#bedframe and all. is somehow moving like a hands length away

[lokh]

how the fuck is my bed moving away from the wall

[killemwithkawaii]

I woke up this morning when the bedframe jerked sideways, and I bolted upright on the mattress when a piece of heavy cloth was thrown over my face. I tore it away and was relieved when it wasn’t a hood or a bag (like thick fabrics thrown over my head usually end up being). It was a familiar, threadbare shirt with ‘The Nockfell Diner’ printed across the front.

“SALLY! SALLY, GET UP!! Shit, shit, SHIT-”

Mitch was wildly pacing (not slowly shuffling) around the room- his room. We weren’t in that seedy motel room anymore. There were no bodily fluids on the carpet, no smashed window, and no painting of the sunset over the mountains on the wall behind the bed. Somehow, we were now in his cluttered little studio apartment in Nockfell, where we’d spent most of our off-time together after we’d started dating. A uniform shirt was half-pulled over their sturdy, in-tact torso, and they- he, was trying to gather his now shoulder-length hair into a ponytail while sifting through piles of junk on the dresser.

“Fuck, shit, where’s my wallet- fuck, goddamit! Sal! Sally, baby, you need to get up! Get dressed, we’re late! My alarm didn’t go off, we’re so fucking late- fuck, FUCK Rob is going to fucking kill me!!”

I was too stunned to move. Mitch had sprouted up 6 inches, gained at least 20 pounds of muscle, was speaking like his jaw hadn’t just been flapping in the wind, and was running around in circles like his head hadn’t been leaking blood and brains all over the place just a few hours ago. 

“Fuck, the lunch rush is about to start and we haven’t even done any prep! God, we are so fucking SCREWED-” He grabbed my arm and all but yanked me out of bed. I had shrunken down to my more typical size, albeit with some extra muscle definition, thanks to all the kitchen work I’d apparently been doing, so it was easy for him to drag me to my feet. I stood up straight. My neck was able to support my head. There were no bones poking out of my skin. The only wounds I had were a few little burns on my forearms- ‘proof you worked a shift,’ as Mitch called them.

“C’mon Sal, I’m sorry, but we need to go like NOW-”

“WAIT-” He stopped mid-stride. I couldn’t let him walk out the door- I mean, he couldn’t walk out the door. Probably…? I didn’t know, but I didn’t want to chance it. This universe was supposed to be normal. I didn't want to mind-fuck him right off the bat. I had to think up an excuse, and fast. 

“Rob, uh… Rob called this morning…” 

“He did…?” Mitch looked nervous, like a kid who was about to get a scolding. 

 “Yeah! Um… he said, ah… he said that, uh… the diner is closed today…?”

“What? Why?” The diner was never closed- it was 24-hours, that was kind of the point.

“Um… there was… a fire! Yeah, a fire-”

“What?! Oh shit…! How did…? Ugh, I knew I should have checked the grease traps again before we clocked out! Dave never remembers to empty them, that fucking asshat…!”

“No, it wasn’t-”

“No, wait… did the hoods get cleaned last week? I know I helped Sierra take them down, but did they actually get cleaned? They looked clean…”

“I think-”

 “Wait- wait, wait, wait… we took the boxes out last night, right? I took a smoke break while we were out back… I… I stomped out my cig, right? Right? Oh fuck, oh fuck, I can’t remember…!”

“Mitch-”

“I- Shit, shit, what if I sparked up the boxes and the whole goddamn dumpster went up and the building caught…?! Oh shit… oh shit…!” 

“Mitch, relax!” Damn, I’d almost forgotten what a neurotic worrywart he was in this timeline… 

“It was an electrical fire- faulty wiring. The building is old, remember? It wasn’t anybody's fault, everyone is okay, but the diner is gonna be closed all week for repairs.”

“.....” He was fidgeting with his hands. His eyes darted around as he processed the information.

“Well… do they need any help? We could help with the cleanup, or-”

“No, no, Rob said he’s taking care of everything. He told me to tell you to take a vacation for once. That’s why I turned off the alarm- I wanted us to be able to sleep in together.”

“.....” He stood there for a minute, scratching his head on the same side it had been caved in the night before. 

“Maybe I should call him and ask…”

“He’s got enough to deal with, Mitchie. We shouldn’t bother him. Just…” I gently took his hand. It was a lot bigger than it had been for the last week or so, but was still a little smaller than mine in comparison. His wrist was bare, but his forearms were dotted with scars from years of kitchen work. 

“Let’s just stay in and hang out today, okay? We deserve a break.”

“.....” After a minute, he sat on the edge of the bed, then flopped backward onto the mattress and let out a huge sigh, the adrenaline from waking up late finally wearing off.

“Okay… okay, yeah, lemme just… whew….” 

I laid down next to him, using his bicep as a pillow, and gave his now-firm chest a few reassuring pats.

“There ya go… juuust chill Mitchie…. We’ve got nowhere else to be…” 

[tbhhawks]

Can I get a nsfw scenario of Mirio just being a dom ;-; Like he's so sweet and caring but I can just imagine him fucking me really hard and breaking the mattress while whispering me sweet nothings-

oh my- I've never thought about Mirio in that way I've only thought about Tamaki like that for the big 3 but this is a great idea!! Thank you for requesting this love :)) *DOES CONTAIN SPOILERS FROM SEASON 4!!!!*

Warnings: Daddy and Sir kink, praise, slight choking, overstimulation, literal bed breaking, no in depth in aftercare because its 3:17am right now, fingering, eating out, actual sex

Mirio was usually a sweet and caring boyfriend, hint word, usually. He was finally back from a mission that caused him to be gone for about a week. Don't get me wrong, I love that he didn't lose his quirk for good, but it sucks that he's back on missions now. My assumption is that the villian he fought must've pissed him off in some way. Mirio appeared through the closed door with the use of his quirk, not even trying to open the door. It was also because of that I noticed that he wasn't wearing his suit either, so when he walked through the door all of his clothes fell off. "Hey love, how was the miss-" I was instantly shut up by Mirio pinning my arms above my head, causing my phone in my hands to drop on the floor.

"Shut up and kiss me." Was all he said before he leaned down, pulling me into a desperate and rough kiss. One hand that was holding my hands down came down and gripped my jaw, forcing my mouth open as he slipped his tongue in. Since one hand was free, I used it to grip at his hair, moaning softly at the feeling of his tongue wandering around in my mouth. He slowly pulled away and looked down at you, chuckling softly. "What's wrong princess? Can't handle me, or is it that you can't wait?" He said in a low voice.

"Can't...can't wait. Please sir, I've waited for you for so long..." I whimpered softly, already slipping into my submissive role. Mirio let out a soft growl, leaning down to kiss and leave love bites around and all over my neck. After what felt like years, he tugged at the hem of my shirt, signalling me to lift my arms up so I complied.

"You're so beautiful princess, I can't wait to wreck you...I've had such a long week fighting that villian with Deku, I need to be inside you soon." He said with a chuckle under his breath, leaning down to kiss at my chest and stomach and quickly reaching my pants. "Can I unbutton these beautiful?" He asked and I desperately nodded, hoping and wishing he can just continue.

"Please, do whatever you want to me...pretty please..." I gasped out, looking down at him as he froze. Mirio slowly looked up at me, pure lust within his normally bright blue eyes.

"Okay kitten, if you say so." He said to himself as he quickly made do of my pants, ripping them down off of my legs. "Whatever I want, hm? So, if I wanted to make you cum as many times as possible until you see stars, you'd let me?" He asked me, looking up with the same lust-filled eyes.

"Yes, yes sir, I would..." I mumbled as I stared back down at him. He chuckled slightly, as he slowly kissed across my jaw and reached my earlobe giving it a slight bite causing me to gasp softly. He worked his way down my body, leaving kisses and bites along the way.

“Good, because that’s exactly what I was planning babygirl.” He said lowly as he looked up at me, before slowly sliding my underwear off my legs. Once he rid of them, he looked at the slick that quickly formed there and chuckled. “You’re so wet babygirl, my little kitty must be really excited hm?” I desperately nodded, looking down at him.

“Yes sir, your kitty is really excited...” I mumbled softly as he ran a finger along my folds, causing me to gasp. I heard him growl lightly before picking me up, wrapping my legs around his waist. “Where are we going?” I asked before I realized he was taking me to our shared bedroom. He practically threw me on the bed, watching me bounce slightly before climbing on top of me and pinning my arms above my head. 

“I’m going to make sure we’re going to need to buy a new mattress once I’m done with you kitten.” He whispered lowly in my ear before bringing a hand down to rub my clit again. As I let out a soft mewl at the pleasure, he mumbled softly to himself but loud enough that I could barely make it out. “So good for me, ready to do anything I ask...” He then pulled me into a rough kiss, teeth clashing and tongues tangling with each other. “I’m gonna prep you now kitten, I’m not trying to tease you so don’t get upset.” That sentence made my heart do flips as I nodded. He slowly moved his fingers between my folds, trying to collect wetness before slowly putting in two of his fingers. At the sudden pleasure, I arched my back and thrusted my hips up to get more pleasure. “Now now kitten, don’t make me have to punish you. Sir’s had a rough day and I’d hate to punish my kitty that’s usually so obedient.” I nodded again and relaxed my body as much as it would let me. “That's my good little girl.” He said as he starting scissoring me to stretch me out, causing me to moan out at the praise and the feeling of his fingers. After a couple of minutes that felt like hours, he finally took out his fingers and smiled softly. “I can’t wait to absolutely destroy you and have you take it because you’re my good girl...” 

“Please sir, please. I want you so bad, n-no, I need you...please?” I whimpered softly as he moved so we were face to face and let go of my arms, slowly sliding his length into me. Soon, he was buried inside me, letting me adjust. “Please, move sir, please.” I begged, clawing at his arms and back with my freed hands.

“Move, huh? Alright princess but don’t get mad when you can’t walk tomorrow.” He said as he slid back out almost completely, then slamming back into me which caused me to moan out loud. He leaned down by my ear, whispering into my ear as he picked up the pace of his thrusts. “Such a good girl, cum as many times as you want baby, because I know you won’t be able to hold back. “ That sentence alone could’ve made me cum on the spot, but I knew I was done for once he brought a hand down to rub my clit again.

“Sir-!” I yelped out as I felt my orgasm wash over me, his thrusts not faulting at all. His consistent thrusts caused my body to shake in overstimulation, hoping he would slow down someway but I know he wouldn’t.

“Already came once?” He started with a chuckle as he watched my face, groaning as he felt me tighten around him. “Let’s see how many more baby.” Was all he said before thrusting harder than before, causing my eyes to roll in the back of my head and my mouth lolled open. It’s an understatement to say he’s fucking me dumb. I was so blissed out that I didn’t notice him pull out and flip us over so I was on top. “I’ll give you a break kitten, but you’ll have to suck me off while you’re taking your break.” I nodded shamelessly and crawled down to his length, mesmerized by how perfect it looked. “Well, are you going to or am I gonna have to force you baby?” I shook my head as I quickly took him down my throat, feeling his tip hit the back of my throat. His hand came down and gripped my hair, moving me at the pace he wanted. “Such a good girl, sucking Sir’s cock and letting him use you as he pleases...” He groaned out as he pulled you off him, then flipped you on your back. “I think you need a reward for being so obedient, right baby?” I nodded as he leaned down and licked a stripe up my fold, hearing him groan at the taste. “You taste so good kitten.” He mumbled as he went back in, sucking at my clit and sometimes entering his tongue into me. At one point, he sucked and practically slurped at my clit and pushed three fingers this time into me, causing me to moan out in almost a scream. After just a few pumps of his fingers, I reached pure bliss again, my vision going white but not stars yet. He pulled away and chuckled, watching my state. “Flip over baby, on your hands and knees. And don’t make me do it myself.” He said the second part in a growl, causing me to instantly flip around in his desired position.

“Please sir, I’m waiting already...” I mumbled as I felt him line himself up behind me and slowly push in, causing me to let out a sigh. He bent over and whispered in my ear.

“Don’t relax now baby, I’m not holding back now.” Was all he said before frantically thrusting into me, hearing the bedframe hit the wall and the mattress squeak underneath us. Words wouldn’t even form properly in my mouth or brain, the only two things in my mind was him and how good he was making me feel.

“Please Daddy, please. More...” Not even hearing the nickname fall from my own mouth, I was suddenly confused on why he stopped before I realized what I let slip. “I’m sorry Sir, it just slipp-” Was all I could get out before I was interrupted by Mirio’s harder thrusting. 

“You want Daddy to give you more hm? Alright hun, I’ll give you more.” He said as he made my back arch more, my chest laying against the bed as he thrusted deeper inside me, hitting that one spot that made me see stars. “It’s right there, isn’t it?” He mumbled to himself before thrusting harder to hit that spot again.

“Right there, Daddy please right there!” I moaned out as I felt him hit it repeatedly, having me vision blurred over with stars littering across it. He somehow was able to thrust harder and faster, and I felt myself reach the edge. Suddenly, I felt his fingers reach around to my clit again while his other hand gently wrapped around my throat causing me to finally jump over the edge. 

As I came, I felt him cum inside me too as I heard a creak and a snap. Before I realized it I heard Mirio laugh. This man really actually broke the bed. “I told you I’d break the bed babygirl.” He said in your ear before giving you a soft kiss. 

“Mirio!! Where are we gonna sleep now?” I asked with a slight giggle as I sat up to look at the damage before wincing in pain. 

“I don’t know yet babygirl, but first thing is that you need a warm bath.” He said with a cheerful laugh and picked me up bridal style, taking me to the bathroom to run a bath for the both of us.

[randomfandomnerd]

Sunshine and Shadows- Chapter 2

Nico woke up to the sound of manic giggling. Groggily, he sat up and rubbed his eyes. He slipped out of the bed, moving towards the curtain with the hope of finding food. The blue material was ripped back and, to his surprise, Harley barged in, slapped a smiley-face sticker onto his t-shirt, and left again, still giggling. Nico looked up to see a smirking Cecil at the next bed over, sporting his own smiley sticker.

“Will thought it would be a good idea for him to visit and lift the spirits of everyone. He’s been hovering near for a while, because I told him you should wake up on your own, rather than with his help”

“Hmmph”

Nico responded.

A seemingly amused Will came in with a tray of plates of food, which he proceeded to hand out to the various inhabitants of the infirmary.

“You look so grumpy”,

he chuckled, narrowly avoiding a small Apollo child who seemed to be imitating Kayla by holding a clipboard and marching around on their tiptoes with a small bow strung to their back and the torn leaves of a very green plant on their head.

“Lillie, remember what I told you. No weapons in the infirmary!”

Lillie turned around and proceeded to aggressively skip out of the infirmary, knocking a side table over in the process, and scattering leaves along the floor. Kayla sighed, and put down her clipboard in order to clean up the damage.

“Sorry about that. She really wanted to help”

Will sighed and shook his head, before turning to Nico and setting a plate of food on the table near his bed. Upon closer inspection, the plate had an alarmingly high number of plants. Nico huffed, before selecting an apple and taking a bite from it, mumbling his thanks.

"So what am I meant to do now?"

He asked.

"Well, for a start, breakfast should be more than one apple."

Will replied from where he was putting away a pile of music sheets. Nico felt a pang in his heart, remembering how his mother used to teach him and Bianca to play the piano. Nico could never coordinate his fingers properly, but Bianca played beautifully, and he had liked to sit and watch her, mesmerised by the music. After she died, it was hard for him to listen to music, because it was unfair that music should continue when the people who made him love it were gone. People like Annabeth and Percy could save the world over and over and they still had each other and a billion other friends. Nico had nobody. Not really.

"Nico"

A soft voice broke him from his dreaming, and Nico realised that he was blending in with the shadows. Desperately grasping at the bedframe, Nico drew his gaze up to Will's. The son of Apollo's eyes were blue like his father's, yet less startling. They were more muted in colour, calming and reassuring, just like him. Will tilted his head, and Nico, realising that he was staring, dipped his gaze to fiddle with the apple core in his hands. Will's hands reached out, and took the core, his fingers brushing against Nico's, before withdrawing while the blonde boy apologised gently. Nico waved him off. Everything he touched was destroyed. It was in his nature. He would do all he could to stop that from happening to Will Solace.

Will, it seemed, had other ideas.

“Nico, try sitting down. I’m really sorry. I don’t know what I’m doing. Gods, I’m so stupid, what kind of doctor am I? I should have researched more. How can I help if I haven’t researched? I’m sorry”

The son of Apollo was pacing back and forth and he had a length of bandage which he was wrapping and unwrapping around his wrist. Until he saw him on Half-Blood Hill, Nico hadn’t realised how stubborn Will was. Now, he was beginning to notice that the blonde was constantly self-doubting himself. It was normally less obvious than this, when he would always make jokes about how he was no use in battle because he was ‘just a healer’, but now it was clear that he was insecure about even his healing abilities. Sometimes it was easy to forget that Will was only 15. Sure, Nico was around the same age, but people were constantly calling him "kid", or on one memorable occasion, "young gloomy cupcake" (Coach Hedge had some interesting nicknames), but Will had gone from 2nd-in-line to head counselor in an incredibly short span of time. Nico still felt Bianca's loss as if it were yesterday. He couldn't imagine having to go through that twice.

When he had first arrived at, Camp Half-Blood, he had thought that being a demigod was the coolest thing that had ever happened to him, but now he frequently wished that he could have stayed in the Lotus Casino forever, with Bianca, oblivious to the world outside.

Plato once told a story about a group of people that lived inside a cave, only able to view the world from shadows projected onto the cave wall. One of them decided to leave the cave and found the world outside to be full of joy and wonder. When they returned to tell the others, they couldn't persuade them to leave the cave, because the shadows showed the outlines of terrible monsters and they didn't think it was worth the risk.

Nico had stepped out into the real world, but the joy and wonder was overwhelmed by pain and grief. He wanted to return to the shadows. There, he couldn't be hurt, and he couldn't hurt anyone else. It would be so easy to just slip away, it was so much easier leaving than coming back.

"Nico!"

The worried voice cut into Nico's mind and fractured thoughts. It seemed bizarre that anyone would be worried for him.

"Nico, stay with me"

Will sounded urgent, like he couldn't bear the idea of Nico leaving. Nico recalled their earlier conversation, when Will had said that he wasn't stupid, because he'd decided to stay. Nico looked up into Will's frantic eyes, that somehow calmed him even when the owner was panicking, and decided that he would make an effort to stay, even if it was harder than leaving.

Link to pt 1:

Taglist:

@rainbow-sheepofthefamily @luna0713hunter @percabethfangirl @emava04 @seven-halfbloods

@nightmareghosts (sorry i didn't tag you earlier, your user has changed since you asked me to tag you)

[shapeshifting-wildcard]

The room hadn't changed too much. The only noticeable change was the makeshift bed in the corner. No longer was it a futon on milk crates, but Sojiro had replaced it with an actual bedframe. It still had a futon spread across it, but it looked—and felt—miles more comfortable than the sorry excuse for a bed he had before.

They dragged the table by the stairs over to the middle of the room and gathered around it. Ryuji, Yusuke, Jou, and Goro all sat on the side closest to the bed. Ryuji borrowed the chair from the desk, which Morgana and Onfrey took a seat on. Yusuke leaned on the little ledge under the window. Jou sat on the corner of his new bed, testing the relative firmness with some bouncing. Goro sat next to him, barely a centimeter of space between them.

Sumi nabbed the chair at the foot of the bed and sat next to Ann. Makoto and Haru took the booth seat-turned-couch across from Ann and Sumi. And Futaba sat at the head of the table opposite the boys. They chatted and laughed over a pile of snacks and drinks, catching up on the events of the past semester.

At one point Jou looked over to Ryuji and made grabby hands towards him. Ryuji blinked at him for a moment before realizing Jou wanted him to come closer. So, with an amused eye roll, he scooted his chair within arm's length... and Jou promptly yoinked him and his chair the rest of the way over. There, now he could loop an arm around both of his boyfriends at once. Ryuji shot Goro a bemused look and got a vaguely amused eye roll. Neither of them made any move to evade Jou's affection, though.

The topic drifted towards school, as it naturally does with students. Ryuji and Ann had flunked several finals between them, to no one's surprise. Makoto and Haru were having a good time at college, with Makoto focusing on the core subjects while Haru was taking some agricultural science classes alongside her management ones.

"What about you, Akechi-kun?" Haru asked, turning to the young man. "What have you been up to lately?"

"I've been dealing with some personal matters," Goro replied with a shrug. Jou gave him a light squeeze. Neither of them were keen to bring up that they were in therapy, it seemed. "Trying to keep my head down and all."

"Are you working any part-time jobs or anything?" Makoto asked.

"I've picked up a couple. One of them is at that jazz club I used to frequent."

"Oh, that sounds lovely!" Haru sat up and clapped her hands together. "What do you do there?"

"Mostly just clean and bus tables. The clientele don't demand a lot of socializing, at least."

"God forbid you actually have to talk to people," Ryuji deadpanned.

"I had my fill of meaningless conversation during my time as the Detective Prince."

"Meaningless conversation?" Sumi asked.

"The kind of discussions I had to keep up during interviews. You know, those overly personal lines of questioning."

"Oh god, yeah, I can see how that'd get annoying," Ann said. "Like, they're not even trying to get to know you a lot of the time, they're just fishing for dirt. It's so scummy."

"I... hadn't actually thought of it that way," Makoto remarked. "Now that I think of it, though, some of those questions seem... awkward. It's one thing for us to ask each other how school's going, but it's something else when it's an interviewer doing it. And speaking of, what about you, Futaba? How's school been for you?"

Futaba cackled, grinning ear to ear. "Too easy! At this point, the only hellish parts are the commute and PE!"

"So you've been working hard," Jou chimed in, using his voice because his hands are full. And it's Futaba he's talking to.

Futaba turned her grin to Jou, somehow looking even prouder. "Uh huh, uh huh! Praise me more, keep it coming!"

"Have you had any more incidents since the one last month?" Goro chimed in. Futaba shook her head. "Nothing as bad as the one you saw."

"Wait, what incident are you guys talking about?" Ryuji said, glancing between Goro and Futaba.

"Well, you know how I said the commute is still one of the hellish parts?" Futaba scratched her head.

"I ran into her on the train during a particularly busy day and talked her through a panic attack."

"Those breathing techniques you taught me have really helped!"

"I'm glad to hear that."

"Dude, never would've thought you'd be the guy to calm someone down," Ryuji remarked. "That's cool!"

Goro huffed and glanced away. Judging from the hint of blush on his cheeks, though, he was most likely flattered by the compliment.

"What about you, Senpai?" Sumi chimed in.

"Yeah, how 'bout you, Jou? You're the one we're the most curious about." Ryuji gently elbowed Jou in the side. "You doin' okay back home?"

Ah, the question Jou had been dreading the most. He really didn't want to go into how isolated and alone he'd been the whole time. Kanji had really been the only bright spot during his time back in Inaba.

He gently bonked his head against Ryuji's and spoke a little quieter. "I missed you."

"Aw, what a coinkydink!" Futaba chimed in. "Me too."

"Well, I've been gettin' by too, but..." Ryuji leaned into the bonk and nuzzled him a little. "Without you around, it's sorta like stuff is just kinda... bleh."

Jou felt his face getting hot. On the one hand, it was a little sad that Ryuji had been feeling "bleh" without him. On the other hand, he found it reassuring, knowing that they had missed him in a way that he hadn't been in Inaba.

"Of course, he's our leader! It's only natural."

On the third hand, none of them knew what he'd been like growing up in Inaba. If only they knew the kinds of shenanigans he used to get up to.

[smugzayn]

Already Broken - Ch. 3

[chapter 1] [chapter 2]

- - Birmingham, 1919 - -

It’s hard to go about business as normal, but you do because there’s no other choice.  Your angry, red, raw hands burn as they sink into the hot, soapy water. You hiss but grab the sudsy fabric and rub it vigorously against the washboard. Your mum’s easy humming floats through the open doorway. 

It’s been two weeks since that night. You’ve not run into, heard from, or even heard a whisper about Harry or much word about what happened that night. You’ve seen a few Peaky boys around town, the razor blade lined caps a dead give away, but they’ve not paid the slightest attention to you. 

So, you go about the washing, and the delivering, and fussing about with the housewives without anyone the wiser, and the whole time completely irritated with just how boring it all is. 

“It’s four pence, Mrs. Connely. I told you before we ever took the washin’ there’s nothing we can do about grease stains.”

With a basket propped on one hip, a babe on the other, and two more dirty ones hugging her legs, she looks absolutely ragged. You want to barter, but you’re just as desperate for the extra pence as she is. 

“You’ve bleached it, then? Bloody best laundry around and givin’ me back stained clothin’,” she sinks her hand into a pocket and pulls out her coins. She’s mad enough that her thick irish brogue makes it hard to understand anything she’s saying. “Bloody English goin’ about with their rackets on bread, and wash, and oil.”

You nod your head sympathetically, taking the coins she slaps into your hand. 

“Oi’ bugger off then ya’ filthy -”

“Good day, Mrs. Connely,” you slam the door shut behind you, trying not to be too bothered by the filthy insults. It doesn’t muffle the sounds of her spitting under the door. 

The cart wobbles along the old, uneven brick roads and the mundane task makes you want to cry. When did this become your life? When did you settle into this and say okay? This wasn’t your plan, this was mum and dad’s plan - this was their life and the war trapped you in it. 

...

Harry’s door looks different this time, in the last bit of twilight sun. It scares, and excites, and tempts you with thoughts certainly unbecoming of a young woman.

“What am I doing,” you mutter, turning abruptly from where you’re standing in the middle of the street, pushing your empty cart ahead of you. 

Harry’s street looks similar to your own. You figure most houses in Small Heath look about the same. Muddy dirt roads, grey brick row homes, and the suffocating weight of fog from the factories hanging like smoke all around you. It seems to cloud in the air, almost as if you could shoo it all away it’s so thick, pressing down upon you, and pulling you down with the weight of it. 

“Oi!” a gruff voice calls to your back, abruptly stopping the clacking of your boots in the quiet street. It’s suppertime. Every housewife has made the best of whatever meager bread, basket of potatoes, or sliver of meat their husband’s wages could barter. 

“Come back ‘ere,” he calls and when you stay dead in your tracks you hear the sound of his footsteps behind you. 

You’re too afraid to turn around. You think if you tried to run away, he’d let you. He wouldn’t stop you or even call after you, but you can’t - or you won’t. You’re not sure about what one is more true. 

“Laundrymaid?” the voice is close now, calling behind your right shoulder. When his fingertips brush the arm of your dingy blouse you jump. “What are you doing round these parts?” 

You jerk your shoulder away from his touch where he grips you more sturdily this time and take a step away. 

You can’t stand to look at him. You look down the way, at the setting sun behind the looming factory buildings. 

“You’re bored,” he laughs dryly. You can smell the smoke from his cigarette. You know it’s dangling loosely from the plump of his pierced lips. 

You take a step away, but a firm hand wraps around your wrist stopping you once again in your tracks. 

“I’m not bored,” you argue, but it has not bite. “M’just doing my deliveries. Forgot you lived in these -”

“Been watchin’ you,” he interrupts, tugging on your wrist until you turn around to look at him. He’s not wearing his cap, so the long hair sitting on the top of his head blows messily across his forehead and there’s a strand brushed right across the length of his eyelashes. Somehow the musty factory air brings out the gold in his eyes. “Y’didn’t deliver laundry round here. You’re here because of me, because you’re bored,” there’s gravel and truth in his words. “-and I made you feel alive.” 

You laugh dryly this time. 

“Piss off,” you spit and try to pull your hand away but he doesn’t let you. He just grabs on tighter, not letting you run. “It’s none of your business! Is it?” 

He takes a deep breath, inhaling slowly on the cigarette, and easily tossing it to the ground where the red butt quickly dies in the muddy pavement. 

You think he’s going to let you go. Then he pulls you towards him with your captured hand, pulls the cart with the other, and drags you towards his flat along the row. 

“S’not the way I see it,” he grumbles as he drags you along. “You come into my neighborhood, on my street, and stand outside me door for ten minutes and you’re going to get my attention, darling. Whether you’re from the Billie Boy Gang, you’re looking fo’ revenge from your track loss, of you’re the laundrymaid, you stand outside my door and you are askin’ for my attention.” 

“You’re insane,” you hiss, stumbling behind him. 

He shoulders open the heavy oak of his front door and slams it shut behind you. You want to tell him that someone is going to steal the coin bag from your cart outside, but you’re sure no one would dare steal from Harry Styles’ front door. 

“You’ve absolutely no idea what you’re on about. What will the neighbours -” you look around the room; it’s been completely changed. The wood floors have been scrubbed and polished, there is a new table with matching chairs, a plush, white duvet covers a new golden bedframe, and the broken dresser has been replaced by a decorative armour. There’s even a gramophone in the corner - you had only seen a music player once before when you had traveled to London before the war. “You’ve decorated.”

Harry huffs, lighting up another cigarette and scraping a chair along the floorboard before nodding at you to sit. 

“I’m not going to live like some Brummy beggar,” he snorts, flicking out a match. “Working too damn hard fo’ that.” 

“Well aren’t we all?” 

He leans back against the counter, tilting his chin up, and staring down his nose at you. He looks amused or angry - it’s hard to tell the difference. 

“M’wonderin’ why you’re here,” he lets a puff of smoke float into the yellow light hanging above your head. “Round these parts?” 

“Delivering laundry. What else?” 

He doesn’t look like he believes it; you don’t blame him. 

“I can’t help you if y’goin’ to lie,” he mutters, pinching the cigarette between his index and thumb. “Now, tell me what y’doing ‘ere or leave.”

He speaks it so bluntly that you can’t stop the images that run through your mind. You turn 20 this year and your hands are so red, scabby, and achy that they could pass as twice that. You marry off to some butcher or factory worker down the lane and you move into a cheap flat with cracked windows and a drafty fireplace. By five years time you’ll have two kids, another on the way, and the rest of your long life stretched out before you. 

It’s a fate worst than death. 

“I don’t want to be a laudrymaid forever.” The words burst past your lips before you have time to stop them. They’re compelled by something more powerful than thought; they’re compelled by fear, and desperation, and the utter terror of being trapped into something you never wanted. “I don’t - I can’t live this life forever. I won’t.” 

The sizzle of Harry’s cigarette as he breathes mingles with the soft, high-pitched whine of the single burning bulb above the table. He pulls out the chair and sits across from you. 

“You want in?” 

His eyes are bright, alive, excited with whatever the day brings. There’s ambition there and the fresh, lively look of a day that holds danger, and passion, and the very marrow of life. You want to suck it all up for yourself. 

You nod your head, unsure of what it means, but believing that is has to better than what you have now. 

“Yes,” you hold out your hand, it barely shakes as Harry’s reaches out towards you. “I want in.” 

[masterlist]

[solasan]

so often i can think of you only with teeth clenched

adam du mortain/detective (june lovelace), this is like 2k of pwp theres no plot here uhhh mutual masturbation (kinda ????), accidental voyeurism, dirty talk bcos june’s filthy, i think thats everything

He didn’t realise, not at first.

Adam had spent most of the night doing what he always did when sleep evaded him; running himself ragged in the gym facilities, both in the hope it might knock him off his feet and keep him on them for many more hours to come. He’d been at it for long enough that even his hardier muscles had started to ache; Farah said he was pig-headed in that way, but he much preferred to think of himself as focused. Determined. Solid.

He passed June’s room on his way back to his own, as he always did — not to check on her, of course; it was just the quickest route — and made sure to quiet his steps near her door, as he always did.

June did not sleep enough. She wore bruised bags under her eyes now at all times, and there was something constantly disheveled about her these days; as though the woman she’d been before Murphy had been twisted just slightly off-centre and left to wander, blind and lost, without quite knowing why.

Under her baggy hoodies and oversized tees, she seemed… thinner, somehow. Smaller. She was already practically miniscule, of course, so he shouldn’t have noticed, and— and he hardly had any business noticing the nature of her body either, but somehow it seemed impossible to miss, as though she were screaming inside and it were all he could hear.

Ridiculous, of course. And he would have put it from his mind, ignored the blatant signs of trauma clinging to her birdlike bones, however—

She was part of the team now. She was part of the team now, and so such sleep deprivation was— unfortunate. Indeed, it knotted something up in Adam’s chest whenever he considered it; exhausted as she no doubt was, she could hardly perform at her best, and if there was one weak link in the team, all of them would come crashing down.

Preoccupied with such thoughts, when he heard it — ‘it’ being a soft whimper from beyond June’s door, barely audible were it not for the silence in the hallway — he assumed she was having a nightmare. It would make sense, after all; she’d never spoken of her dreams to him, or, as far as he could tell, to anyone else, but she slept so little, and she’d already demonstrated a tendency to wandering the Warehouse at night.

Without quite knowing why, Adam found himself stopping before her door, head turned as though he could stare through it if he tried hard enough. Was she alright?

Another low, hoarse whimper, and this time, something in the general vicinity of his ribs gave an awful tug. 

What should he do? She had come to him before, when she couldn’t sleep. Should he wait for her to do so again?

But that was ridiculous. Laughable. Why would he need to do anything?

Her voice caught on a word — did she sleep-talk? — just barely inaudible to his enhanced hearing, and he frowned, shifting closer to the door so he might hear better. If she spoke, perhaps he might learn the precise nature of her nightmares. Perhaps… perhaps he might help.

“Adam,” he heard, light and breathy, and he frowned, something simultaneously soft and sharp unfurling under his sternum at the sound.

Was she dreaming of him? Were they… were they good dreams? Or were they nightmares in truth, all bloody fangs and copper agony?

“Adam,” June sighed again. “Fuck…”

He was in danger of cracking his skull against her door now, but still, he shifted closer.

And that was when he heard it.

Under her breathing, under her words, under those barely-there whimpers: a slick, sliding sound.

He stilled. Was she—?

“Fuck, Adam, just like that, fuck, please—”

Adam stumbled back from the door, all limbs, like a defenceless idiot, but now that he’d heard her, he couldn’t stop.

That wet noise had settled into a rhythm, steady and slow, and with every loooong squelch came a moan, low and muffled, as though she were holding something over her mouth. Her hand, maybe? Was— was she using both of her hands?

Merde, what was she doing?

The bedframe creaked, just slightly, and then she moaned again, growling under her breath, and God above if that wasn’t one of the most fantastic sounds he’d ever heard. Rough and low, throaty, like it’d been ripped out of her against her will.

“Adam,” she groaned, still so quiet, the sound of her— pleasuring herself picking up speed. “Shit, shit, that’s so goo— so good, Adam, please, fuck, please.”

He bit back a moan of his own, and it was only then that he became aware of the shivering heat running down his spine, the thick arousal pooling in his belly and stiffening his cock.

He— he had to go, this was a bad idea, he had to move, what was he doing—

By God, she sounded so wet. What was she imagining? She— him, apparently, and he couldn’t bear to examine the primal pride that swelled in him at the thought, but— but specifically? What fantasy was playing out in her mind?

He swallowed thickly, palming himself through his sweatpants and holding his breath so that he couldn’t miss a single creak, a single whimper, a single thrust.

And thank God for that, because the bedframe squeaked again, and then suddenly that deliciously wet sound was louder.

“F— faster, Adam, fuck,” June gasped, her breaths coming in harsh, hushed pants. “Need you to— f-fucking faster, oh my God, please.”

Please, he thought, feeling his cock throb in his palm even through his pants. I have never heard her so polite in all the time I’ve known her. 

He’d never heard her beg, either, always thought her too proud for that, but as the slick sound of her— God, of her fucking herself built into a faster and faster rhythm, that was what she was doing.

“I’m— hng, fuck, m’close, Adam please, please can I come, I’ll— I’ll be good, I’ll be so good, just please, please, please—”

Yes, and somewhere along the line he’d slipped his hand under his waistband and wrapped his fingers around his length and started to stroke, as he so rarely did these days, come for me, June, be a good girl and come for me, yes, go on, go on—

Her cry of release was muffled, like she’d thrown a hand over her mouth to stifle it, and for a split-second he felt entirely robbed. I didn’t tell you to be quiet, Adam thought, eyes slipping shut as he swiped a drop of pre-come from his tip and picked up speed. I didn’t tell you—

Anything. He hadn’t told her anything. Because he was stood outside her bedroom door, fondling himself to the sound of her getting herself off, and she was his colleague and she was June and he was still pumping his cock, and what was he doing?

He snapped his hand out of his pants as though it had burned him, staring at his glistening palm with both shock and a burning shame, 

In June’s room, something thumped. And then— no! She was walking towards the door.

Within a blink, he was racing down the hall at top speed, ears burning, his length bobbing from side-to-side with each step, and how foolish was he? What sort of a child had he just proven himself, fumbling desperately for pleasure just because he’d heard a few little sounds?

As he got into his own bedroom, he shook his head. What a fool. That was— this had been a massive lapse in his control. An unforgivable one, really. What had he been thinking? And— and why J— Detective Lovelace, why was it she who had stoked this aching heat deep in his gut when none other had in… in centuries?

Adam swallowed, dragging a hand through his hair. It wouldn’t happen again. June— this would prove to be some misunderstanding. She knew another Adam, perhaps — though for some reason, the thought had something clawed and many-fingered stirring in his chest — or… or he’d imagined it. There was no way.

And he was still hard, cock standing proud and erect, making a tent in his sweatpants that he tried valiantly to ignore.

It will go away, he told himself.

Any minute now, he thought again, some measurement of heartbeats later.

It will—

Except he could still hear June’s moans ringing in his ears, low and soft and divine, and when he shut his eyes he found himself imagining what she might have looked like, how she might have tasted and felt and smelled.

He’d helped the Agency decorate her room. For the sake of preciseness, of course; the aim had been to replicate her apartment on small-scale, and no one had known it better than his team.

He inhaled slowly. 

It wasn’t going away. 

Fine. Fine. He could— it— if he couldn’t make it go away like that, he could just… take care of it. Like scratching an itch, or feeding. It was a need he could manage and then forget about.

Perfunctory. Quick. With a low growl, he slipped his hand down into his pants, stuffed his fist into his mouth, and used the still-gathering pre-come at his tip to slick up his strokes.

But what had begun as a simple, impersonal movement quickly became something else. 

In his mind’s eye, he could see her stretched out across the starry bedsheets he’d chosen, her legs splayed, fingers scissoring herself open for him. Perhaps her other hand had been grasping at those beautiful breasts he’d been trying so hard not to notice, pinching one of her nipples — it would be pink, he thought, pink and pale like that perfect mouth of hers, pebbled under her touch — and whimpering when she pulled particularly hard.

Merde, those whimpers. His strokes picked up speed, hearing once more the sounds she’d been making as she fucked herself to completion, the perfect, perfect way she’d begged.

He thought of how her head might have fallen back, that plush little mouth opening to gasp out his name — his name, he remembered, and no one else’s, his hand going clumsy at the thought — as her hand twisted to play with her clit.

Would penetration be enough for her? Or would he have to toy with her too, stroking circles into her folds as he fucked her?

He positively shuddered at that, the idea of touching her the way that she’d been touching herself sending a wave of heat down through his belly and driving his teeth deep enough into his knuckles to draw blood.

So wet, he recalled, starting to jerk himself again. She’d been so wet.

Her head back, she would’ve been a sight. Those perky little breasts of hers heaving with every breath, shuddering as she mewled, and her neck, merde, her neck. Open and bared for biting, practically begging for it, fuck—

But maybe not. Perhaps she’d been on her knees, upright and riding her hand below her, the fingers of her other hand leaving a glistening path behind as they slid from her clit to play with her nipples.

Or— or perhaps she’d been on all fours, her back arched, one of her hands — fuck, that felt good — splayed over that shapely backside of hers, digits slipping slowly in and out of herself. Her cunt drooling for him, hips twitching and arching and bucking, her mouth buried in the meat of her bicep to muffle her moans…

“Fuck,” he hissed, twisting his fist on its way up to his tip, because wasn’t that a thought. 

And it shouldn’t have been, it shouldn’t have been anything at all, but suddenly all he could think about was the slick sound of her sex and the idea of her teeth, clamped down hard on her own skin, and merde, merde, it surely hadn’t always felt this good, the heat zipping down his spine and through his pelvis shouldn’t have been this good, but he could feel his whole body tightening and hot seed spilling over his palm and—

And June. Fuck, June.

[by-nina]

Years and Years

A Royai fanfic Rating: M (sexual content) Genre: Romance Word Count: 2,048

A/N: Hello everyone I miss writing and I miss Royai! And I was feeling both soft and very spicy so this is what came out of it. Y’all know how much I love taking them back to the Hawkeye manor.

“For starters, the last time I saw you here, I had you burn my back. And before that, I was both an orphan and my father’s successor to you. I don’t know how I should see you, Roy Mustang; you’re a different person every time you’re here, even now.”

There is a four-hour drive from Central to the Hawkeye manor at the outskirts of East City. What was once a dirt road that barely saw visitors to the old house welcomes Riza one morning, and it is only then that the finality of her visit sinks in for the first time. A young family had bought the house three months ago, with the promise that they would manage and spend for the renovations themselves. Her only purpose is to collect some old things of hers and her father’s, and maybe get a bit of cleaning done as courtesy to the family.

           Roy had decided to come along without question, or even any kind of discussion. She had simply mentioned the purchase in passing one day, and then her planned visit, and under a still-dark sky that morning, he showed up outside her apartment with his car. It made perfect sense, Riza reasoned. He might have left some of his own things during his time as her father’s student, and he would have more use than she would for whatever research materials her father had left behind. Above all, it’s a huge house—she needs the company and help.

          “We’re here, sir.”

          He is already awake, but he has difficulty opening his eyes. Riza decides not to wait for him, and she steps out just to look at the old house. She breathes as slowly as she takes it all in. There is a heaviness about it, like a weary weight on tired shoulders. Since her departure for the military, her presence has been replaced by that of overgrown vines and weeds. Despite all this, it hasn’t changed much; the structure still seems solid and functional. Nothing that a fresh coat of paint, new wood trimmings, and landscaping couldn’t fix.

          Roy joins her in gazing up at the house. “So this is it, then. Shall we get to work?”

          “A ten-minute break won’t hurt.”

          “No, no, I’m in perfect shape.” Roy swings and stretches his arms. “That nap for half of the trip helped a lot.”

          “I couldn’t let you drive all the way, though, could I? You’ve already done me a huge favor by coming along.”

          Riza finally takes her eyes off the house, and as she turns, she’s greeted by a smile that she wallows in greedily, and then guiltily. The warmth that rises in her cheeks is damning in the cool early morning breeze. Thankfully, Roy grants her another favor by not remarking on it. “Come on.”

          Every part of the house seems to creak as they enter—the fence, the door, the floorboards. The interiors aren’t as bad as Riza expected. Other than a few mold spots on the upholstery and a layer of dust on the remaining furniture, everything seems to be intact and functional. Of course, it isn’t as if she had left the house entirely untouched once she entered the military. She has dropped by now and again just to make sure it hadn’t fallen to ruin, and the young family has seen it for themselves—there are spots where the dust has been disturbed on the hardwood floors.

          “So, where should we start?”

          “Hmm.” Riza pauses for a moment. “There’s not a lot down here. I’ll go through the living room and the kitchen—you can start with my father’s study.”

          Roy clicks his tongue. “All right.”

          Clearing the ground floor is an easy half-hour task, as there are very few things on display that could be considered sentimental. Riza takes the only three pictures in the living room—the last Hawkeye family photo, a solo portrait of her mother, and herself as a baby with her mother—then she proceeds to the kitchen, which is far more promising. She recovers some brass pots and pans, an heirloom dining set with matching silverware, and wooden cooking utensils. Riza gathers these into a box and places them in the trunk of Roy’s car, and then she heads upstairs to check on his progress in the study.

          She pokes her head through the door. “How are you doing, Colonel?”

          He is crouching by the bottom of a crowded bookshelf at the back of the room, carefully absorbing each title. This is the first thing that takes Riza back to a vivid memory of her childhood, when a much younger Roy first became acquainted with Berthold Hawkeye. Shirt half-tucked, hair standing at the back—she can see the boy there almost as clearly as the man.

          “Well, the libraries in Central would cough up a fortune for a collection like this, and this shelf is all just general alchemy titles,” says Roy as he straightens up. He has a tattered book in hand that Riza didn’t notice right away. “You have stuff on philosophy over there, and biology in two full shelves there—that’s not yet getting into physics and chemistry, which is of course a lot more extensive since your father studied flame alchemy, and…”

          He trails off at the sight of Riza, who has become a picture of amusement—leaning against the doorway with her arms crossed, eyebrows raised, and a smirk lifting one corner of her lips. Roy clears his throat. “Anyway, I’ll try to finish this quickly.”

          “Take your time, we have a long day ahead of us.”

          Riza’s gaze is then drawn to a door at the end of the hallway. The sight of it alone is enough to fill her with nostalgia, enough to know that she needs to take precisely twelve steps to reach it. She opens the door, and she is all that has changed about the room.

          There are a few old books on her dresser and on a shelf that also holds a few memories of schoolgirl days—certificates from school and notebooks filled with both learnings and idle doodles, a few photos here and there, but nothing too personal—they come from official portraits like those from her graduation days, and class photos at assemblies. There’s an old porcelain lamp and her mother’s hairbrush on her nightstand. In her bedframe is a mattress long stripped bare, spotted with mold.

          She enters the room as if it were a sleeping beast she doesn’t want to wake. Only her reflection in a tall mirror startles her, but it might have something to do with the unfamiliarity of her freshly cut hair, which is once again as short as it was in her younger years. In contrast, the way she sinks as she sits at the end of her mattress is still a very familiar feeling. Riza is content to stare at the dusty curtains ahead of her for a while, until she is interrupted by the approach of Roy’s heavy footsteps.

          “So,” he says, slowly entering and examining the room, “this is the bedroom of young Miss Hawkeye.”

          She simpers as she turns to watch him. “You know, it’s not appropriate for strange adult men to enter young girls’ bedrooms like that.”

          “No!” Roy clutches his chest in mock pain. “I can’t believe you still consider me a stranger after all these years.”

          “Well, I’m open to suggestions. What should I consider you?”

          “It’s simple, really.” He takes a few careful steps to the side of Riza’s bed, then hesitates for only a few seconds before sitting in a spot perpendicular to hers. The mattress groans as it accommodates his weight. “When you’ve known someone for nearly all your life, you’ll eventually realize how you truly see them. It could go one way or the other.” A pause. “I realized that about you long ago, Riza.”

          Riza ignores the swooping in her chest. She laughs wistfully, her eyes cast downwards.

          “Oh, I don’t know. For starters, the last time I saw you here, I had you burn my back. And before that, I was both an orphan and my father’s successor to you. I don’t know how I should see you, Roy Mustang; you’re a different person every time you’re here, even now.”

          “Am I really just one of those things to you?”

          She looks up to find a knowing and hopeful expression on his face. He doesn’t need to ask; Riza knows exactly what he means by asking the question that he did. But surely he knows that she needs him to take the lead—that she has kept far too many hard truths to herself for honesty to be easy?

          Roy reaches for her hair without warning, raising goosebumps as his hand brushes against her nape. She is made aware again of how short her hair is now, cursing how exposed it leaves her feeling. Riza swallows hard, visibly. Somehow, it’s just the push that her nerves needed.

          “You’re not,” she whispers. “You haven’t been for a long time.”

          Suddenly, they’re face to face within an inch of each other. Riza leans in to close the gap, with their foreheads touching first, and then their noses. And then, only hesitation hangs between their lips. The moment stretches out with Roy taking a last lingering look at her features up close. Still, it’s he who kisses first, soft and cautious.

          There are a million lines that they have crossed to find themselves here, and the kiss does not answer when or how those lines were crossed. Ishval, the move to Central, the Promised Day—there's no point in figuring it out now. It's only one of many things that they have never needed to discuss, but somehow already knew. Still, even as Riza kisses him back, Roy pulls away with a deep breath. “Is this okay?”

          She responds by kissing him again and nodding eagerly—then her hands reach for him, one tugging at his button-down and the other taking his hand up the split in her skirt. Roy takes his cue; he guides her back down to the bed and her legs along the length of it. He is careful with his weight as he settles on top of her. All the while, their kisses become more fervent, greedier, until every little movement they make is lost in a flurry of reflex actions that are unrehearsed, but familiar from years of being side by side.

          When he finally enters her, Riza freezes for a brief moment as she is seized by the most tantalizing waves. She helps him find his pace by moving against him as well. Slow, then a little faster, then slow again—there is a different kind of pleasure at each pace, as well as some pain to work around. They find more places to kiss each other and place their hands, and at the sound of each other's moans and shuddering breaths, she becomes wetter and he throbs in anticipation.

          They settle on a certain tempo as they begin their final climax. Riza can no longer tell where it aches or stings, but the impending pleasure takes her mind off it.

          “Please, Roy—please—ahh—”

          Roy is moaning her name as she comes, and then again, until the waves stop and leave her spent. He thrusts a final time and then finally pulls out, deflating on top of Riza. For a minute, they are nothing but sweaty bodies, panting, and a plesant residual buzz. The wetness spreads onto the mattress. She holds him close, fingers in his hair.

          He settles into the spot next to her once he recovers. Roy kisses her forehead, and then her shoulder, and then her hand—and then he doesn't let it go. She inches into him until she cannot get any closer, and they are face to face again. Riza is the first to smile. He laughs, and it's the first new thing she has seen about him in a while. The second is his voice as he asks, “For how long?”

          She touches his face with her free hand. “Years.”

          Roy closes his eyes solemnly and nods once against the mattress.

          “Years.”

          He lets go of her hand then, pulling her close instead. There will be more questions about where this leaves them, Riza is sure—many of them to be dealt with once they return to their daily working lives at Central. But while they are there, she decides that this is all that matters: she is falling asleep in her old house for the last time, and in Roy’s arms for the first.

[calpops]

chasing chances | c.h.

Summary: He keeps doing this. Calling her over and letting her go, pushing her out and pulling her back in. He doesn’t think she minds, not with the way she’s so willing to come back to him. But how many chances can he possibly have?

Rated: M (?)

Word Count: 3k

***

The first time was chance.

Dim lights leave a lurid path to Calum’s motel room, the hallway is quiet and that’s a surprise. Usually noise scatters through paper thin walls and chases him with every step he takes. A stranger loosely grips his hand and the night isn’t unlike any other in that respect, but the silence echoes around Calum’s mind as he pushes the door open and leaves the lights off. Just enough light spills under the crack of the door to make out an outline of his newest distraction. Calum’s deft hands pull the strangers jacket off, the material falling to the carpeted floor in a pile. Calum waits a moment, as if to make sure this is okay. In kind the stranger’s only response is to trail her hands down the front of Calum’s button up, fiddling with the first button midway down his chest.

Calum recalls the stranger introducing herself but can’t for the life of him remember her name. The music had been too loud in the club and the name that tumbled out of the stranger’s mouth was lost as all Calum could think of was pinning her up against the wall. All Calum knows now are the lips that leave a tingling trail down his neck and hips that push into his. Calum’s usually not one to believe in luck but as his hands trail and lips wander he’s pretty content to believe this is more than chance. At least until the sun rises and the stranger is inevitably gone.

The bed is pushed into the corner of the room, beside a window, curtains shut tight to block out the sights of a restless stopping point. Calum can hear the traffic outside and it calms him, though his heart still beats faster than usual. He can feel it thudding in his chest and his neck, in the pulse point on his wrist and low in his stomach as the stranger’s hands reach for his belt. Calum guides them backwards, footsteps falling unevenly as his belt is pulled undone and his silk button up shirt falls off his shoulders.

In one swift movement Calum turns them so he feels in control, the strangers back is to the bed and Calum’s hands find purchase on her waistband. It doesn’t take Calum long to establish dominance, his stranger compliant through airy breaths and swollen lips. Small moans that turn to muffled cries behind a palm, creaking bedframe and headboard hitting the wall all sound a familiar symphony to Calum as the night wears on. He feels euphoria wash over him as he finishes and though it was Calum’s every hope that the stranger would leave before he woke in the morning a pang of guilt rises in his chest as the woman vacates the bed. Calum watches silently as she pulls her clothes on and slips out the door, shutting it with finality for the night, and perhaps forever.  

The second time was a lot like the first, yet somehow, it felt completely different.

Calum makes out her name loud and clear.

“Because I’m sure you didn’t remember that the first time I told you.”

Calum blushes past his best efforts and decides that though she may have gotten the best of him in this moment, it won’t last for long. Her hair spills out from under a baseball cap, the neckline of her shirt dips lower from movement and past the dingy bar lighting around them Calum realizes for the first time that her eyes shine. The motel had been too dark, the club had been too crowded. Their first hookup had been too meaningless to look further. Now, eye to eye and inches apart Calum is entranced, but not enough so to lose control completely.

She licks her lips and Calum leans forward, coming ever closer to his stranger. Calum puts one elbow up on the bar, palm flat to the linoleum surface and tilts his head to the side.

“I didn’t need to remember your name when it was mine you were screaming all night,” he whispers and watches as her teeth catch on her bottom lip. That is something he’s sure he will remember.

Without hesitation Calum is standing and pulling on the hemline of her shirt, the willing woman following, stumbling over her feet to find her way as close to Calum as she can. Calum grins and turns his eye line in the direction of the exit to the parking lot. Few patrons mingle around them, all none the wiser to their game and that drives Calum to sway her body towards the door.

“Give me a minute,” Calum says, chest pressed to her back, breath hitting her ear as he slips his key into her back pocket and pats her ass to nudge her forward.

So as to be discreet she only nods, though Calum catches the remains of a smirk on her bowed lips as he watches her walk towards the exit. She scans the bar, pausing as if to send a message to Calum. Calum waits a moment before ordering a shot and tossing it back in one fluid motion. Though she hesitated, she follows through and the door closes behind her. Calum doesn’t mind the burn of the shot as he wipes his mouth and heads towards the door. The night is dark and the car isn’t parked too far off. Finding her leaning patiently against the drivers side of the car sends a rush of accomplishment through Calum. It doesn’t take long for Calum to reach her.

Calum’s hands rest on her jawline momentarily before descending down and to her hips. Calum feels her chase after his lips but decides to leave her cold. It’s a taunt and Calum’s sure she realizes it but leaves her no time to do anything about it. Calum’s pushing against her, hands finding a grip that makes her press closer, though Calum’s not sure that’s physically possible. He presses forward so her back is flush with the car door. He trails kisses down her neck and pushes her jacket aside to expose collarbones with the remnants of bruises from a night not long past.

Momentarily Calum let’s her gain control, turning so Calum’s the one with his back to the car and legs pinned in place from the weight of her body. He can feel her against him, knows the rush of blood in his body is matched by her racing heart beat and tightening grip. She thinks she wants control, but when Calum tells her to unlock the car the urgency in which she follows betrays her better efforts. She fumbles with the keys and he hears the click as she does his bidding. Calum trails his mouth one last time down her neck before shrinking back and hooking a finger round the keychain with one hand and opening the door with the other.

Calum grins as he falls away from his one night stand turned two night coincidence who stands shell shocked and wary as Calum licks his lips and pulls her to duck down. From the driver’s seat Calum whispers into her ear the digits of his phone number.

“Remember that,” Calum says and closes the door. He rolls down the window as he peels out of his parking spot. “For next time.”

The third time it seemed like a need.

Late night phone call. Words that sound forlorn and pleas that pull them back together. It’s earlier than usual when they find their ways back to each other. Dusk is barely gracing the sky, fighting off the setting sun and shadowing off what light filters through slim apartment windows. Curtains flow against floor length window panes and beer bottles crack and fizz as the television in the background stays on mute. Calum blinks back his disbelief, he never thought she would memorize his number, and thought even less about the fact they may see each other again one day. But when the call finally happened, there was nothing but need hanging in the distance between them.

Calum answered the door for her sooner rather than later. He had expected her to show up, but the distance between them must have been small. He finds comfort in the fact that their private worlds aren’t so far apart and revels in the words he secretly yearned to hear. It’s the first time they’ve done nothing but talk. The first night they had exchanged all but three sentences before escaping to a motel. The more she speaks the more Calum fidgets. He remembers the feeling of her lips on his skin, smooth and soft hands that try to play dominant but succumb to what Calum demands.

Time passes slowly and in a daze as Calum listens and bounces his leg up and down absentmindedly. He’s hearing what she says and responding accordingly but there’s an ache in his bones and a rush in his blood that pounds in his ears telling him he needs to get his fix. She becomes highlighted under the glare of the television, lips full and glossy, and Calum swears she’s biting her lip just to drive him crazy. Calum’s heartbeat pulses in his neck at the remembrance of what her mouth can do. Breath catches in his throat at the thought of her lip catching on her teeth. He scoots closer to her, eliminating what small gap there may have been.

She looks up at Calum and the slight difference in their height makes him feel in control. He straightens and chases to put extra height over her as she slouches and leans forward, towards him, faces inching closer and closer.

“I have a feeling you didn’t come all the way over here just to drink beer and shoot the shit,” Calum finally says. He hears her swallow, watches the way her eyes go glassy and feels her hands find their way to his shirt. “You came because you needed me.”

Her eyes narrow slightly as if to portray her doubt but her hands don’t fall from Calum’s shirt and her mouth trembles as she lets out a betraying, broken breath. Calum lets her do what she wants, lets her hands trail down the path of buttons on his shirt and pop each one undone painstakingly slow. Patience settles over him, determination to win whatever battle this becomes. She makes the first move, head tilting and eyes fluttering closed, a slow kiss to Calum’s lips lighting up his entire body. She is brash for a moment, grip tightening around him as she tries to put Calum’s back to the couch.

In a swift movement Calum gains control only because she yields to him, easily letting him shift their position to grab the upper hand. Calum feels a slice of excitement cut through him as her back hits the cushions, her legs wrapping around his waist as he dips down. Calum grins into her skin and skims his teeth lightly against her shoulder. Hands that want more quickly strip her of her shirt and tug on her belt. Back pressed into the cushions and short breaths coming in bursts between kissed lips, she nearly melts into his control.

“Bedroom?” Calum asks and though it’s posed as a question the one word teeters on the edge of a command.

She is pliable and willing and eager to please, she darts her eyes down the shadowy hallway and as soon as Calum gives her room to lead, she moves to make way towards it. Impatience cuts at Calum though, he’s not sure he’ll be able to contain himself  for the time it takes to get into bed, his needy grips and restless lips can’t wait. He pulls her back to him, cutting her lead off completely, capturing her in a kiss that sends his desperate message. His hands rest on the sides of her face and drift to tangle into her hair, pushing her ever closer to him. She takes all that she can get and begs for more, hands searching for purchase on his clothing, hoping to rid him of it.

He does her bidding, if only to amuse her, and strips his undone shirt off his body without breaking their kiss. They stumble back, unwittingly headed for the bedroom, but the mess of uncoordinated steps drives Calum to pick her up, legs wrapped around his waist, and carry her there.

He all but throws her onto the bed as he wastes no time in stripping his pants off and moving to tug her shorts down her legs. He hovers over her and mumbles into her neck. “Need you so bad.”

Fingers grip fabric and rid her of her last piece of modesty. She’s bare for him, completely undone and kissed by moonlight that sends shivers up Calum’s spine. She tilts her head back and shudders out a breath that reminds Calum of summertime symphonies. He goes slow at first; savoring every moment and thrust, feeling her and what she needs. Feeding off of her movement, listening to the hitch of her breath and the whispered whines that he swears could rotate the world right off its axis.

But in the morning, when the sunlight should have shone down on her and left Calum warm, all he felt was empty sheets and a world that spun much too slowly without her.

The fourth time was habit.

It’s easy. Natural. Back presses into the wall and moonlight casts’ shadows that hallows out cheeks and sharpens jawlines. Calum’s free to roam her body the way he wants. Free to explore every inch, lips with remnants of vodka on his, begging for more. She juts her hips, desperately seeking his body to press further into hers. He swallows her plea and inches his own hips back slightly, making her groan and clench her hands into the fabric of his shirt, trying to pull him forward. He keeps doing this. Calling her over and letting her go, pushing her out and pulling her back in. He doesn’t think she minds, not with the way she’s so willing to come back to him. He feels a grin on his lips as he kisses her collarbones, works his way up her neck and uses a commanding hand to force her face back to his, eventually capturing her lips once more.

“Is this what you wanted, sugar?” He asks against her mouth, knowing full well the moan is the only answer he will be getting. She pulls him closer, his pretend resistance faltering to allow her a want. He presses into her, thigh between her legs and hand drifting down her abdomen. She squirms beneath his touch and gasps for air as he pulls away.

“I want more,” she whispers and lets her eyes flutter shut, lip quivering as Calum runs a thumb over her swollen mouth.

“How much?” Calum questions, an eyebrow arching as he watches her. She opens her eyes, staring unflinchingly back at him. He searches her eyes for any indicator of what she might say, but she’s steadfast and stony. He finds that she has a new kind of resistance, one that holds her will a bit longer, coats her pleas with something stronger than feeble words and hopeless tugging.

“All,” she answers and swallows, licking her lips and catching the tip of his thumb. “I want all of you.”

By the fifth time, the reasons stopped mattering.

Calum stretches out, the familiar warmth of her lays next to him. She’s under the covers with heavy eyes and purple painted thighs, hickeys cover every inch of her that Calum could reach. He had called her again, two simple words bringing her back. Come over. He didn’t need to say more before she said she’d be there soon. And even though soon was only minutes it had felt like a lifetime to Calum. He waited by the door, and opened it before she had a chance to knock. He pulled her in again, the only words between them all their wants.

Calum shifts, hoping his movement will bring her closer but she stirs and rises. He bites his lip and hoists himself up on his hands, sheet slipping down his waist. She runs her hands through her hair and leans down to pick up her dress and slip it on. Calum’s breath catches in the back of his throat as she stands.

“You’re leaving?”

She turns back to him, eyes low and hands smoothing out her dress. “I always do.”

Calum almost tells her that she doesn’t have to leave but the thought sounds wrong. She doesn’t have to leave, but he’s not sure what would happen should she stay. Her next words stop his thoughts and any possible words short.

“This is what we do, right? One night at a time. That’s all you want.”

After that, there were no more ‘why’s’, just ‘why nots’.

They create an intricate and complicated pattern. Forging boundaries without words and letting behaviors go unnoticed out of insatiable desire. Calum neglects to articulate why he wants her, but each night that she comes and goes it leaves his heart a little heavier than before. She shows up less and less frequently, calls go unanswered and texts get ignored. But something always crashes them back together; chance after chance stumbles into them. She follows his lead when they happen along each other in the real world. Hushed tones and secret touches that bring them back to Calum’s place, if only for one more night.

Months separate their last rendezvous and Calum grows weary with impatience. It’s midnight when she answers his call, her voice is soft and cracking with sleep. Calum feels his heart skip a beat when she says ‘okay’. He asked her to come over but expected her to say no. It’s another piece of their pattern. Neglect. Reject. Accept. He’s glad it’s come back round to accept.

She shows up with her jacket cinched at the waist and nothing but a night slip underneath. Her skin is cool from the autumn night air and her lips are bitten raw. Calum sees the restless way her eyes dart around the room and the indescivice slowness to her steps. She gazes around his house like she’s a stranger and it’s all new to her, but it’s her scent that’s embedded in his sheets and her shadow his eyes trick him into seeing.

“One more night,” she says softly, eyes downcast at the notches in the floor, fingers untying the belt that keeps her jacket together. “Just one more.”

Calum’s not surprised to find her gone by the time the sun comes up, but the notecard sticking out from under the pillow takes him aback. He’s never had any piece of her in the morning, and he’s not sure whatever is written on the card is a piece he can handle. Nonetheless he grabs for it and lets the scrawl stop his world. .

The first time was chance.

The second time was a lot like the first, yet somehow, it felt completely different.

The third time it seemed like a need.

The fourth time was habit.

By the fifth time, the reasons stopped mattering.

After that, there were no more ‘why’s’, just ‘why nots’.

I’ve chased down every chance. Maybe it’s time for you to run to me.

***

Copyright 2019 calpops. All rights reserved. This work is not allowed to be uploaded by anyone else in any format (translations included). 

[whitewolfbumble]

Wild Horses - Chapter 5/5

COMPLETED

A Bucky Barnes Biker AU

Summary: Kicked out of school and exiling yourself in a town time forgot, one little incident lands the sights of the locally infamous Avengers biker gang square on you. Wild horses run faster and there was no chance to turn back now.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: About 3k

Warnings: Language, shock

A/N: The last chapter is here! I really hope you all have enjoyed this as much as I have writing it. And of course this whole series is dedicated to celebrating the darling @softhairbarnes for her milestone and to highlight how beautiful a soul she is! Love you so much darling and hope this series made your days a little brighter.

MY MASTERLIST // WILD HORSES MASTERLIST // CHAPTER FOUR

You couldn’t say how long you stood there alone, watching the door and waiting for him to come back. Long enough for the blood to cool and turn frigid on your back and legs. Long enough for your shaking to stop. Long enough for your conscious working mind to ease the shock and take back a small amount of control.

He left you because he knew you could handle this.

That thought rung through your head dully and distantly at first, repeating over and over until action resulted from it, pushing cobwebs and haze from your mind.

You had seen a dead body before. You had had the blood of another person on you. You knew the sound of a knife cutting flesh. What happened tonight wouldn’t kill you. It wouldn’t even hurt you. It had been necessary, and you could handle it.

You can handle this.

Eventually you turned slowly, feet still planted, looking around you. Despite the minimal places in town, this looked familiar but you pushed that thought away quickly. You didn’t need to sort this out, you needed a plan. You needed a plan so you could get through this.

You were cold and wet. You wanted to be warm and dry. 

So that would be step one.

With clicking, chattering teeth you took one slow and tentative step as though you were walking on stilts for the first time, arms held up in front of you, reaching to hold on to nothing. After a couple more in the direction of a partially open door with what looked like a tile floor, you allowed your feet to take back control and get you across the room.

The old creaky door opened with the slightest pressure of your hand, a smear of blood where you touched it. The bathroom was old and tiled floor to ceiling in chipped, dingy tile. Just like at your house it had an ancient clawfoot tub and you walked right to it. You ran the shower, pipes groaning and spraying down a shatter of cold water until after a time it started finally warming.

You sat in that tub, back to the drain with steaming hot water cascading down your shoulders, eyes focused ahead on the decaying tile. You couldn’t allow yourself to watch the blood pouring off you in gushing streams. It was some time before the water wasn’t blood red anymore. And even longer after that before you stood up, stripping your clothes off and leaving them there without another glance.

Wrapped in a worn but clean towel you walked through the large room you had been standing in, shock and trauma easing after that shower, as though the water washed a little of the horror away too.

The room itself was feeling more familiar than you first realized, something about it ringing up thoughts of having been someplace similar. The space was like a loft and completely open, dark brown wood comprising the floor and walls and rafters, looking just the same as Anderson’s bar. 

It didn’t have a kitchen, just a bed against the wall in a broken and lopsided bedframe. A next to a small side table was next to it and a couple dusty boxes in the corner, and besides the bathroom and what looked like a closet door, that was it really. Nothing remarkable or homey to it at all.

You clutched the towel to yourself as you went to the closet, your nerves shut up for just a moment as you saw worn and clean clothes. They were huge on you, enveloping your frame, but the old sweat pants, shirt and hoodie was comfortable and it meant you didn’t have to either stand naked or get back into wet, bloodied clothes. It wasn’t exactly relief, but a kind of silent thankfulness that hugged you at finding the garments.

You changed in a rush, exposed in the wide open room, before sitting with the loud strain of old metal bedsprings under you, wrapping your arms around your knees. 

And again, for an unknown length of time, you waited.

_______

You weren’t stupid, but it did seem to you now that you were, in fact, a complete idiot.

In the space of the minutes or hours you were there, dark night refusing to give up its hold, you began to think through everything leading up to your being here.

And one thing you settled on was that the group of noisy, occasionally obnoxious, though always rather kind bikers were not there for Bucky’s sake. They weren’t there to see if he was alright, to make sure he was being taken care of, to keep an eye on him.

In fact, he seemed just fine, fighting off your attacker, getting you here and carrying you up to this loft. His movements had been swift and pain free it looked like, posture upright and moving without a hint of stiffness. And even his expressions, the way he smiled the morning after, the contentment he had… He must have been hurt like this before and this latest bout didn’t phase him in the least.

Bucky, just like the others, had stayed there with you. 

Had stayed there because of you.

And like an idiot, you concocted a lie and made them leave.

You sighed into your hands, not knowing the full picture or having every question answered, but you figured out enough for guilt to mingle in with the other innumerable emotions doing somersaults inside you.

And now where were the others? Where was Bucky? Out there in the darkness, fighting the people who came after you? Getting hurt or stabbed or killed?

If so, it was because of you. Maybe you weren’t the cause for the feud, but you were a catalyst. Bucky had said more than once that he would protect you, with his life if necessary. Looks like you had put that to the test already.

Now not so much alone, but accompanied by your thoughts and guilt, you continued to wait. The room around you settled and creaked, the night air brushed through the tree outside the windows, and in the dark you stayed.

_______

A freezing terror held you still as you heard someone come up the stairs two at a time, but that disappeared instantly when you saw his face. It was as though the memory of the time you spent alone vanished the second you saw him.

Those big blue eyes, white and bloodied shirt, rich brown hair… Just the image of him here with you was a balm to your tattered soul, blood and all.

His name was caught in your throat and yours in his it seemed, the two of you saying nothing at first as he crossed the expanse to you. Bucky sat down in front of you, and heavily your head hit his shoulder, breathing in the now comforting smell of leather, exhaust, and open roads that clung to him. You remembered when you hated this smell. You couldn’t possibly hate it now.

“I’m alright.” you whispered to his unspoken question, rubbed into your back with his large warm hands.

You turned up to him, weary but awake eyes on his. He adjusted as you did, one hand staying on your back and the other now on your neck, looking down at you softly and pained.

“I’m so sorry Bucky, I didn’t know,” you started. “I just didn’t realize it…”

You hesitated, rolling the next question around in your mouth, needing to ask it but not wanting the answer. Not if wasn’t the response you wanted.

“Is… How is Steve? The others? Is anyone…” you trailed off, not wanting to voice the end to your question.

“Everyone’s fine, it’s all fine,” he murmured gently. “We handled them.”

His words eased off a small fraction of guilt inside you. It was enough for you to be able to get off this rickety bed and pace out to the middle of the room.

Bucky stood immediately, moving to follow but your pacing steps to and fro kept him at bay. You needed space in all this it because you couldn’t have the feel of your skin to his- that intimate presense you shared when he was close- sway him to sugar coat this. You needed to hear the truth.

“It’s all my fault, isn’t it?” you said, less as a question and more a confirmation. “This is happening somehow because of me.”

“No,” Bucky said firm and kind, hands loosely on his hips in emphasis. “I can’t say that’s true at all. I’m the one that started this, if we’re being honest.”

From what you knew, Bucky had left the Avengers when he hit a rough patch and joined a rough crowd. This sweet man in front of you couldn’t have stayed with that group Hydra, even considering the deadly side you knew of him and tonight had witnessed to its full extent. 

But that was out of protection, out of need. A life of hate and fear just wasn’t where he belonged. So maybe his leaving had caused a rift in the gangs, maybe that escalated things to an all out war even, but you were involved in this somehow too.

“Well, maybe that’s true, but it’s not the whole picture Bucky,” you insisted. 

Internally you were bracing for the painful truth, waiting for the hammer to drop on you.

“Y/N, it’s not wha-”

“Don’t keep me in the dark anymore!” you shouted suddenly, voice ringing bitingly in the loft.

It was quiet for a few moments after the shrill echo of your voice died down before Bucky spoke.

“Alright,” he said, much quieter than you but just as firm. His eyes stayed glued on you, honest as always, and his body held back only by the insisted distance you kept from him.

“This town has what, fifty people living here? You think the other gang didn’t know exactly where you lived? It was always going to be risky, you taking the deal. Maybe the risks weren’t explained. Maybe you didn’t know the extent of the tension between us and them. They saw you as a weak link, a way to control us or take us down. But we weren’t about to let that happen.”

You focused only on his words and your breathing, ignoring everything else in the world or your past. In that moment it was only you and only Bucky that existed, and you took in every word he had to say.

“I knew when Rumlow came to the bar that he was a scout. He saw you with me, and that was all he needed. It was enough for Hydra. The meeting we had without you, after you fixed up my collar bone? About Hydra. The fight where I was stabbed by Rumlow? With Hydra. The protection you were under? Because of Hydra. They are a threat, Y/N. A serious one... Obviously.”

You had no idea you were running this race against this enemy. You had no idea this was all happening behind the scenes. You were caught up in this madness so fast you had the burning feeling of whiplash coursing through you, though you body was frozen still.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you managed to make out, hoarsely.

You were to blame partly, of that you knew, but you couldn’t hold yourself responsible for all of it. Not if you didn’t have every piece to this puzzle.

He shook his head a little, starting out with words he had all but made clear to you before.

“Because you’re between two worlds Y/N. One foot in in ours and one out there,” He pointed out the window, to home and more distantly to your past life. “We weren’t going to force you into our bloody, rough one. The plan was to keep you out of the way. Hidden. No one thought you would want to be in on this whole thing, not really. But I-I hoped…”

He faded off with a big silent sigh and piercing blue gaze.

“Hoped for what, Bucky?” you said. “That keeping me in the dark was going to work out for us all? I wouldn’t have sent anyone away if I had known all this.”

He paused, arms dropped to his sides, no walls or pretense up around him. He wasn’t the old Bucky, hardened, pained, and deadly. He wasn’t the one most saw, closed off, distant, someone to distrust. He was real and true and soft.

“That you would want to stay because of me,” he said simply. “I asked you before, actually. At the bar. I asked you to stay, and I didn’t just mean there. I wanted you to stay with us… With me.”

Your face turned blank, not quite unbelieving just… more like unable to process it right this second.

“You... you don’t know me.” you stammered.

“I don’t know every single detail about you, no. You’re right, I don’t.” He took one stride right up to you and closed the distance, his large frame dwarfing yours and sucking the air out of your lungs, replacing it with an ache. “But I do know what I want is you, Y/N. I spent a lot of my life doubting anything. Everything. My decisions, my path. But I haven’t doubted you. I couldn’t.”

This was wild.

This was insane.

You had unknowingly been going a hundred miles an hour down an unknown path from the start, side by side with him.

... And deep down this was exactly what you wanted.

You wanted one world, not this divide within you. You wanted one person to call yours. Who understood. You wanted connection.

Before you could speak he did, needing to fill the silence with something other than what could be your rejection of him and this life.

“I’ll let you go, Y/N. If that is what you want,” His expression lay still, shutting down whatever emotions he could. It was only successful for a moment. “I can get you out of here tonight, back to you old life. To your friends and family.”

He paused briefly, eyes shifting to something almost pleading, searching yours desperately for an answer.

“Or you can stay. You can drop the pretense of belonging anywhere else, because I know you belong here. We can protect you. I will protect you. You could be happy, have a world you belong in, with a family you belong with… You could be with me because I… I want to belong to you, Y/N. And I want you to belong to me.”

His words hung vulnerable and thick between you, as raw and real as you had ever heard.

And for once you didn’t need to second guess. You didn’t need to talk it through. Even with the horror and blood you had witnessed, that didn’t compare- that couldn’t compare- or alter what you were feeling. What you had known but fervently wanted to doubt from the beginning. Something you just couldn’t push away anymore.

Maybe you should. Maybe you should have turned and ran from here the moment Bucky left. Gone to the authorities. Described the murder and terror of it all. Gotten away from all this. 

But you just didn’t want too. Logic aside, your feelings and your lifetime of longing won out.

“Okay,” you said simply, stunning yourself.

And with that one word, the dam inside you broke, releasing tension and panic, worry and nerves. It flowed down from your chest, tightness retreating with it, and dripped down your body into the floor, disappearing.

“Okay?” Bucky asked slowly, brows furrowed.

You looked to him, nodding and breathing easier than you had in what felt like your entire life.

“I’m in. I’m with you.” you said, light and honest.

Confusion spread on his face, but quickly mingled with realization and thread of  joy. He didn’t ask for details or question your few simple words or your intent. Didn’t ask for assurances or want to talk stipulations or boundaries. The calm and easy expression on your face, one he wasn’t sure he would ever see after murdering someone in front of your eyes, gave him confidence enough.

His smiling lips crashed into yours, more chuckling into you with joy than really kissing you. You couldn’t help doing the same, his infectious spirit overtaking yours.

“I have a suspicion you can’t go long without getting stabbed,” you said, buzzing with warmth and belonging at the arms wrapped around you. “So if you’re going after Hydra or they’re coming after you, I think you’ll need me.”

“I think I’ll always need you.” he whispered sweetly and hushed into your temple, kissing you gently, just like he had before leaving.

But unlike earlier, now you didn’t feel alone. You weren’t shocked or afraid or divided. You had a place, had a person, had a world to be free in. To run wild in without self-imposed boundaries or the weight of unmet expectations. It was you, him, and the Avengers against everyone else. And it felt right.

A/N: Thanks again so much for reading! Please let me know what you thought of this series with a reblog/like/message, as it really keep me motivated to keep writing!  There is a possibility for a sequel to this (in the distant future) with either Buckys POV through the fighting and events or Readers POV with what comes after this. I have a bunch of other writing and requests to get through first but if you would be interested, let me know!

Permanent Tags: @dontpanc @smodvocate @bungalowjamaica @buckybonky@methefandompanda @hangirl93 @captainrogerrsbeard @friendly-neighborhood-lich-queen @thisgirllikeme @jjsoccer11 @innerpandablizzard-blog @fanatic-fanfic

Bucky Barnes Tags: @bexboo616 @kaaatniss

Wild Horses Tags: @myshakespeareandarling @lunasayinprincess2 @disagreetoagree @lilypalmer1987@verygraphicink @jsmith509 @plumsforbuckxx @imnotcoolmasterrr

[calamity-writes]

Eh 27.3 Endgame

Cast: Haylan ( @siriusdraws ),  Rythlen Theirin ( @picchar )​, Milliara (me!) Theseus Trevelyan (@perditionxroad), Peanut Adaar ( @cupcakelogic ), Fiowyn ( @shyquisitor )

Guest appearance: Karya and Aldes ( @kingsdragonage ), Kenslynn ( @megan-mayhem ), the DuMarcs ( @fangrl-esque )

~4600 words, Rated R for violence and language

Fiowyn - Skyhold

Fiowyn stood stock still, holding Nils behind her with one hand, while the other stretched out toward the woman that stood between her and the exit. Tall, regal and imposing, the so-called First Enchanter had pressed her lips together primly at Fi’s refusal to hand over the boy.

“You’re only making this harder for everyone involved, dear,” the woman said with a small sigh. “Here you are, pitifully defenceless and rather drunk, and you plan to stand against me?”

Fiowyn took a deep breath, trying to keep her eyes on the woman with the weird horned hat as she turned to speak to over her shoulder to Nils.

“Nils, sweetie,” she said calmly. “Why don’t you crawl under Mamae’s bed for now? I’ll tell you when it’s safe to come out. Until then, cover your ears and close your eyes okay?”

Nils gave her hand a squeeze and scrambled under the four post bed. It was huge, and it would keep Nils away from any blowback or spells. Fi didn’t doubt that the mage had the upper hand, but she couldn’t -wouldn’t- just hand Nils over so some prissy Orlesian woman.

“A poor decision, darling,” Vivienne said with a sigh. “The boy needs a proper education and he’ll get one despite his mother’s misguided opnions on the matter. Such a shame she went… native with you lot,” she said, voice icy. She flicked her grip on the staff she held and a blast of force struck Fiowyn square in the chest, knocking her back to the floor by the bed.

“I would stay down if I were you, dear,” Vivienne said. Through the ringing in her ears, Fi heard the woman’s heels click on the floor, approaching where she lay and where Nils hid just a arm’s length away.

Fiowyn looked over at the boy, his eyes squeezed shut and his hands over his ears like she’d told him. Something glinted by him, and Fi said a silent prayer of thanks to whichever of the Creators fuelled Millie’s paranoia. stuck to the slats of the bedframe was a pistol.

“Whatever it is you think you’re going to do,” Vivienne said, “Don’t.” Fiowyn watched the mage lower the head of her staff until it pointed directly at Fi’s nose. The tip started to glow, and the hairs along Fi’s arms prickled with static.

“Say goodbye to your nephew, darling.”

Theseus - Winter Palace

Another night and Theseus would have let the questions go. Another night, when his… his… when whatever Milliara was to him, hadn’t killed her ex. When she wasn’t trying to shut him out for no reason. When his blood wasn’t flush with lyrium thrumming with every beat of his heart. He tried to shake the questions off but they chewed at the back of his mind, fuelled by Lyrium.

It was one of those lesser known side effects, like losing your memory after several decades of use. The Chantry didn't tell you the rush Lyrium gave you until your first draught. They let you feel the way it made you bolder, less afraid, and told you it was for when you had to face down abominations and blood mages who would sooner show you your own spine than listen to reason. Whether it was truly the Maker giving him courage or just a chemical reaction tot he lyrium, it didn't matter. The effect was the same. The thrum of the drug in his veins pushed and pushed at the questions until he couldn't take it any more.

Three long strides took him up to where Milliara was stalking forward, muttering to Rythlen.

“Millie, talk to me. Please,” he said, reaching for her arm. “Tell me what’s going on. Tell me what happened. Did he hurt you? Did he-”

She flinched away from him, yanking back from his hand. The flash of fear in those silver eyes cut deeper than any words she might have flung his way. He’d never done anything to hurt her, never. Did she still think he would? She'd said she trusted him, but that was before she'd chosen the bastard Chevalier to watch her back.  Now Rousseau had hurt her, forced Milliara to kill him. He might have deserved it, but if Theseus had been there, if he knew what happened maybe he could help... somehow.

“Don’t,” Milliara growled up at him. “Don’t push this right now, Theseus.”

Looking up at him, he watched Milliara put on a mask of anger to hide the fear. She didn’t have to, not around him, didn't she know that? It wasn't as though they were in the middle  why did she try to hide that she was just human? Theseus winced internally at the phrase.

He realised Milliara was squinting at him, eyes flicking back and forth as she stared at his face. It took him a heartbeat to realise what she was staring at. He had forgotten she had such good eyesight in the dark. With her eyes, she'd be able to see that his pupils were still contracted to points,

“Are you… high?” She hissed.

“Lyrium doesn't make you 'high',” Theseus said, frowning.

“You- you took lyrium. What, here?” she asked, eyes wide. “Why would you take lyrium here? For all you know someone could have poisoned it, or worse, corrupted it with that red crap!”

“You’re being unreasonable,” he snapped back. He'd thought she was over this. He needed the lyrium to be effective in combat. She'd said she trusted him. Looks like she didn't anymore. “I took it so I could protect you. We don’t know what we’re facing out here, and you kept leaving me behind-”

“I almost lost you at Adamant. I wasn't going to lose you here.” Milliara jabbed a finger into his chestplate. Her glowing vallaslin flickered angrily in time with what would be her pulse. Theseus knew she was truly angry now, but so was he. The only thing that stopped him from raising his voice was her admission that she'd been scared for him, not of him.

Shit.

"Millie I'm sorry," he started to say. She didn't give him a chance to continue. Grabbing his chestplate, she pulled him down to her eye level.

“But this is bigger than you, and bigger than me and bigger than Fred. If I have to cut through you too because you were a dumbass and took lyrium in the fucking Orlesian-godsdamn-court, I will. I’ve done it once and I’ll do it again.”

Milliara let go and smacked his hand away as Theseus reached out to stop her, to try to smooth things over. She'd done it once? Did that mean when she'd been at Redcliffe she'd killed whatever she thought had been him? Or did that mean she'd killed Fred, and wouldn't hesitate to kill him too?

“Trevelyan, take Dorian and find Leliana and Cullen. Tell her what happened. Ry, Solas, New guy, we’re going Duchess-hunting.”

“Mil-”

“That was an order, Knight,” she snarled over her shoulder. “Move your ass.”

Theseus watched her stalk away, unable to meet Rythlen’s  eyes as she glanced back with an empathetic face. Instead he took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders.

He had his orders. He hated them, but he had his orders.

‘I’ve done it once, and I’ll do it again’.

“I thought we were past that,” he muttered to himself, then turned to scowl at Dorian.

“Don’t look at me,” Dorian said, holding his hands up in defence. “I did try to tell you to drop it.” The Altus clicked his tongue. “But really, trusting Lyrium here to be untampered with? I hope you’re right and it was untouched.”

Theseus shook his head, starting towards the doors that would lead towards the main ballroom.

“I mean, in Minrathous you’d already be dead by now, but I hope you’re right.”

“You didn’t need to add that part, Dorian,” Theseus said over his shoulder.

“Hm. I suppose you’re right. Well, let’s go save an Empire, shall we?”

Maeve - Winter Palace

Everything happened so fast.

The Empress approached the dias and microphone to address the crowd and had yet to even say anything when the doors to the ballroom burst open and militants with harlequin patterns on their armor strode into the crowd, rifles raised and voices shouting for everyone to get onto their knees and put their hands behind their heads.

Cullen and Maeve both reacted on instinct. He punched the nearest bard, grabbing and twisting the gun from the man’s grip. Maeve slammed her glass into the woman behind him’s throat, grabbing the rifle and pointing it to the cieling and away from the civilians and nobles.

The masqued woman squeezed off a spatter of shots on reflex, the bullets punching into the gilded moulding of the ballroom cieling, sending chunks of plaster and dust falling down onto the screaming people below.

Gritting her teeth, Maeve grabbed the woman by the collar and twisted, throwing her over her hip and to the hard floor. Viciously, she yanked the rifle free and squeezed off a burst into the bard’s chest.

“Get to the Empress,” Cullen was shouting. Maeve could hardly hear him over the screams. But behind him there was another bard, there were too many. She couldn’t leave him and lose him like she’d lost-

Maeve grabbed Cullen’s lapels, twisting and throwing herself between him and the bard. She felt the first bullet punch into her back, tracing a line of fire through her that bloomed into white static in her chest. The other two shots were distant thuds, a hand pounding her back as she choked on the hot froth that bubbled up her throat.

“Maeve?” Cullen sounded so scared. She tried to cup his jaw, but her hands weren’t working right. “MAEVE?!”

“Sorry,” she whispered. “I couldn’t let- I’m sorry.” Her lips were still moving, but they were numb now, her whole body cold and numb aside from the trails of fire through her chest. “I love you.”

Warm arms wrapped around her, and Maeve smiled.

Cullen was always so warm...

Milliara - Winter Palace

“Soo...” the new guy said, keeping up as Millie and the others jogged around towards the balcony that jutted out into the courtyard from the head of the ballroom. It was where the peacetalks were to take place, an oasis from the crush of nobles and where the true business of Ruling Orlais was done.

It was also a back way in that Florianne wouldn’t expect.

“What,” Milliara said, turning through the maze of trellises and hedges. She wasn’t stopping, they’d wasted too much time already.

“Do you two always argue? Not that I'm complaining, it makes missions more entertain-”

“Get to the point or stop talking,” Millie said.

To his credit, the new guy took direction well. He coughed awkardly but let the poor attempt at banter drop. Theseus could learn a thing or two about that, Milliara thought bitterly. She'd said not now, and she'd fucking meant it. This wasn't the time or the place to talk about feelings.

"May I have a weapon before we find the Duchess? Pretty please?” Galaren asked. "Unfortunately her men took mine before-"

Without looking behind or slowing down, Milliara pulled the handgun from the small of her back and held it out to the side for the New Guy to take.

“Just take the gun,” she said, biting back a sigh. "And try not to shoot anyone wearing black."

Milliara felt him take the weapon and heard the click as he checked the magazine. At least he knew that much. Whatever witty reply he might have had was cut off by the stutter of small arms fire that ripped through the night air.

“Shit,” Milliara said, breaking into a run. The balcony was just ahead, with the trellis she remembered still there. Bless the void for small favours, Milliara leapt up onto the wooden lattice, climbing up it as fast as she could. Inside the ballroom there was screaming and more gunfire until a familiar voice spoke on the sound system.

“Lords, Ladies, dear Orlesians,” Florianne said. “Welcome with me an end to the corruption of Orlais, an end to the infighting and pointless Civil War. Welcome with me the reign of the only true God, the Elder One!”

Leaping from the trellis to the balcony, Milliara landed  and rolled on the flagstones, absorbing the worst of the sound. She crept forward, bent low to hide behind the feast table that stood between her and the ballroom until she reached it’s edge. Peering around it, she could see Florianne standing  next to a kneeling Gaspard and Celene. Each had a Bard in armor standing behind them with a handgun pointed at the back of their heads.

“Mother fuckers,” Milliara breathed. She glanced over at Ry, and signalled she was going in. They’d have to catch up, there was no time to waste.

With no gun –damnit New Guy– she was limited with what she had to work with. Millie peered at the top of the table, plucking two cheese knives from the spread and tucked them into her belt.

She took a breath in and held it, letting it out as she stepped out from behind the table and launched her two daggers at the gunmen. There would be others, and a knive thrown was a knife you couldn’t count on getting back.

The first gunman stumbled with a cry, the gun falling from his hand. The second grunted, legs buckling underneath him as the superheated blade of Milliara’s dagger bit through the back of his neck. She didn’t stop to watch if the blade had paralysed him or not. Pulling to stolen cheese knives free from her belt, she ran them over the spongey pouch at her hip, coating them in poison. If they weren’t already, this was Orlais after all.

The attendees at the ball gasped as Millie appeared from the darkness of the balcony. Milliara twisted, slamming her foot into the head of the injured gunman and knocking him over and away from Celene.

Behind her, Milliara could hear the others landing on the balcony, and she felt the cool prickly of magic settle around her shoulders. Solas, she guessed, but in the thick of things, it could be anyone who’d cast the spell. Millie just open it was a friendly spell and not a malicious one.

“You are as stubborn as ever,” Florianne said, lips peeling back from her teeth. “But before you move further, let me ask you: how much do you love your son?” Milliara froze, cheese knives in each hand. The chill she felt may well have been ice water poured down her spine.

//Never let them see you bleed,/ she reminded herself. The next words were unbearable, but she said them because she had to, because if she didn’t, she’d give up what was most precious to his… hyena in silks.

“I don’t,” Milliara lied. “I would have thought you’d understand bargaining chips, Florianne. Keeping Nils meant keeping Frederic in line.” She forced her lips into a smile with too much teeth, even as she prayed to the void that Nils was safe. Skyhold was remote, it was patrolled and Fiowyn, Peanut and the others were there. Nils had to be safe. “Of course now that Fred is out of the picture… he’s a child as any other.”

Florianne hesitated. It was only a flutter of doubt but Milliara saw it in the Duchess’ eyes before she turned to face the crowd. The courtiers, sharks one and all, caught it too. Blood was in the water, and it wasn’t the Inquisitior’s.

“I don’t believe you,” Florianne said, gesturing up toward the screens hung around the dias. They flickered and cut away from a shot of Florianne to an image of the inside of Milliara’s rooms at Skyhold. More specifically, the floor where Fiowyn lay on one of he rugs that had been brought in at Josephine’s insistance. Nils liked to run his toy ships along the curling vines woven into it.

Now, Milliara watched as her cousin stared up at whoever was wearing the camera. A staff was outstretched toward Fiowyn’s face, crackling with energy. The camera spun, knocked off balance and Milliara caught a glimpse of dark manicured hands reaching out and throwing a ball of energy towards the two figures that now stood in the doorway. The audio crackled and popped, static and shouts of surpise as a Very Angry Qunari who was wearing a ruffly pink apron and bows on her horns, charged. Kalieth behind her was shouting, but whatever it was that she said was lost in the static and feedback.

The camera tumbled, bouncing and rolling to the side to show Peanut haul Vivienne to her feet and physically throw her into a wall.

“Hmm,” Milliara said, placing her hands on her hips. “This is going really well for you, Florianne.”

Vivienne tried to rally, reaching into the ether and pulling out a glowing blade to slash at Peanut. But a shimmering barrier sprung up, sending the blade skidding off harmlessly.

From underneath the bed, a small face and hand could be seen, and Milliara’s heart swelled up painfully as she realised her son had helped to protect his tutor. She swallowed hard, trying to regain the cold mask of indifference. It was too late.

“Don’t love him hm?” Florianne said, smug. She reached up to her collar and pulled at the butterflies there. Whatever magic or engineering had held the dress together released, letting silks fall to the floor. Underneath she wore light armor, similarly painted in ugly harlequin red and white. Orlesians.

“Look,” Milliara said, giving up on the pretense of indifference. “You’re not going to win this, Florianne. Surrender now, and I’ll let you live. You tried a play and it failed. There’s no shame in admitting you lost.”

“No shame?” Florianne asked, placing a hand to her breastbone in shock. “In losing to an elf? Please, I would rather die, rabbit.”

Milliara felt her lip twitch up into a sneer at the slur.

“That can be arranged. How about a duel? One on one. The winner takes the game tonight and the other’s life.” Milliara glanced out at the crowd, eyes scanning and catching key faces. Leliana, Josephine, Alistair were all there. Accounted for. If she could minimize losses, if she could just keep this from getting worse-

“Hm,” Florianne said, tapping a finger against her lips. “No.”

The Grand Duchess pulled her other hand around from her hip, now holding a handgun similar to those her henchmen had held before Milliara had incapacitated them. Instead of dodging to the side, Milliara threw herself forward. The gun flashed, bucking twice in Florianne’s hand before the elf was on her. Cheese knives or no, they were sharp and coated in the strongest poison Milliara had been able to make earlier that day.

The broader of the two slammed into the crook of Florianne’s elbow, slicing through the thin material there to bite into flesh. The poison was fast acting, not lethal but enough to disorient, and hopefully enough to turn the odds into Milliara’s favour. She had, after all, brough cheese knives to a gunfight. Not one of her best moments, she knew.

Florianne’s spare hand snapped into a hard punch to Milliara’s face, splitting the skin over her left eye. The hot blood that poured out stung her eye, and Milliara squeezed it shut to keep it from distracting her. But the hit had been enough to dislodge her grip on the Duchess. A sharp kick send Millie sprawling back onto the marble floor for the second time that night, and she wheezed and rolled back onto all fours.

Bright bolts of energy arced over her head and slammed into the Duchess, sending her staggering back. And Rythlen, beautiful, warrior queen that she was, charged forward and slammed the edge of her shield into the Duchess’s stupid masqued face. Florianne toppled, arms flailing at her face, now shattered by the Warden Queen’s strike. Hands were helping Milliara up, but he Inquisitor didn’t take her eyes off Florianne. The Duchess had let out a garbled cry for help, but her agents weren’t coming to her rescue.

Spitting blood from her mouth, Milliara snatched up the thermobladed dagger from where it was still buried in the gunman’s neck. With three strides, she was by Rythlen. The Queen sliced low with her sword, taking the Duchess out at the knee. Milliara, aching and exhausted, stepped forward and slashed her dagger down into Florianne’s exposed throat. Red sprayed out onto both Millie and Ry, staining pale skin. It was the second time tonight, but this time Milliara didn’t feel sick as she watched the body slump to the floor. This time she just felt relieved.

Looking up at the crowd below them, she saw that the guests had risen up and overpowered the Harlequins. Alistair and the Starkhaven Prince now held rifles and fallen agents lay by their feet in slowly spreading pools of blood.

“I really…” Miliara wheezed, bending over and bracing a hand against the railing of the balcony they stood on. Her chest was aching and she realised that one of the bullets had struck her chest  armor, bruising already hurt ribs. “I really missed this.” She offered a half-smile to Rythlen.

“Bullshit,” Ry said, sheathing her sword and deactivating her shield. “You’re hurt. Let’s get you sitting down and have someone take a look at you.”

Milliara debated a smartass remark, but by the time she had anything half-way decent she had Ry on one side of her and the New Guy on the other, helping her out to the night air where the negotiations and feasting table still stood, relatively undisturbed.

“So, is every mission like this?” Galaren asked, helping Ry ease Milliara down into a chair. It was upholstered in white velvet and Millie took a deep, perverse, pleasure in knowing she’d stain it beyond all saving. Fuck Orlais. The only good things here were the music, the coffee and the cakes.

“Yes,” Milliara said, leaning her head back against the chair and closing her eyes. She winced as cool hands touched her forehead, just above the cut on her brow.

“Apologies,” Solas murmured. “I can help ease the swelling but it will take some time to heal. I do not have the skills that Enchanter Haylan does when it comes to medical arts.”

Milliara heard the swish of skirts approaching them, along with a delicate clearing of a throat. Reluctantly opening her non-blood covered eye, she looked past Solas to where Celene and Gaspard now stood. To their credit, neither one looked as though they’d just had their lives threatened. Calm, composed, the dust was even gone from Gaspard’s knees.

“We owe you a great deal, Inquisitor,” Celene said. “You have saved our life, and exposed a plot to drown our Empire in chaos. Yet, we still must resolve the matter of the Orlesian Civil war, or tonight’s sacrifices will all be for nothing, non?”

“Briala and Gaspard both were aware of the plot and tried to turn it to their advantage,” Milliara said, gesturing with her hand towards Galaren. “He can attest to Gaspard’s role.”

She watched the Empress feign horror and had to resist rolling her eyes at the display.

“But-” Milliara said before Celene could demand Gaspard’s head. “The Inquisition requests that you don’t kill Gaspard. Just exile, he can serve with the Inquisition until the Magister Corypheus is defeated then go off to… fuck, wherever,” she said, waving her hand vaguely. “Just not Orlais.”

Celene huffed, but nodded gracefully.

“As a favour, we grant this request in face of all you have done for us tonight, now, if you will excuse us, we need to see to clearing up this mess. Guards, escort our dear cousin Gaspard to the Inquisition forces, and fetch a healer for the Lady Inquisitor.”

**

Washing off the blood and grime of the night was cathartic, even though the cut on her forehead stung when water touched it, Milliara had stood with her head under the shower head for a full minute, just to feel the water wash off all traces of Fred and Florianne.

If she’d been allowed a choice, Milliara would have stayed in that shower for the rest of the night. It was safe and quiet, and most importantly away fromm qyestions about what had happened with Fred. Reluctantly, she’d dried off and fixed her hair and makeup in the guest suite Celene had given to them to use. Rythlen had already finished and now was pulling on her gown again.

“Rather impressively, casualties were low tonight,” Leliana said, standing by the door with her arms crossed at her waist. She’d arrived while Milliara was in the shower, and waited until she’d finished drying off to start the debriefing. “However, Cullen is… despondent. Maeve did not survive despite the best efforts of Celene’s healers.”

Milliara was quiet at that, and glanced down at her right palm, where the Anchor’s scar glowed green on her hand. In another universe, had things worked out differently? Would she be the one who had died tonight, and Maeve who had survived to save Orlais?

“Who else?” Milliara asked, standing slowly from her seat at the vanity and crossing to where her change of clothes hung from the closet door.

“A few minor nobles, Frederic of course, and the serving staff. We discovered Briala’s body in the front garden, whether she’d been attempting to escape or help the Empress, we will never know”

“Millie,” Rythlen asked, perched on the edge of the bed. “Are you doing okay? With everything that happened tonight…” 

Her first reaction was to snap at Ry, tell her that she was fine. But, she wasn’t. And Milliara had had enough lying to friends for one night.

“No,” she admitted, unzipping the garment bag and pulling out the dress inside. It was white, simplly cut but embroidered with glimmering beads. Like her suit, the dress had a plunging neckline, and was slit up the centre to allow her to move easily. It was a far cry from the confections Fred used to dress her up in. Thank the Void for that.

“I’m not, but, I will be eventually,” Milliara admitted after a moment. She winced, pulling on the dress gingerly over the bruises that had started to bloom along her ribs and back. "Right now, I just want to try to enjoy what's left of the night. The food and wine and music and maybe listening to that Starkhaven Prince talk about anything."

Leliana smiled. "He does have a charming voice, doesn't he?" the bard said. "I'll tell our people to keep an eye on you and to fend off the suitors."

Milliara paused in the middle of pinning on the Inquisition broach and looked over at Leliana in horror.

"What... suitors..." she asked carefully.

Leliana just smiled, and opened the door.

"Go on, enjoy yourselves," she said. "I'll manage the rest of the evening so you two can relax. I suggest trying some of the petit fours, they're quite delicious."

Milliara watched Leliana slip out the door, then looked to Rythlen. Tall and strong, the elf wondered how the Queen managed this, the life of ruling and court and everthing. Every day.

"Hey... Ry?" She said quietly. "Thank you. For being here." For being a friend. "It means a lot to me."