case.” You deadpanned, your hand tightening on the compress. “I’d argue there’s nothing to sort out.”

“And if I say there is?”

“You know I never answered to you.”

His hands went on his hips. “Yeah, cause you’re Agent Know-It-All.”

“Finally, you’re catching on.” You quipped back, earning an eye roll from his part.

Like you mentioned earlier, the lack of whiskey fuelled bonding and laughing about sibling dynamics really takes a toll on a relationship built solely on how bad you wanna bang each other.

By God, Dean was hot when he was angry.

He was about to retort to your retaliation with equal snark when you heard your name being called from a distance. Your eyes locked on the guy, and a wide grin spread on your face. “Nicky?”

“Querida!” Sergeant Nick Santiago - and your cousin - approached you and gave you a tender hug (he was mindful of the bruise), laughing. “Oh, long time no see. And I love seeing that adorable face.” He pinched your chin affectionately. Nick was five years older than you, hence the smothering affection.

“Shuddup, you’re adorable.” You swatted his shoulder with a snort.

“No, me? I’m… ruggedly handsome.” Then he took your good shoulder. “Hey, I’m gonna need you to check on Aunt Lucy and Uncle Ernie. You know how it is, they’re insane if not handled and I think Aunt Lucy is getting into the tarot cards again.”

You huffed out a disgruntled breath, your nose scrunching up briefly in disgruntlement. Dean noticed, and stopped giving Nick a green-eyed-monster fuelled look to shoot you a genuine smile. “And last time those cards were used, Ernie was suspicious of everything.” You sighed, nodding. “Yeah, I’ll see if I can talk sense into them.”

“They always listen to you. Even if I’m the older one.”

“That’s cause I’m the favourite. But, seriously, I’ll have a look into it.”

Would you go to hell for this? Even worse, get fired?

Yeah, most likely.

Unprofessionalism only could reach an all time high when you found yourself alone in your bedroom, scissoring yourself open, one hand above your head and gripping the headboard, the other very obviously between your legs.

One foot flat on the mattress. The other leg stretched out on the bed, your sweats abandoned somewhere you didn’t bother to note.

Jaw slack, brow furrowed and eyes closed, vivid tapes of Dean’s mouth and fingers working you over playing on your closed eyelids. The tantalising, fabricated images having his name rolling off your tongue.

“I think you’re lookin’ gorgeous, princess.” He murmured, nose nuzzling your cheek as his finger trailed up your neck to gently cup your jaw, your back pressed firmly against his taut chest. Cupping your chin possessively while you didn’t lift your own finger to stop him, instead watched in the mirror while he drew you further into his dizzying arms. Interrupted only by the ring of Dean’s phone.

“Right there, Dean-” You cut yourself off with a moan, hips bucking against nothing, but letting your fingers brush your g-spot as they spread you open, “just like that.” Your hand released the headboard, your back arching and your planted foot allowing you to grind desperately against your own hand, catching your clit on the heel of your palm. While that newly released hand fumbled for your bedside drawer.

Said drawer was clumsily opened, your hand delving in and closing around something that had you screaming ‘bingo’ in your head and pulling your fingers out, leaving you empty and whining for more despite you being in control.

You could practically hear Dean telling you to take those fingers into your mouth and suck ‘em clean, but you decided to wait for that effortlessly sexy moment.

Wait for the real thing.

Dean thought he had you pinned on the mat, your hands trapped above your head in one of his, both your chests heaving after a long sparring session. His eyes flickering down to yours. “How’s that for a newbie, hm, sweetheart?” You smirked, and decided to answer by quickly using your legs to flip the position. You ended up on top, straddling his hips, and his hands held yours with a breathless chuckle and a possessive grip.

You flicked a switch on your vibrating dildo, your thighs twitching at the sound of the humming until you held them apart with your hand that was occupied prior to that moment, starting to push the toy in inch by inch.

“Dean,” You moaned, then cursed some very Jesus-disapproved words as the vibrations straight invaded your every sense, sending you straight to cloud nine.

Unprofessional, sure, but you didn’t regret a damn thing.

Once the dildo was all the way in- damn, you’d never been that full. And you welcomed the familiar buzz that took control of your ever action and had you grinding forward, pushing the toy in and out and meeting the self-orchestrated thrusts, knowing internally Dean would do it ten times better.

If not an FBI agent, he’d be a musician. Because he’d play you like a fine-tuned virtuoso violin.

“We… can’t.” You could feel his breath against yours. Your hand in his hair while the pads of his fingers put pressure on your waist through your blouse. Soft growls at the end of his every retrained pant as he resisted throwing you down onto that table and giving in to his primal urges. Damn, you brought the caveman out in him. One hand reached up to cup your cheek firmly, biting his plump bottom lip that you wanted to bite and suck on until it was swollen. “But… if we take five minutes. Just to take the edge off.”

Your free hand found your clit, rubbing in calculated, well-learned circles, paired with pleas of ‘Dean, right there’ and ‘don’t stop’ leaving your mouth, wishing it was his cock in you and not a piece of silicone.

Even if it did the job for now.

You worked yourself over and over, making yourself come over and over, climax after climax crashing down on your stressed, sexually pent up body until you were lying limp on the mattress, having lost count of how many times you’d said his name.

Dean.

Ah, home sweet home.

“Niñita!” Uncle Ernie cackled in happiness upon seeing you at the door, Dean with you since he had been working the case with you and had agreed to accompany you to see your mom’s Uncle Ernie. He gave a hearty pat on the back, ushering you in. “Adelante, adelante.” His eyes locked on Dean. “Who’s this?”

“Dean Winchester, sir.” Dean introduced with a swallow, which had Ernie’s mouth grimacing slightly.

“You could do better, mi diamante.” He complained in his Spanish accent and gravelly, grating tones.

“¡Ernesto, detente!” Aunt Lucy chastised, sashaying into the hallway with her bright, tortoise coloured shawl over her shoulders. “Es un chico muy guapo. Podría comérmelo.” That last part had your eyebrow raising to your hairline, while Dean got the message from the way Lucy practically purred at him and looked over his physique.

Ernie and Lucy themselves were quite the match.

Lucy, or Lucía in Spain or Spanish/Latino/anything native to the language’s company was tall- not as tall as Dean - with grey hair obviously styled by a hairdryer and rollers. She had blue eyes that matched her peacock personality, flaunting everything and her eyes looking everywhere on the nearest attractive single man’s body. Sometimes she didn’t know if a man was single and didn’t care otherwise. Dean was her unfortunate target today.

Ernie, otherwise called Ernesto, was a short man (Think Danny DeVito short), with thinning white hairs that was more bare skin than white fluff. He had a black, faux-fur robe with hot dogs on and mid-thigh length neon yellow shorts that would probably send a breeze up there if the wind blew around his ankles. Which were bare and clad in flip flops. Under the robe, he wore a ribbed white tank top. A chocolate granola bar stain on his cheek, and a disgruntled grimace stretching his white goatee-surrounded mouth as he looked up at Dean.

You knew they were an odd combination, especially with Ernie’s scepticism with everything they wasn’t his family.

“Ay, dios mío.” You pinched the bridge of your nose, clearing your throat. “Tía abuela-”

“Ay, no, es solo la tía.” Lucía waved you off, then smirked something sultry at Dean. “I’m the ripe old age of fifty, you know.”

You scoffed, hands on your hips. “Tienes setenta y seis años!”

“Arruinas mi diversión. Estuve a punto de pasar una noche en la cama con él.” She gave Dean a very obvious once over. And it put unholy images in your head. God bless innocence.

“Uf, no.” You groaned, trying to rub the images out of your head with two fingers at your temple as you all made your way into the kitchen. “Just… that’s not why I’m here. Las cartas del tarot, tía abuela.”

Lucía bristled, Spanish tones clipped and borderline anything but dulcet. “What about them?”

“You’re going to pull another ‘neighbour will kill me with their lawnmower’.” You huffed, remembering the incident all too well.

Ernie had waddled in at his top speed (which was slower than your normal walking pace) with wide eyes, claiming that the neighbour with murder him with their mower since Lucía ‘predicted’ he’d die by a spinning blade.

“¡Silencio!” She hushed with a flap of her hands, neon-green nails obvious in the lighting of the kitchen. “There is nothing wrong with my readings. They saved Ernesto’s life, no?”

“Eres imposible.” You groaned, rubbing your nose. Dean’s eyes landing on the scar across the bridge of it and swallowing, folding his arms. He’d rather not involve himself in the family drama.

“Lo sé.” She retorted, raising a threaded eyebrow.

Ernie sighed, taking Lucía by the arm with a patronising expression. “Creo que deberíamos dejar en paz a la pobre niña, Lucía. It’s almost time for that face thing you do.”

“It’s a skincare routine, Ernesto.” Still, she allowed herself to be whisked away.

“Yes, yes, that. My point remains, querida.”

Once you and Dean were alone, you cleared your throat. “Sorry about that.” You sighed, running a hand through your hair with a hand on your hip. “Aunt Lucy’s a handful. She gets her hand on anyone she can.”

Dean was part speechless. On one hand, he got flirted with by a seventy-six year old woman (at least, that’s what the body language told him), and on another, he got to hear you speaking Spanish.

He wondered if you could talk dirty to him one day in Spanish. Wishful thinking.

“Nick’s your… cousin, then, right?” He clarified, trying to stop the stirring in his gut. Down, boy.

“Yep.” You nodded, sighing. “He’s my cousin. My mom’s sister, whose real name is Elánora in Spain talk. She just changed it to a more American name and gave me and Cassie the same. Rick - Dad - he’s Ricardo.”

“Rick?” Dean grinned. “I’d have thought his nickname would be Di-”

“You absolute child.” You groaned, walking off.

“What? You gotta admit, it’s not the most unlikely thing in the world.”

You couldn’t help but moan and let your head fall forward, pressing your forehead against the cold desk to counteract the heat building up inside you until it clouded your mind and no desk would help you anymore.

Your hips rolling back desperately, seeking the friction - the feeling - only he could give you.

“So needy.” Dean chuckled from behind you, your skirt hiked up to your waist and his fingers buried to the knuckle in your soaked pussy, scissoring and curling when he felt like it. “Had a stressful day at work, hm?”

“Mmh,” Was all you could hum out at a response, meeting his thrusts and feeling the tension and/or stress in your body release with every brush against your g-spot but the very core of your body like a nuclear reactor, warming up and building up until your eyes were rolling back.

“Yeah.” Yet another low rumble of a laugh, but a kiss against your clothed shoulder, hot breath fanning over your skin. “Let me take care o’ that, baby. Of you. M��gonna make you feel so good you can’t walk straight. Want that, sweetheart?”

You whined out a response, which earned you a hum and the clinking of a belt buckle clinking, which had you bracing yourself on the edge of the desk. Dean’s calloused hands reaching to take a firm hold of your hips, lining the tip of his cock against your soaked entrance-

“Hey. Wake up.” What felt so much like a warm breath on your shoulder turned out to be the concerned hand of Sam Winchester, which had you groaning and reaching to rub your face with your own. Your eyes heavy and clearly riddled from sleep that you sorely needed to catch up on, but looks like it caught up with you. “You ok?”

You tried to snap yourself out of it, inwardly cursing at the fact that it was a damn dream.

What you wouldn’t give to have the stress and the overall lack of satisfaction that your pussy was giving you hell about the much needed relief by Dean goddamn Winchester.

Wishful thinking.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You sighed, then checked the time on your desk clock with weary eyes.

11:38 PM.

“We just finished cracking the tapes in the IT department.” Sam said softly, looking down on you with worry as well as the majestic mane of hair he possessed. Wishful thinking again, wondering if your hair could fall that perfectly into place. “We could have a look at it, but you’re nowhere in the right mind to try and make heads or tails of them. I think you should go home, Special Agent.”

“That’s bullcrap.” You scoffed, but then your eyes dropped again, sleep trying to lure you but failing as you snapped yourself back awake. “Yeah, I could use a bed.”

“I’ll drive you.” Sam took out his keys, helping you out of your chair (paired with some frantic yet muffled conversation), strong arms then moving you out of the building, into the parking lot and into his car.

It even smelled like Dean. Mm, old leather. Cologne, and whiskey. Beer.

A hand buckled you in, a calloused palm smoothing back the strands that dared be unruly and fall in front of your face. You lost track of time, but beefy arms lifted you up and away, into the safety of a familiar-smelling living room and then into an unfamiliar bedroom.

It wasn’t yours, but your tired mind remembered chucking a glass of water at someone in this very house.

The warmth of a blanket cocooned your body, tucked to your chin as your head nestled in some pillows. Succour of sweet sleep calling your name as you caught a ‘Sleep well, sweetheart’ from somewhere that could be the door before all light was shut out entirely.

You woke up in an unfamiliar bed, in unfamiliar sheets that smelled like… old leather. Cologne. Whiskey, both cheap and expensive with notes of beer. On your stomach, one leg bent and you were still in your office attire.

Note that you usually wear trousers and a blazer to the office in DC. Yesterday was one of those days.

“Sammy told me you’d knocked out at the office.” A low chuckle - one that always made your pussy throb and ache - had you more awake than you would openly admit. Dean was leaning on the door, no shirt, just grey sweatpants.

Every contour of his post-workout toned chest showing to you and making your mouth go dry. You wanted to stain that chest with your lipstick.

Maybe you’d wear your most bold red for the occasion.

“Did you kidnap me?” You scoffed, sitting up fully clothed in the bed, the only article of clothing off being your shoes. Touché.

Dean snorted, shaking his head. “‘Course I kidnapped you. I’ve got nothin’ better to do, sweetheart. Nothing other than kidnap my colleague.” He stepped further into the room, his attire reminding you of your almost-kiss five years ago.

His lips inches from yours. Your hand in his hair. His beginning to massage the flesh of your waist. Hot breath fanning over each other’s lips, eyes locked on them too through fluttering eyelashes.

“Just five minutes, sweetheart. To take the edge off.”

You should’ve taken that five before Sam rang his damn phone.

Oh, God, get it goddamn together.

“Ha, ha, very funny.” You rolled your eyes, which had him chuckling and shaking his head. Still shirtless. Which still made him the most irresistible man on the planet. He always was; who were you kidding?

Even through your irritation, you couldn’t help but crack a smile.

“Sammy didn’t think it’d be safe to be home alone, not after Abaddon could have somehow given our IDs to her buddies, the Knights of Hell.” He shrugged. “So I volunteered to bring you back here.”

“Have you slept?”

“A couple hours.”

“And here I am, knocking out until…” You checked the time, “9 the next morning. Ain’t fair, Winchester.”

“I took a knockout nap right after that whole Abaddon fight, hostage situation ordeal.” He laughed, grinning widely. “I’m good on that part. About a ten hour nap; it messed up my sleep schedule. At least, Sammy calls it a sleep schedule.” Then he closed the door and beckoned you over. “Show me your shoulder, c’mon.”

“Is this necessary?” You huffed, but you were unbuttoning your blouse anyway, shrugging off your suit jacket.

Just Dean’s luck that there was only a simple black sports bra there. If it was lace, he’d have you on that bed in milliseconds. “‘Course it is, don’t be a baby.”

“You’re a baby.” You scoffed as you turned around, letting him inspect the blue, part swollen skin. He drew air in his teeth as he looked at it, then hummed.

“I’ll ice that later.” He murmured, trailing his fingers delicately over the skin before pulling his hand back. But instead of letting you put your blouse back on, he stopped you and helped you put it on, but his fingers paused at the buttoning phase, not starting it. His fingers didn’t have it in him. Every brush of his fingers on your heated skin sent jolts through both of you every time he tried to grow a pair and do it for the sake of professionalism.

His lips were right there. You could feel them against yours if you wanted to. Or you could guide them to your neck.

You were pretty sure Dean had that idea when his arm hooked around your waist and tugged your body flush against his, your nose slotting perfectly against his. Your hands instinctively flying to his chest.

Dean’s breath hitched as he felt the contact on his bare skin, licking his lips and biting the bottom as he traced every detail of your face. Your stunning eyes, staring up at him through thick eyelashes, halfway on the journey to closing. The curve of your nose and the scar across the bridge that came with it. The shadow of your cheekbone, line of your jaw and your lips.

God, your lips.

Dean could see every dip and curve of your top and bottom lip from that angle, the slight pout before they parted, showing him a sliver of tongue that made him wish it would lave at his chest. Your lips were a temptation that had his arm wrapping tighter around your waist and his hand resting over your exposed navel.

So close to the waistband of your trousers.

He couldn’t stop focusing on your lips, however boring it may seem to recite it over and over. They were full, but not too plump- in a way that had him wanting to kiss them until they were swollen and his. Wanted them to look pretty and bear his mark. He’d do that to your neck too… if he could. Cover every freckle he could see.

You weren’t faring much better. You could see every freckle lining his face and the pout of his pink lips as he contemplated what to do next. Whether to ravish you - finish what you both started - or to leave you hanging for the sake of professionalism. You saw the sharp contour of his cheekbone and jawline, and the smooth skin of his chest under your hands pressed further into the touch with a barely held sigh, heartbeat pounding against your fingertips.

Fast. Desperate. Wanting.

Your attention diverted from him to glance down at his abs - damn, those abs - and his v-line disappearing into the low-hanging fabric of his grey sweatpants that he wore in this exact same situation five years ago.

You couldn’t think of anything more cliche but there was nothing more hot.

You felt his fingers wrap around and grasp your chin, moving your gaze back up to lock with his and god, were you transfixed. Your breath caught before it left your mouth. Breaking the pattern you’d worked so hard to maintain. It’d break you and then you’d let him lay you down and wreck you.

“Keep those eyes on me, princess.” He murmured, still gently holding your chin and thumbing your bottom lip. Keeping his eyes on you as well. “Don’t take ‘em off.” You wanted to protest. You’d be putting your job in jeopardy if you carried on like this any longer.

But it felt so damn good.

The push, the pull, the heat, the want, wanting what you could so obviously have because he wanted you too. It was all so intoxicating you got lost in it. In him.

Dean Winchester would send you to hell. Even worse, get you fired. But you’d thank him for it.

NEXT UP:

“Being a Knight of Hell makes you bitter.” He swept a thumb over his bottom lip, scoffing and shaking his head slowly. “You do horrible things. To innocent people, too. Most of us enjoyed it. I didn’t. That’s why I ran.”

You rubbed your cheek, sharing a look with Sam, who looked both incredibly concerned and curious. Not only was this syndicate dangerous, they took inspiration off Bible lore, which was how they contracted their code names.

“And your code name was Cain?” You asked, gesturing to him with a raise of your eyebrow. “As in… Cain and Abel? And your real name is William Abernathy?”

“Abel was my brother’s supposed ‘codename’.” William, previously ‘Cain’, deadpanned, sipping some bourbon with a blank expression. “Gave it after his death. Thought it was funny. They thought the same for my beautiful Collette too.”

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[mraprilfools]

Part 1

HELLO AGAIN DEAR SINNERS! IT SEEMS THAT WE HAVE MANY PRETTY LITTLE WALLFLOWERS NESTLING AGAINST THE WALLS FOR MY TRIUMPHANT DEBUT! TRAGIC, BUT I WOULD NEVER FORCE A LADY TO GO PAST HER COMFORT ZONE! REJOICE, FOR I HAVE ROBBED YOU OF COMPLETE FREE WILL! AHAHAHAHA

A POLL HAS NOW BEEN ADDED. BUT THE BRAVE AMONG YOU DO SPEAK, I DO SO LOVE THE BOLD.

@ladyadrasteia666 & @boldlyenchantingfox22 ARE OUR ONLY BRAVE SOULS TODAY AND THUS THEY ARE OUR DIRECTORS FOR TODAYS SHOW! ENJOY

“So many questions!” The radio-laden voice chirped.

All the support that once held you evaporated into a fine mist, forcing you to stumble for your footing. The haunting laughter of your captor echoed around you. He never went far, though his back was to you now facing the singular source of right in this strange place. A large blood-red moon casts a stretching shadow, swallowing your very own.

“Of course, you have a choice to make the only choice you have left!” Alastor proclaimed, finally turning to meet you. The microphone pulled into his chest, hands twisting around the rod as delight stretched that golden crescent. “You asked to be here, but I doubt you remember. Haha! All who enter the show fill a new role and everything they were becomes unnecessary! But it’s nearly time for you to reclaim what you surrendered!”

A mystery wrapped in an enigma, the fuzzy earned denizen typically wouldn’t answer any of your questions with anything but another riddle. And he thrived in it. “And of course, everything happens because it is necessary my dear. You can stay here forever, feeding on the scraps I throw down here. But Hell would be missing its dear leading Lady. How...”

Alastor leaned back, microphone pressed so close to his lips that he could all but taste it. “Tragic! BUT if you want to try and escape on your own I won’t stop you! Why, that sounds ALMOST as entertaining. So how about it my dear, will our dear angel be a Martyr or Leading man?!”

Angry red cracks sundered the concrete between the two of you. The scattered pebbles rumbled and danced as thick wicked magic made the very air buzz and rush up with heat. The frayed ends of the deal maker’s coat fluttered upward in wild patterns, the fierce red eyes fixated on the summoning. The ground beneath swallowed between the etched chalk outlines rising to summon with it an angel wrapped in green glowing chains.

Once those large proud wings would have been pristine, now they were frayed at the edges and ashen dipped in the filth of hell. A man at first glance, but with the mop of golden hair that covered his body and face it was hard to tell. His arms were bound behind him, fingers twisted into a fist. Beneath the curtain of golden matted hair, you could spy a third golden eye to accompany his blue and red.

“An angel guilty of the crime of questioning his superior! Heaven can be even less merciful than I! Even I allow my darling pawns to have the gift of being disobedient. In their heads anyway.” More laughter spilled from Alastor’s shoulder, shaking with mirth. The microphone was cast into the ether as the gentleman spun and took his bow. What happened next, this part of the journey would be taken by you alone.

With a lump in your throat, you stepped forward to meet the bound angel. Fury and hatred burned in each eye, the gag that kept him silent was soaked in saliva and blood. He attempted to throw himself at you, but the harsh green chains had embedded into his flesh, tearing fresh wounds that oozed golden blood. Tears crested in the corners of his eyes, gasp muffled by the saliva-stained cloth.

He was powerless to do anything to you.

Even if he wasn’t bound, you had a sneaking suspicion there would be nothing he could do. The years spent in the show surviving against all the powerful Overlords that been tossed into this purgatory had made you stronger. Even Alastor only held any semblance of control because this was his realm.

You had a choice before you:

You could sunder the chains that bound the angel and search for a way out of the show without Alastor’s help.

You could remove the gag and question the Angel before you make your decision.

Finally, you have come this far! Why hesitate at the last leg of the journey when freedom was right there? Slaughter him without giving him a single word and absorb his power too.

Part 3

[synonymroll648]

WHERES MY BOY DRAWINGS AND BUTLER HEADCANONS *holds you at butler point* /j /not forcing /this this supposed to be silly /im not forcing you /im not an assholeplease

thanks for clarifying the tone on this one, because otherwise i wouldn’t have read this right. took my time cooking these up because i care about The Boy (for those who don’t know: an oc this person made that’s a stray cat fitz adopted). closeups (all right side up) and headcanons under the cut :)

headcanons that are indeed related to the drawings here, and then some! (disclaimer that i’ve never had a service cat before, but i have had a service dog, so there may be some major inaccuracies here, in which case please correct me for future reference)

butler may have been a scrawny stray when fitz first got him, but since he only eats things fitz bakes and fitz bakes all the time from stress, he’s a bit of a Thick Boy. and we love him for that

fitz learned how to bake cat treats through definitely legal searches for cat treat recipes, and help from the gnomes and sophie (she’s the only one that knows which gnomish veggies taste like what meats) substitutes for fish and stuff

they’re human/elvin grade treats ofc

butler is a pretty good name for not only his appearance but also his personality most of the time! butler loves fetching things for people, especially fitz. usually he gives people either things he loves or things he notices them pick up frequently

this includes fitz’s imparter (which now has bite marks around the corners), biana’s hairbrush, alden’s scrolls on occasion (fitz apologized profusely the first time it happened, alden just laughed it off. he now calls butler’s bite marks in his doomed papers “autographs”), and della’s jewelry (there was one time he accidentally got her earrings stuck to the magnets in his service vest - we’ll get back to that later - and kinda just jingled around everglen trying to find her. the gnomes found him first and couldn’t stop laughing. the rest is history)

butler is also known to sleep on any and all clothes fitz leaves folded out, and also try to drag said folded clothes to fitz on school mornings in an attempt to help out. it is not very successful. fitz has three lint rollers in his foxfire satchel, and two in whatever everyday cape he’s wearing. he’s recently started having the gnomes teach him how to mend the accidental tears butler’s attempts to be helpful leave

one time butler almost broke a bottle of raven lovelylocks by trying to jump down from fitz’s bathroom counter with the bottle in his jaws. fitz opened the door to see him about to jump and frantically made his way over to butler so butler wouldn’t grip it tighter and break the glass. first line of action afterward was to hail dex and check if lovelylocks as a brand used chemicals harmful to cats. he now leaves all products in his (closed) bathroom cabinets

the first time butler tried to bring mr. snuggles to fitz, fitz almost had a breakdown, because it looked like his new cat was trying to rip apart his emotional support stuffed animal. in reality our little man only had his claws out because he was trying to pull the covers mr. snuggles was tucked under, and his teeth were at snuggles’ throat because that was the narrowest point of contact butler was could find. in the moment fitz panicked super hard, and didn’t let him anywhere near mr. snuggles for days. he figured out what was really going on when he saw butler drag biana’s stuffed yeti lady sassyfur to the door by the arm later that week and drop it at her feet

now that fitz knows what butler’s deal is, he’s allowed near mr. snuggles, and is often seen curled around the stuffed dragon. especially when fitz isn’t home and butler doesn’t get to go with him

butler is surprisingly trainable! he’s incredibly food motivated, but also can be trained on affection alone. he’s all good as long as he gets to be clingy. fitz pretends to grumble about the constant attention all the time, but not so secretly loves having an excuse to smother someone in physical affection. even if that someone is a cat. butler is refreshingly less complicated than his friends and family

butler knows soooooo many tricks. bro can roll over and sit and lay and fetch and “butler, cmon, drop it” and spin and go for walks and shoulder rides on command. he can stand on his back legs too. he’s not quite athletic enough for backflips, though. fitz is planning on getting him on a training regimen working toward that soon

butler is super duper talkative. will shush on command most of the time, but he has his rebellious moments. mostly when fitz goes in the kitchen or when he’s by the door. will yowl for treats or a walk without hesitation. polite yowls though. meows increasingly loudly when he can’t get into something and wants someone to open it for him. mostly doors. everyone knows to just pick him up and move him somewhere else if he wants help in the kitchen though. no unearned treats for you, sir!

butler has an absurd amount of collars and leashes and toys because fitz is so the kind of guy to get gifts for his cat all the time. all his collars and leashes match - the one he’s wearing in the sketches is his plainest one, and also his first one. his name’s usually engraved on a heart but sometimes a star or paw. butler’s favorite toys are the feathers on strings that you tug around with a stick. he will get that thing if it fucking kills him or someone else. it’s fetch for diehards and goddamnit he will win (he’s just like fitz fr fr)

butler loves walks but doesn’t know his limits. one second he’ll be prancing along and the next he’s flopped out in the grass somewhere on everglen’s property giving a very sad, tired meow. that is when fitz picks him up, puts him over his shoulder, and goes back inside

butler gets on fitz’s shoulders at nearly every opportunity. this unfortunately has ruined a decent amount of capes, and left a lot of scratch marks along fitz’s back and right leg (there was one time butler used fitz’s bad leg and fitz nearly collapsed, and butler has since been trained to not touch fitz’s left knee). fitz loves the feeling of having a purring scarf that gives his cheek kisses too much to mind

speaking of purring! bro purrs so loud you can hear him across the room. that shit rumbles through your whole body. his favorite spot is fitz’s chest. sometimes he’ll need fitz’s chest before settling down, to which fitz calls him his little baker butler baking biscuits. most commonly occurs when fitz is stress-baking in the middle of the night, though that happens less with butler around

during a check-in with elwin, elwin noticed that fitz’s echoes (especially in his chest) seemed to be doing a lot better since he and butler had gotten into their little rhythm of things. he decided to have a check in at everglen next time so he could look at how fitz’s body reacted to butler purring on his chest and such in the face of his echoes acting up slightly, and found that his echoes’ effects were tamped down compared to usual

elwin was immediately like hey dude considering how easy this cat is to train, and how it’s helping you with your disabilities that you are not ready to call disabilities echoes, you should put him through service cat training. i know a guy. and so they did that

butler is quite serious when he’s got his vest on. goes from wandering goofy goober to steadfastly walking next to fitz, or politely meowing to get on fitz’s shoulders when it’s crowded or to get fitz’s attention when fitz is stressed out. he has a different number of polite meows for different requests. the last request is less of a request and more of a demand, though, since his job is to get fitz to relax. doesn’t meow otherwise

the moment the vest’s off he’s back to being super silly though. all the urges he was holding back to fetch things or beg for treats are let loose. behold, cat zoomie hell. unless fitz is just taking his vest off so butler is comfy falling asleep for the night, in which case butler is a nice quiet cuddle buddy

everyone loves butler but man does sophie love him possibly as much as fitz. part of it’s her being someone with major echoes, part of it’s her being his cognate, but the biggest part of it is that she misses marty ._.

oh yeah the magnets i mentioned earlier in his vest! that’s because i was too lazy to draw buckles i thought it’d be interesting for elvin service animal vests to use small magnets instead of buckles, considering how elves like to use magnets when it’s more convenient. specifically referring to the deleted scene where fitz explained how elvin rings are magnetic and no one gets piercings

[hannibalzero]

blast from the past

Charthur dabble!

🦌🦬🦌🦬

Heading into the general store, Mary Linton…or was it Gills again?

Windowing was such a hard time.

Mary gave a nod to the man that held the door open for her. She had come to Valentine to get her brother Jamie to come back home.

Daddy and Jamie had a fight.

…again.

Just wanting sometime to do, going to the general for a sewing book. Mary spotted a familiar black hat with a fired rope but now had beads on it. That handsome back, strong and broad. Worn blue jeans that showed off the cowboys-

Mary hand to stop herself for a moment.

She was a church going women after all.

But it couldn’t be.

Arthur Morgan, all grown up.

Not the boy she almost ran away with.

Almost married too.

But he was standing next to the sewing books, looking down at a set of paper dolls. One in each hand. Brow furrowed as he chewed on a tooth pick, trying to make a decision on something he had no understand off.

Mary wished she had pulled her corset a bit tighter now, taking out her compact she tuck a bit of hair behind her ears and checked her powers. She looked fine, not great but acceptable.

Finding her voice, Mary made her move.

“Hello Arthur.” She said,

Those same blue eyes of the boy that loved her so, looked to her as a grown man. Time had been kind to Arthur, age had made him handsome. Strong and well a man of the west.

Surprise lit up Arthur’s face. “Mary Linton, it’s been’a long time.” Arthur greeted shuffling the books of paper dolls to his chest as he tipped his hat, a ring caught Mary’s eye. She had no clue what material it was but turquoise was imbedded in it. “You look well.”

“It’s…Gill’s again…” Mary shuffled

“Sorry to hear that.” Arthur gave a nod of his head. “What brings you, here?”

“Oh um, Jamie. He’s bound and determined to set up an apple orchard. Dropped out of school, daddy if awfully upset.”

Arthur nodded and looked back to the paper dolls at hand.

“Do you? Live here?” Mary asked

“Naw, passin’ through.” He looked to Mary now. “Can I ask ya somethin? Need a women’s opinion.” Arthur asked surprising Mary, maybe Arthur has changed? He used to jump at the idea of helping her.

Mary blinked “I suppose.”

“My littlest is about ta be four, been wantin’ paper dolls like her big sister. But there are so many? Ladies and pets…cuse she loves critters. Or maybe the babydoll one? She’s fascinated because we have a new baby comin’. Should I just buy paper and make her some?” He showed the two boxes to Mary.

Mary was very surprised now. Arthur had married? He has children? She cleared her throat.

“If memory serves you are a wonderful artist. I would suggest making the dolls. She would probably like the ‘critters’ you’ve drawn better than the pets. She is a Morgan.” Mary was baiting the man to see if he was married. “How many children do you have?” She asked

Taking the advice Arthur nodded and set the packages down before picking up the cardstock and colored pencils along with wax paper. “Thank ya, I have two. Oldest is almost seven she’s a handful my Dyani, then I have my little girl Awinita. She wants to be like’er sister so badly.”

“You married an in-“

“Mary Gills, don’t you start.” Arthur warned “you married someone too.” He pointed out. Taking out his pocket watch and checked the time. Taking a breath Arthur forced himself to relax.

“Good seein’ ya, wish ya all the best. I gotta get going.” Arthur went to pay, this also surprised Mary. She couldn’t help herself grabbing Arthur’s arm.

“Arthur, I still think of you fondly.” She had no idea why she blurted this out. “Would you..ever consider…”

Arthur pressed a finger to her lips. “Now Mary, we had our time. Did I love ya with everything I had? Yes. But..I got me someone who loves me…even when I was beaten and broken. I love’em too, makes me a better man. I got my girls, gotta baby comin’ and a life. A honest one too.” He moved his hand away now.

“Ya understand?”

Mary looked down unable to meet the man’s eyes. “Forgive me, I…suppose I just needed to…truly see if things were over.” She blinked as a thought hit her.

“Man?” She mumbled to herself as Arthur paid and practically ran out the door. A hand on his lower belly.

“Arthur Smith! ya damn fool. Got to think about Charles again and ran ya mouth.” Arthur grumbled to himself heading to the horse stables where his family was.

[goldenblu]

hold your fire (by the throat) - chapter 3

One Piece | Zosan | Post-Wano AU where Sanji slowly loses his emotions

Chapter 3: the currents of your laughter

The cook’s voice stops him in his tracks. “Where the hell do you think you’re going, mosshead?”

Preview:

When Zoro next opens his eye, they’ve docked already. He stands, stretches, walks over to where most of the crew are standing by the gangplank. Does a mental count. “Where’s Luffy?”

“Went on ahead, as usual,” Nami says, sounding annoyed. “I sent Chopper and Brook after him. Hopefully they can keep him out of trouble. Sanji, do you still need an allowance for your groceries?”

Sanji looks up from where he’s piling equipment into a small rowboat, and Zoro spares a moment in an attempt to figure out what he’s doing. Probably more stupid love-cook things. “Not at the moment, Nami-san. This bay looks like it’s full of shellfish, so I’ll go diving for food before doing any shopping. It’ll save us some berry.”

Quickly losing interest, Zoro tunes out whatever Nami says in reply and starts heading down the gangplank. Maybe he can buy some more booze in town. The cook’s been getting better and better at hiding his alcohol supply; it’d be impressive if it wasn’t so exceedingly infuriating.

Said cook’s voice stops him in his tracks. “Where the hell do you think you’re going, mosshead?” 

Zoro jerks his thumb at the shoreline. “What does it fucking look like? I’m getting off the ship.”

“Not by yourself you’re not, you directionless idiot. Go with the beautiful ladies and Usopp. I’m not in the mood to have to track your sorry ass down later.” 

As if he would ever need the cook to track him down. What’s he gonna do, get lost? “I’m not a fucking child, shitty dartbrow!” 

At the same time, Robin, Usopp, and Nami all exchange glances. Then Robin says, “Ah, we were thinking of finding a bookstore in town. I don’t think that’s really your style, Zoro.”

Sanji shrugs. “Guess you’re on ship duty, then.”

“Nah, Jinbe and I have got the ship handled.” Franky waves him off. “Go and look around if you want.”

“Why don’t you take him with you, Sanji?” Usopp suggests innocently. 

Zoro squints suspiciously at him, and then Robin. They’re acting weirder than normal. The fuck is up with them?

“Fuck no, I’m not his damn babysitter,” Sanji scoffs.

The goddamn nerve. Zoro scowls. “I don’t need a babysitter, I can go on my own.” 

He starts making his way off the ship, only to be pulled back sharply by the collar of his shirt. “What the fuck? Let me go!”

The cook shoves him in the direction of the rowboat with a resigned sigh. “You’re not giving me a choice, huh?”

“Hah? I should be saying that to you!” Zoro shouts, shoving him right back. He’s not getting on a tiny fucking boat with the cook. He’s not.

“Stop acting so grumpy about it when you’re the one inconveniencing me. Just get on the shitty boat.”

Zoro’s scathing response is interrupted when Nami calls out, “Have fun, boys!” 

“Enjoy your day, Nami-swan, Robin-chwan! I’ll have dinner ready for you lovely angels by the time you get ba—Ow, shitty mosshead, stop that!”

After much struggle, Sanji finally succeeds in forcing Zoro into the boat, much to his chagrin. Although if he maybe wasn’t fighting back as hard as he could have, no one needs to know.  “We’ll be back in an hour or two,” Sanji says to Franky, picking up two paddles and holding one out to Zoro. 

“This was your idea, you do the rowing.” Zoro crosses his arms and is promptly smacked upside the head with the paddle.

“What good are those stupid muscles of yours if you don’t use them?” 

“At least I have muscle, shit cook,” Zoro retorts, though he does take the paddle.

On the Sunny, Jinbe listens bemusedly to the sound of their bickering fading out as the boat slowly moves away. “Those two are certainly something else, aren’t they. I can’t say I quite understand their relationship.”

“It’s best not to get between them.” Franky pats him on the shoulder sympathetically. “Believe me, you don’t want to know.”

(continue on AO3)

[paintedscales]

WoLstinien Week 2024 :: Day 1 :: Holiday

Having made their way into Ul'dah during their venture around Eorzea, Nomin and Estinien have arrived during the Little Ladies' Day festivities. After hearing Nomin inquire about the festivities and knowing that she had never experienced them before, Estinien offers to be her seneschal for a day while doing his best to hide the embarrassment even entertaining the idea gives him.

Word Count: 1,334

Ul’dah was ever the sultry location with the sun beating down and the heat being soaked up by the stone that paved the walkways and made up the buildings. Sapphire Avenue was particularly bad, especially with the influx of people that were there, browsing the markets and shopping. Nomin had noticed the banners and the floral decorations that adorned the streets of Ul’dah -- she had seen them at least once before, though never had the time to really stick around to find out what was going on.

“... Estinien…” Nomin started, pausing by a market stall that held wooden carvings of different kinds on display.

Estinien paused, looking back toward Nomin as she gazed about the stall and its wares.

“Clutter’s not very like you, but it seems like something’s caught your eye?” Estinien said, his statement ending in a question as he brought himself to Nomin’s side. He then looked down at the different wood carvings himself. He never had a proper eye for the arts, though this trip at Nomin’s side did force him to slow down and take in the different sights of the places they were visiting. Especially when Nomin stopped to paint.

These moments were a far cry from glancing over his surroundings in order to see something out of the ordinary -- like a threat or something that would constitute being turned into a meal at camp.

“No, not really…” Nomin replied, picking up a chronometer that had been made from the slice of a tree trunk. “I was actually going to ask, since you’re a native to Eorzea, what the decorations of Ul’dah were about.”

Estinien’s brow rose before he looked up and around. He then saw the banners that reminded him of the Valentione decorations that sometimes adorned the streets of Ishgard when he served as a Knight Dragoon or even a Temple Knight. Folding his arms over his chest, he frowned.

“I’ve not the faintest. These decorations are beyond my knowledge. ‘Twas not something I saw when in Ishgard…” Estinien admitted.

A chuckle was then heard behind the stall as the owner expressed their amusement. Both Nomin and Estinien looked over at the Highlander woman who must have owned the stall.

“Forgive me,” the stall owner said, her smile remaining upon her lips. “I wasn’t aware that this fine elezen wasn’t your seneschal for the day. I thought perhaps you might have been here because of the festivities -- an assumption on my part. Today is Little Ladies’ Day.”

“... ‘Seneschal for the day’?” Estinien repeated, quirking a brow. “... There are those that swear servitude for a day to those in their lives for this holiday?”

“Just to the ‘little ladies’ in their lives,” the Highlander corrected, nodding in Nomin’s direction. She then cleared her throat, continuing soon after; “though I don’t mean to make any more assumptions beyond the initial one I made.”

“It’s quite alright…” Nomin replied, a sheepish expression on her face. “It’s not often I make my way to Ul’dah. Our trip together has been a nice experience in being able to actually familiarize ourselves with the cities and the lands a bit more. Or at least get the chance to experience things we can.”

The Highlander chuckled again before looking between the two of them once more. Her gaze became more scrutinizing the more she looked at and observed Nomin.

“Say…you look a mite familiar…” the Highlander woman said, rubbing her chin. “Or at least, you fit a description I’ve heard. Black-scaled auri woman with blue markings… That’s the description they use for the Warrior of Light, isn’t it?”

The Highlander then looked Estinien up and down. Of course, the scrutiny caused him to ready his walls, his brow knitting together. However, the Highlander shrugged and she turned her attention back to Nomin. With a smile, she then motioned toward the rest of her wares. “I’d say the Warrior of Light herself shouldn’t be bereft of a seneschal for the day -- in fact, I’d say she might deserve it the most!”

Nomin’s tail flicked with some level of curiosity and some level of embarrassment at the idea. On one hand, it was endearing to think of Estinien offering for the holiday. On the other, there was a part of her who knew Estinien would have perhaps rather found the nearest window to defenestrate himself with.

“I, er…” Nomin started in response, glancing momentarily at Estinien. “There’s certainly no pressing need to have my own seneschal…”

A barely audible ‘hmph’ was heard coming from Estinien, and Nomin elected to ignore it. Instead, Nomin kept her attention on the shopkeeper before glancing down and noting more of the woodcraft wares that were on display. She peeked under one of the cloths that covered an open box before moving on and selecting a small collection of wooden eating utensils. Digging out her gil pouch, Nomin paid for it before bidding the shopkeeper well and leaving with Estinien at her side.

Once Estinien felt they were well enough out of earshot, he looked down at Nomin. “Surely you didn’t need to make a purchase. We have a number of places we’re set to visit. ‘Tis not wise to burden ourselves with extra things.”

“You never know! We’ve been lucky so far, but I think they’d be nice to have just in case. Even if we don’t use them, they’d be nice to have back on the island,” Nomin replied, smiling up at Estinien as her tail swished from side to side momentarily.

While walking, Nomin swung her knapsack around, opening it to tuck the newly bought utensils within. They continued on till they were on their way to the Gold Court a ways past Pearl Lane. Once it seemed the stream of people had ended, Estinien paused, folding his arms over his chest. Nomin also paused in her step, turning her attention toward her husband. Her tail flicked inquisitively.

“... You don’t like them, do you?” Nomin asked, her Echo picking up on some level of discontent in Estinien.

“‘Tis not that…” Estinien kept his attention pointed away from Nomin for a long moment before he finally turned toward her. He then approached her, hesitation in his movements. All-in-all, seeing Estinien beating around the bush and taking his time was not like him, and it concerned Nomin. Surely there was nothing that actually had him embarrassed or flustered?

Nomin’s tail flicked again.

“Should it…please you…” Estinien began, looking down at Nomin. “I would pledge myself as your seneschal for the day… If you wish to partake in the festivities…”

Flick.

Nomin stared back up at Estinien, her brow rising into her bangs in surprise.

“Granted, I know not what exactly it all entails…but since you’ve not celebrated these festivities as is evident by your questions regarding it, I would entertain the notion of acting as your…seneschal…” Estinien finished.

A giggle finally bubbled forth. Nomin had been correct before. Having Estinien actually offering to be her seneschal for the day was certainly endearing. Though her giggling elicited a somewhat annoyed response, Nomin only smiled warmly up at Estinien before adjusting her bag and then reaching out to take his hands into hers. Her tail curled affectionately as she ran her thumbs over the back of his knuckles.

“... I appreciate your willingness, Estinien. Thank you,” Nomin said, her tone gentle. “Admittedly, though it would be nice to experience the festivities, I’m fine with us the way we’ve been. Our venture thus far is about us, not just me or you. Even with some holiday that we happen to be passing by.”

As Nomin spoke, Estinien’s look of mild annoyance subsided into something more content. He then held Nomin’s hands in turn.

“Hmph…” Estinien gave an amused huff. “‘Tis relieving to hear you say as such. I share the same sentiment. And I’m glad I don’t have to commit to the role, besides.”

“You’d most likely make a shite seneschal,” Nomin replied, shooting Estinien a sly look.

“Aye, that I would.”

[egipci]

Here's Another One For You

This was a couple of hours in. We had about three hundred miles to go. My eyes were closed and I was resting my head back when he just reached over and put his hand on my shoulder, thumb tucked right under my collarbone and said how you doing buddy? I rolled my head to the left and forced my eyes open and I found him driving with his left knee against the door and his wrist hooked through the wheel. He was looking at the road with his eyes squinted against the sun and when I said nothing he turned to look at me straight on, frowning with his dark eyebrows, so serious-looking, and for a second it looked like he was figuring me out, figuring out some cruel thing to say, but then he grinned just to see me. I swallowed and closed my eyes and turned away. We passed a couple of paleta stands. I saw an insane guy with a stick speed walking along the desert road, his elbows stabbing through the air behind him.

We’d been up in Columbus. Not even Ohio. The shittier one in Nebraska. And we were heading all the way down to Amarillo. I don’t remember why. It was a rugaru or something. I don’t remember what it was or why it had to be us. I don’t know how he even heard about it. He just said he was leaving and asked if I wanted to come and I said yes. Ten hours away but he was going to make it in half. As if they had no hunters down there. Even then I thought what he liked more than anything was that he was the best.

Anyway. It was almost sundown but it was one of those days you know the night is going to be even hotter. The sun really baked into the earth. Just miles of open road ahead of us blurring in that desert way. My shirt was soaked through with sweat and he was still holding on to my shoulder but then he let go and put his hand around my jaw and turned my head to look at him. I told him I’m sweating my balls off. My throat was all scratchy. It sounded like my voice was traveling through water or oil or something. It made him laugh. It was like a hundred degrees outside but he laughed and it flared hot all through my chest. He scratched his fingers through my hair, behind my ear. He said look alive, kiddo. He touched my temple, under my jaw, my side, just messing with me, and when I squirmed away he pulled me closer with my t-shirt clenched in his fist. I wanted to mess with him too, so when he touched my chin I grabbed his skinny wrist and I took two of his fingers into my mouth. Skin and sweat and dirt. Calloused at the tips. He made a soft humming sound and pressed down on my tongue, felt the roof of my mouth, the ridges of my teeth, the place where they sprout out of the gum. His thumb was at the corner of my mouth and he gave me this look that could singe your ears. 

We had another hundred miles in the tank but he pulled up at a Chevron. We got out and stretched and untied and retied our shoes. We got inside to put a five on the meter. We bought water and Gatorade. I checked out the nudies by the door and he snorted and squeezed the back of my neck. I told him I’m going to the restroom and I pissed and washed my hands and I waited. When I got out he was already back behind the wheel. The sky was a dark purple color. I got in the car and he said come here, pulling me closer by the collar. I put my hand on his knee and then up the inseam of his jeans, sick overeager feeling, but again he just laughed at me. He told me to go to sleep. I laid my head on his thigh, my knees bent up and leaning against the backrest. He put his hand over my throat and I closed my eyes and the next time I opened them it was because he’d stopped at a drive-thru for coffee. Now it was night and he was talking to the lady on the other side like normal, like nothing at all to see here. He asked her for a tray. I guess he put it on top of the dashboard. He drove all careful and pulled up into the parking lot and sat there sipping his coffee slow.

I could have sat up and stretched out my arms and offered to drive but I didn’t. I closed my eyes and kept them closed. He’d kept a hand on me the whole time. At some point it had slipped under my shirt. It was right at the center of my chest. Without even thinking about blowing my cover I put my hand over his, just the t-shirt between us. He said, We’re almost there, his voice low, his thumb moving over my skin. I didn’t know what that meant, and I didn’t ask. He was always almost somewhere. I nodded and turned to my side and his denim scratched my cheek, and I curled my shoulder so I was hugging his arm to my chest. I guess I was really tired or maybe it was because it was dark. Maybe it was just the heat but already my mind was slipping again, half-thinking about how when we get wherever we’re going I’m going to take a cold shower and I’m going to turn on the A.C. that smells like shit and I’m going to spread out on the cool bedsheet and wait until he comes to me. How he’ll have me sweating through the sheets. And just that thought made me hard, so then I was thinking if I pulled my dick out right there he’d let me. If I kissed inside his elbow he’d let me. If I pressed my face to his stomach. He’d let me change the music if I wanted. He said, Check out this motherfucker in the Ford, then one-handed he honked loud and angry and overtook him, his other hand holding me down. He told the dude to go fuck himself and then floored it and the tires screeched and we were flying, and I thought if anything happened to us out there in the dark, like if we crashed and the car flipped over a couple of times and we died instantly it would be because of me. I must’ve been eighteen. Maybe nineteen. He had me thinking the craziest things back then. I don’t know what it was.

[celestiall0tus]

Into the Fire - Chapter 4 - Reunion

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            Cicada watched the last of the fireworks explode. She took a deep breath as she flew down to the ground. She summoned her baton and held it at the ready. She scanned the area as she watched for any movement. A chill ran up her body as she heard footsteps behind her. She leapt forward as a slender girl in a torn purple tiger outfit and a boy with a punk snake outfit struck. They attacked her in tandem until she flew up. They jumped up to try and ground her, but she smacked them back to the ground. Her eyes darted between the snake boy swiped up on his charm.

            Cicada gasped. Pain tore through her body and her world warped and distorted. She fought to focus as another spasm hit her. She heard her opponents yell, but their words fell on deaf ears. More pain tore her body asunder. She screamed and thrashed when she felt herself plummet. Her eyes widened as she saw a white light blob suspended in the air while she fell. She braced herself for impact when she was caught. She stiffened when she saw the snake had her in his arms.

            “Marinette? Marinette, is that really you?”

            “What? No! I’m not Marinette. I’m just… I’m not Marinette!”

            The boy smiled and crushed Marinette in a hug. “It is you! I’d recognize your beautiful, melodic voice anywhere!”

            “Melodic? Are you-?”

            “Fang!” the girl howled.

            The tiger girl tore Marinette from Fang’s embrace and threw her onto the ground. She pinned Marinette down by the throat.

            “Claw, wait! Please!”

            “No! This loser dumped you for that stupid model boy. There’s only one thing to do with trash like her.”

            “I’m not Marinette!”

            “Shut up! You think we wouldn’t recognize those stupid little pigtails, your annoying voice, and, well, the clothes are new, but still just as awful,” Claw hissed.

            “Yeah? Then explain that!” Marinette yelled as she pointed to the mess Gimmi was.

            Claw hesitated. “I… can’t, but that doesn’t change that you are Moronette.”

            Marinette deadpanned. “Fine, whatever. I am Marinette, but I’m not your Marinette.”

            “That much is obvious,” a new voice hissed.

            Marinette looked up and saw a pair of girls. Both were dressed in fancy spandex suits with the taller girl dressed in a bee-themed one and the shorter one in a horse-themed one.

            “Back off, Sting! Crush! This is our mark,” Claw hissed.

            “Yeah! We’re going to hand her over to the Supreme and everything will be set right again. She’ll be mine,” Fang added.

            Marinette winced. She saw a lot of herself in Fang when it came to Adrien. It made her uncomfortable, but it gave her an idea. She watched Claw and Fang bicker with Sting and Crush before she looked around. She desperately hoped for one of her comrades or the rebel heroes. She eyed the rebels on a nearby rooftop fighting with a dragon and dog villain. She sighed and looked around again when she saw the red lights of Senketsu’s suit. She took a breath and steeled herself.

            “Ladies, please. Stop fighting over me. I know I’m irresistible, but if I had to choose who turns me in, I’d rather it be Fang,” Marinette remarked.

            Sting, Crush, and Claw all curled their lips while Fang’s eyes widened. He grabbed Claw and threw her off Marinette, then scooped her up.

            “Really? And would you come back to me? Will you leave that stupid model? Will you admit you were wrong to leave me?”

            Marinette forced herself to smile. She ran her hands down from his shoulders to his wrists. “I hope you can forgive me. That awful, evil model warped my mind with his silver tongue. He clouded my judgement and stole me away from you.”

            “Oh, barf! Can you two not?” Crush gagged.

            “Can you-?” Fang started.

            Marinette tore off snake bracelet and flung it towards where she saw Senketsu. She watched Senketsu, Viperion, and Tigre Rose lunge from the shadows and grabbed the bracelet. Relief flooded her seeing Viperion grab the other snake bracelet. They locked eyes for a moment before she was grabbed by the neck and thrown onto the ground. She winced as she looked up and saw this universe’s version of Luka. She shuddered seeing the rage that clouded his eyes.

            “You ungrateful whore! I was willing to let you back in. I was willing to forgive you for everything you did to me. But I’m not enough, am I? You’d much rather run back to that little poser, wouldn’t you? You’d much rather your fake little bitch than someone like me, don’t you?”

            Marinette snorted and laughed. “I see why your Marinette left you. I wouldn’t have stayed with you either. Not when I have my own Luka.”

            “You own Luka?” Viperion and Tigre Rose echoed.

            Marinette stiffened. She turned to see Viperion and Tigre Rose close to her. She glanced past them to see Senketsu fighting Sting and Crush with Louve Grise and Faerie. She looked back at them with an awkward smile. Her heart leapt and sunk seeing the hope and love in Viperion’s eyes but plummeted seeing the anger and contempt in Tigre Rose’s face and entire body.

            “Uh, is that what I said? I mean… what I meant was, uh, well, I didn’t know you were listening?”

            Viperion smiled softly and offered Marinette a hand. She reached for it as Tigre Rose roared, activated Clout, and punched Viperion. She screamed out as Viperion flew and crashed through the Eiffel Tower. Tigre Rose lunged and attacked Viperion.

            “No! Please, stop them!” Marinette begged.

            “We have bigger problems other than your jealous ex and your rebound!” Senketsu yelled.

            Marinette’s jaw dropped as anger flared. “Hey! He’s not a rebound!”

            “Yeah! That’s right!” Bunella added.

            Marinette squeaked seeing Bunella standing beside her.

            “Bunella? What are you doing? Where is-?” Marinette started.

            “I heard everything Marinette. Oh! I knew you were falling for Luka again. You know, he never stopped loving you. Even though we did try to help him move on, he just couldn’t fully let go. A little crazy, but I totally get it. I know if Juleka and I broke up, woof. I would be devastated. I likely wouldn’t recover for over a year, and it’s only been what? Six-ish months since you and Luka broke up? And, what? Three since Adrien?”

            Marinette’s face twisted in confusion. “Bunella! We don’t have time for this! Where is-?”

            “Hey!” Claw yelled.

            Marinette turned as Claw lost her miraculous to an invisible force and reverted to this universe’s version of Juleka. “Oh. Well, whatever. We need to stop-!”

            A white portal opened as this universe’s Alix was thrown out and Bunnix stepped out.

            Marinette’s jaw dropped. She snapped it shut when she heard a shrill scream. She looked over to see Sting lose her miraculous and revert to this universe’s Chloe. Crush grabbed Chloe, opened a portal, and stepped through it.

            “Great! Thanks for all that help there!” the other Juleka yelled.

            Marinette grimaced but ignored that Juleka. Marinette watched as Faerie darted forward and tore Tigre Rose from the fight, restraining him. White Mouse revealed herself and ran up to Viperion, checking on him. Marinette sighed and looked at the rebel heroes. Their villains had vanished and they stood with Senketsu and Drakon. Marinette stood to join them when she heard bells toll. Marinette turned as Gimmi stabilized in her human form and fell to the ground.

            “Gimmi!”

            Marinette ran and helped Gimmi up.

            “What happened? Are you ok?” Marinette asked.

            “I am very annoyed. Do we have everyone?” Gimmi demanded.

            Marinette looked around. She saw Faerie with Tigre Rose under her arm talking with Betterfly. Bunella, White Mouse, and Viperion huddled together away from Tigre Rose. Louve Grise and Senketsu spoke with Ladybug and Claw Noir. Chevalier and Drakon stood off to the side in their own huddle.

            “We don’t have Hera.”

            Gimmi sighed. “That’s not good. She should have come, if she were here.”

            Marinette’s breath caught. “You don’t think Hera is with the Supreme, do you?”

            “I would assume so. Where else would she have gone?”

            “I don’t know, anywhere?”

            “Maybe, but I’d rather assume she ended up with the Supreme.”

            “Then we really, really have no choice now. If we are to save Hera, we need to find them.”

            Marinette helped Gimmi up and joined Betterfly.

            “Cicada, are you ok?” Betterfly asked.

            “We’ll be fine, but we need to rest. After that, we need to find the Supreme to find Hera.”

            “Hera? Is she your peacock holder?” Betterfly asked.

            “Yes. And she’s not here, clearly. If she isn’t here, she has to be with the Supreme. However, we need to all rest and plan our next steps.”

            “And to have a sit down about someone’s behavior,” Faerie said to Tigre Rose.

            “But-!” Tigre Rose started.

            Faerie shot Tigre Rose a look that silenced him.

            “What did I miss?” Gimmi asked.

            “Uh, later. Anyway, do you have a hideout or something, Betterfly?” Marinette asked.

            “I do. We can-.”

            “Oh, before I forget, Mullo has an idea,” White Mouse interrupted.

            “Oh? Well, no time like the present. Lead the way, Betterfly.”

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[sea-owl]

Wait, I wanna write more on the hero au for Gregory x Lucy x Felicity but we gonna go a little bit into the Featherington side too cause ya'll know I'm a hoe for the Featheringtons.

Original post found here.

As said in the last post the Featheringtons are a family of mind witches. They really don't have any alliances, their powers are used for self serving reasons. Portia can go either way of good and bad depending on what gets her to her end goal. Prudence and Philippa really didn't have a goal besides just making every day life easier. Penelope let herself be persuaded by Eloise into the hero life until the incident that led to everyone thinking she's dead. After that she took a page out of her mother's book where she now spies on everyone and sells the information off to the highest bidder as Lady Whistledown. Very few people know she's alive, and there's three secrets she does not sell off.

One of those that knows she is alive is Felicity. When Penelope recovered enough she immediately set to training Felicity. While Penelope does not blame Gregory or Hyacinth for what happened to her, that blame is for a different set of Bridgertons, she still believes something similar is going to happen to Felicity. Better to be prepared, and her training is what ultimately saved Felicity that night.

The first time Felicity ran into Gregory again it was about a year after her fall. He was on a mission with his older brother Colin. Felicity was there with Penelope about to sell off some information.

The two were about to enter the building when Lady Whistledown stopped her sister.

"Wait," Lady Whistledown commanded.

Black Cat raised an eyebrow at her sister.

"Feel the different minds around you," Lady Whistledown instructed.

Doing as her sister said Black Cat lightly touched the minds around her. She felt the buyer, his guards, the driver, and -

Black Cat snapped her eyes open. "Oh hell no."

Lady Whistledow agreed. "Best in our interest to leave."

Just as the girls were turning around a flash of movement cut them off.

"Sorry ladies but can't let you go anywhere," Gregory said as he stopped in front of them. "Wait . . . why is there two of you?"

Without hesitation Black Cat rushed forward her clawed gloved hand wrapping around his throat. "Hello darling, I'm Black Cat."

Gregory forced himself out of her grip, her claws had ripped his costume and left scratch marks. "You work for Lady Whistledown?"

Black Cat shrugged. "Why not? We have a bit in common."

Black Cat could hear the fight behind her, apparently the other Bridgerton had caught up and was now fighting with her sister. Well this deal was blown to hell as her mother would say. Time for the sisters to find a new one.

Black Cat rushed forward again to push Gregory back. She used her magic to slow him down by creating physical shields around her. If some of those shields sent a shock to him that was fine by her. She wanted him to hurt, just as he hurt her.

"Is being fast all you really are darling?" Black Cat taunted, she was in his personal space again. "I feel sorry for your girlfriend."

"Black Cat let's go," Lady Whistledown ordered. "There's nothing here for us."

"Bye bye darling," Black Cat whispered in his ear before making her escape.

When Felicity met with Lucy again it was complete accident. Felicity just happened to be meditating on the roof of Lucy's apartment complex learning her new target's mind. Lucy just so happened to walk up to the roof.

"Oh hello."

Felicity froze. She was in civilian clothes, but thankfully she remembered the white wig.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know there was anyone else up here."

Black Cat turned to face Lucy.

"Of course not darling, it's not as if you could see through the door, and I don't exactly live here."

Black Cat knew she had to get out fast. It was one thing when she had her mask, but now she runs the risk of being recognized.

"Wait, you don't live here?" Lucy asked. "Then how did you-"

Black Cat cut her off by invading her personal space. In Lucy's ear she whispered. "You're in a relationship with a hero, yet question how someone got on your roof? Really darling you would think you would know better."

Moving quickly Black Cat ignored the flushed look on Lucy's face and jumped off the roof.

When Lucy would later tell Gregory about the white haired stranger he tensed.

"We don't know much about her but her name is Black Cat, she works with Lady Whitsledown. We think she might be her apprentice."

Lucy nodded in understanding. Lady Whistledown had so many people in her pockets, looking to buy information off her. Gregory's third brother, Colin, was relentless in pursuing her. Something she said during her early days when she first appeared left him believing she knows something about . . . Felicity's . . . older sister Penelope and what happened to her that night. If she does she's not giving up the secret easily. Having an apprentice means she's growing more confident, which is not good based on the product she sells.

"She was quite um, flirty," Lucy said.

Gregory felt his own cheeks flush, remembering how Black Cat was not afraid to get close in his, and apparently Lucy's, personal bubbles. "Yeah she can be."