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therealslimshakespeare · 8 months ago

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Am I Still Your Favorite Escape?

Gale & Maureen -requested? ✔️

As a new year and a new unrelenting malaise settles over the prisoners in camp, Maureen Kendeigh finds the journey from viewing Gale Cleven as her prize collector’s item to the man others suspect she loves most harrowing indeed.

Note: y’all wanted handjobs and I gave ya one, with a twist, and yall wanted more of what Maureen is thinking during this time and so you got it. Along with 6k of other dynamics and plot and feelings, buckle up 👐🏻

Warnings: 18+ smut, female fingering, some cum play, semi public sex acts (not trying to be exhibitionists, but the place is packed ok?) erectile disfunction, not the most supportive attitudes towards partners feeling out of sorts, BUT ALSO!! Please note the typical universe warnings apply with an addition in this chapter being a discussion about terminating a pregnancy, those discussing it disagree strongly and due to religious beliefs one refers to it as “murder”. No action is taken in this chapter. There are hints of Buck x Bucky in this one, although can anyone actually define for me wtf was going on!? Because by Buck x Bucky I just mean they’d die for each other and that’s stronger your average marriage and Bucky maybe should look away when his friend gets some midnight loving, lol.

Maureen had been enthused at the outset. Not that she cared that much for subversion, but she enjoyed the feeling of mischief that their new task carried with it. Camp had proven dull, worse in many ways than she had even expected. She had expected there to be work if not recreation, and while there was some, then the winter months came all too soon and nothing about their shelters or their clothing were suitable for sustaining outdoor productivity.

Which meant she -and the others, she supposed it was only right to admit the others were no better- she had been cooped up in here during a never ending snowstorm outside, watching Gale sand his little board in a room muggy with pungent sweat and stale breath. They were packed on top of each other in here and any attempt to get fresh air earned one a case of frostbite.

That bit of wood was going to become a radio, Gale had told her, and she believed him. With all her heart Maureen believed him. But there came a day when watching Gale fiddle with a safety pin stuck atop a board became unarguably boring. So much so she had begun to insist she be allowed to help Brady and Crank haul in the hot water and assist in what went for “cooking” in this place. Johnny didn’t let her near his precious concoctions after having ousted Benny from the same, but he did let her hand him bowls and generally act useful at mealtimes.

She kept him entertained with stories of picnics in exotic places, safari’s where they cooked out of the back of her father’s jeep. Brady had them eaten all his terse quips about her not knowing how to manage in straitened circumstances and instead asked her endlessly about rhinoceros habitats. It served to entertain her for awhile, too.

Bucky had recovered after a few weeks abed, his movements remained stilted and she could still carry more water than his ribs allowed -a point she made to him daily as he swatted at her from his bunk- but as he recovered he became preoccupied.

Ida had also recovered, though not as thoroughly, having gone well over a week without so much as drinking water in her insensible state. She was weak, feverish and upon at last being plied with nourishment, she puked it right up. It was little cause for concern considering her illness, but as she grew stronger and her stomach remained contrary, some unease began to grow. By Christmas her brother Johnny had taken over the cooking in an endeavor to make something palatable but the woman was hardly the sort to be picky over her victuals. Benny and Brady’s watery soups were alike and they both came up within fifteen minutes of being eaten.

So then, their little room smelled of sweat, breath and vomit. Her brother and Hambone made mention of Crosby, it provided levity for a few days and Maureen was fast to join in. Until Ida had her at a private moment, the men in the hall or else out with latrine duty, and then she asked Maureen if she’d had her menses.

Offended at the implication that Gale Cleven would allow her any more than a mouth or handful of himself, Maureen hotly insisted she had. Three of them in fact, since arriving. She had the bloody rags to prove it.

It wasn’t until a few weeks later, when there began to be a very segregated group of men hovering and debating amongst themselves that Maureen began to second guess such an inquiry as more than moralistic judgment. Their Red Cross packages arrived with canned goods and bland crackers. Bucky began to bargain for the latter with a gambler's gusto -before inevitably handing his loot to Ida. Ida herself began gambling fiercely, for smokes.

Ida had never smoked in her life.

And now the place smelled even stronger of one more cigarette, sweat, breath and vomit.

The smokes seemed to help her, or at least, Maureen noticed her puking less by New Years. The early part of the new year brought new misfortunes, the confiscation of Cleven’s prized radio and a rash of miscarriages amongst the women. A rash was perhaps an exaggeration -only three or four, by Maureen’s count, and between her’s and Ida’s and Cleven’s discreet insistence, such incidents were passed off to the wary guards as heavy menses.

Maureen realized then that those were pregnancies from their guards, a possibility that she had not considered as she had not had reason to worry about it. That is, until Ida Brady caught her again at a moment alone, and asked her in the closest thing to feminine fluster that Maureen had ever seen her in, if she’d ever had reason “in your expeditions, as it were…” to possibly “eliminate a -poor decision?”

Being quite puzzled by this inquiry, and only picking up on the vague aspects -something she admitted to Ida straight away- Maureen admitted she drank most of her poor decisions away, a strategy that hadn’t failed her yet and she wished was at her disposal in this frozen mud pit.

“I’m speaking of- romantic decisions. Poor ones.” Ida had tried again, yearning for understanding in her voice.

Maureen remained nonplussed.

“A child, Maureen a-a pregnancy have you ever?” Ida hissed out at last.

“Gosh no.” Maureen sputtered, “I’m not a full idiot. Why would you ask? I strike you as enough of a harlot?”

“I’m merely looking for -remedies.” Ida pinched at her nose, a motion Maureen was familiar with watching in Gale when he was overwhelmed.

“Who needs it?” Maureen scoffed, quite sure that the odds didn’t stand many more girls suffering from the same, the poor food and rough conditions having ensured it for them.

Ida took her hand away but closed her eyes, mouth folding to a straight line. “I do.”

“Oh fuck.” Maureen plopped down beside her on the bunk in disbelief, they both stared at the opposite wall and its identical beds with rumpled bedding and starlets pasted on the walls. “Fuck.”

“They’re getting very stupid about it.” Ida said at last.

“What do you mean? Who?”

“The boys.”

“You’ve told the boys?” Maureen cried out, infuriated.

“They guessed, already, for God’s sake must even this be about you, too, Kendeigh?”

“What’s that supposed to mean!”

“It means while you’re bored and very vocal of it, some of us might die-“

“-we could all die in this shithole-“

“-or! Or worse,” Ida cut in fiercely, “have someone die for us by being idiots. Bucky is full of schemes of -of running off into the sunset. I suppose after he levitates us over the barbed wire with his magic carpet. I don’t know, but I- Maureen I know that if I go on much longer, it won’t just be me in danger. They’re either going to risk something terrible or get punished for not reporting me.”

“So what?” Maureen asked dully, having been excluded from an obvious inner circle regarding the issue and having now been accused of being trivial in her own sufferings, it smarted and she could not deny the flicker of unfairness she felt over it. “Want me to shove a coat hanger up you? The others too chicken?”

Ida visibly recoiled beside her, putting more space between them in the bunk. “I’m not going to- to kill it.”

“What kinda remedy doesn’t?” Maureen sassed, if they were to talk no longer in flippant pleasantries, she could do that.

“I’m just asking for help.” Ida’s jaw wobbled, her voice a wreck of desperation and Maureen could see with a small and ugly bit of satisfaction that the woman was truly close to losing her grip. It was satisfyingly human. As was her reaction to a remedy after asking for it.

“You come to me because you think I’m loose enough to know, and then you have the nerve to be appalled when I do.” Maureen pointed out, “That what all the smokes are for?”

“Yes.” Ida put her head back in her hands.

“Just won’t budge; huh?”

“No.” her voice sounded like she might be crying but there was no telling with those hands in the way.

“It would be stubborn.” Maureen muttured, thinking of the goddamn Brady family as she knew them. “Why won’t you get rid of it? You want to get rid of it-“

“-I don’t understand why it’s hanging on!” Ida’s wail came out garbled between her fingers.

“So let’s -unhang it.”

“I can’t. Kendeigh -I can’t.”

“I know it’s risky, but I know you’re not scared of dying.” Maureen muttered, attempting to understand.

“Candy I cant, I can’t murder it.” her voice had dipped into a sacrosanct whisper.

Maureen huffed in confusion, a substantial amount of pragmatism warring with what tiny bit of sympathy the threat left her, “It’s a German’s, at this size no more than a blo-“

“It’s a life!” Ida snarled back at her so viciously Maureen contemplated the likelihood of her having gone fully mad, “And it’s mine.” she rebutted, pointing to her chest fiercely.

“So you’ll let Bucky and Gale die for you, die trying to get you out of here but you won’t try to fix it yourself.” It was how Maureen saw it, and if she were to be accused of suggesting murder, she might as well have her side put out there, too.

“That’s how you see it?” Ida muttured, looking utterly defeated.

“If Gale dies over this, I’ll wring your neck myself. Keep smoking.” she advised with a shrug, “Maybe catch an elbow to the gut if you can.”

Ida pulled her hand away again to look at her, she’d definitely been crying then, red nosed and watery eyed, but she looked less aghast now than she had at the mention of the coat hanger. Maureen didn’t think she wanted condolences about it, or a pat on the back. Come to think of it, Ida was getting plenty of that sort of doting from the boys. No, Maureen didn’t feel like she needed that from her, and something sour and twisted in her heart made her loath to give it.

It worsened as the days went by, as Maureen observed their once innocuous routines with new eyes, noticing the boys' furtive plans, their hovering concern, their brought in provisions -offerings fit for a queen. It was understandable to show such care for her in her state, and ostensibly no one deserved it more than Ida Brady. But it left Maureen feeling adrift, like an afterthought, someone whose greatest challenge was their boredom. And ever looming were those great risks the boys bantered about like it were all a low stakes game of cards.

She plays thirty to forty sets of cards with Hambone, decimates Benny at chess, cleans the pans, even mops the goddamn floor. All to keep busy, perhaps even to spite Ida whose one assigned task is the floors. She cannot be accused of boredom or idleness if she has done all her own tasks and others’ besides.

In her spare time she would like to go with Bucky, to be of use in collecting things for Gale’s new little project, his precious crystal radio, but where women go -there go guards and attention and soon, the sheer mischief of the naughtiness of Gale’s construction wanes as she is left laying in her bunk watching him wiggle a clothespin around for the fifth day in a row. She had been so understanding for the first four. Even though she had contemplated a tiff with him over not informing her of Ida’s state as soon as he knew, she had been merciful and instead settled for holding the copper wire for him and brushing his cheek when he didn’t actively shy away in concentration.

He mumbles about needing to give it his full attention, about her needing to keep a lookout, about the danger of getting caught. She asks if it’s worth it then, anything that might get him killed is her enemy, even if it’s a little clothespin on a board. He looks at her like she’s from mars, unable to fathom why she wouldn’t understand its necessity. And he doesn’t come to bed until an ungodly hour of the night and immediately, upon settling in their bunk he is asleep, much to her chagrin.

She would have liked a kiss, a hand between her legs even more. She would have settled for those whispering little chats they’ve indulged in ever since Bucky laid atop Ida and all rules were broken -they’ve shared a bunk and as the winter gets worse, no one bats an eye. In fact, everyone’s stacked two for one, male and female alike. Brady and Hambone snicker and whisper in their bunk every bit as much as she and Gale do, Maureen is sure of it.

Instead Gale falls asleep. And he does it again and again, night after night. Bucky rummages on his own for supplies. Brady frets over Ida. Only so many people can play makeshift bat gammon in the hall. It does not pass the time. And Maureen grows ever more restless.

She feels expectantly happy when Gale’s work is finally complete, his finished product constructed and the moment of truth comes. They crowd around and wait with baited breath as his finger tunes it. And Maureen knows she is fully awful for her relieved feelings when it does not work. He can’t be killed for it if he scraps it. And he will come to bed at a reasonable hour now it is useless. The shake of his hand makes everyone else feel helpless in the face of his ever steady composure cracking, but while Maureen has no acceptable remedy for Ida’s plight, she does for Gale’s, and she waits for darkness with the relieved excitement of a child on Christmas Eve.

Gale does indeed come to bed, the radio not fully scrapped but heartily abandoned and hidden with its various parts in sundry places. And when he slips beside her, his nose is cold and he touches her like he has missed her. He pulls the covers to their chins, tucking them in with a small giggle, she is suffocated by it and yet he persists and this has gone on all winter until now it is their inside joke and he does it just to make her laugh, and when she laughs so does he, a honest little giggle of a thing, and she misses him worse than ever even as he pressed along the length of her.

It isn’t safe yet, not everyone is asleep but she bides her time with kissing him and he returns her caresses ardently, a thorough press of his lips and his tongue unreservedly sliding into place alongside her own, his hands warming up as they clasp her neck, turning her head upon their pillow. She wonders if they are loud even at this, but she was never the one to care, it’s Gale who objects and who hushes them, who makes them wait, who insists on being courteous even in hell, who only allows himself to lap at her when the place is abandoned or else full of the atmospheric noises of masculine snores.

Maureen does not mind waiting for him, or rather -she does, but he is implacable about it and when she attempts to persuade him otherwise she is oftentimes swatted and put in her place like a wayward child. Such correction holds a charm of its own when it is Gale Cleven administering it, but tonight she feels close to madness if she does not get her way so she allows him to kiss her as the quiet and steady breaths around them herald the unconsciousness of their brethren. She grows bolder, throws her leg over his hip and tugs at his buttons, hands rucking up his shirt and parting the heavy flaps of his coat. He is as burdened with layers as a Victorian maiden and Maureen enjoys the hunt for warm skin, the way he looks as ravished and expectant as any girl while she gropes at him, when she finally reaches him he always shudders, a full bodied thing that jerks even his neck.

Tonight she parts his layers feverishly and he mutters her name, again and again and his hands are clumsy at her shoulders and no progress is made on discarding her own clothing but she pays it no mind, she is direly hungry for him. Any touch of him, to make him shake and melt and pay tribute to her.

“Maureen.”

She finds the button of his trousers right at his heaving naval and she exults at the feel of the fine trail of hair beneath her fingertips.

“Maureen.” his voice grows urgent and she doesn’t heed it, he counts on her never heeding it.

She wiggles her hand beneath the waistband of his boxers and skims the hairy plane of his pelvis before laying her hand on what she needs and -he is as limp as a dead mouse. She holds the chubby thing for a good long moment, very much like it were some useless rodent she had caught and must now dispose of, and she is filled with confusion.

“Maureen-“ he mutters again against her unmoving lips and she realizes with misery she mistook his pleading for a different sort.

It is not that she’s never felt him soft, on the contrary, there was a long time in the early days -when she wanted him and he wanted a promotion- that her hand would find its way between his legs, in a jeep or a bar, beneath the table while he helped her with her calculus. Once she felt him she became mildly obsessed, he was always tucked to the right and he was so substantially long and full beneath her palming, even in repose, that her determination to have him was only further cemented by it. Again and again her hand made it into his lap and again and again he would rebuff her, sometimes with startled propriety, occasionally with long suffering disbelief, more and more with almost parental disapproval.

Each reaction had been as satisfying to Maureen as if he were swelling into her palm. And soon enough, he was doing that, too. His hand growing a beat too slow before he grabbed her wrist, his mouth still twisted in dry reproof but his eyes began to burn. He was unbothered no longer and it was not much longer after that he was not even resistant.

Ever since, she could count on him to perk, to respond, to validate her own want of him with his own for her.

The fact it was in many ways a tortured surrender on his part only drove her madder, made her desire burn brighter, made the succumbing of the good, the right, the proud man all the more intoxicating. And again, as if they’d never shared all that, he was now as warm and floppy as a dead dormouse.

“Maureen.” he begged, half expecting tears again like her first night in the stalag, wincing as her hand squeezed him meanly, jerked at him a few impotent times in an effort to fluff him.

Her hand withdraws and he holds his breath, ready for a scene or a rebuke. His gut twists miserably, at fault twice over and yet -not really. But that never mattered with Maureen. He says her name again but she is still and deflated, and after a moment, she merley rolls over, giving him her back.

That is how he knows she is hurt, were she angry she would not have shrunk from being crueler than a few angry tugs. The silence is new and it makes Gale’s stomach swoop in an odd terror, like his next decision might rescue them both or plunge them off a cliff.

“Maureen.” He tries again, his hand on her shoulder, squeezing and trying to turn her back.

Her shoulder jolts up sharply to displace the gesture. “I’m not cold.” she informs him as she rolls further away towards the wall, and her tone is icier than the weather outside. He’s stunned, she’s never once ignored him, no it’s always ever been an escalation of her demands for his interest. Hell, even in Africa she had said she was cold and the presence of her head on his shoulder disrupted his tan, he got no end of grief from the boys about it.

Confused and mildly hurt himself, although he doesn’t know why, not beyond some tickling sense of unfairness about being blamed for being a bit out of sorts in the place, Gale takes his hand away and moves to lie on his back, to keep from crowding her. He thinks that in the morning he will explain to her how he is preoccupied with the radio, that his gut feels in constant free fall from the plans to escape, that everyone is riding on him for this thing to work and he just proved tonight he’s perfectly worthless at it. Nothing but buzz in his ear echoes around in his head and he replays the sound of that failure again and again, justifying her frustration with him. He thinks he’ll explain this all to her in the morning. And also-

-that he is cold.

He’s so damn cold from the anxiety and being still at his work at the table for so long his hands and legs go numb that he simply cannot imagine feeling bothered at this moment, cannot imagine it and it would seem that neither can the little guy. He doesn’t deserve a reward, not for fucking up at the one thing they’ve got going for them. He catches Bucky’s eyes when he rolls over, having taken up night shift over Ida due to insomniatic tendencies. He wonders strongly if Bucky would be as disappointed in him, if he is already. Just wait until next morning, Gale thinks, when I get to admit I’ve got no second plan. If it doesn’t work as is, no amount of fiddling is gonna make it better.

That settles heavy in his gut but does nothing for the swooping feeling, there is merely a loadstone in his belly, plunging downward in a perpetual free fall, and in his dreams the accompanying soundtrack is radio static.

There is a tiny sliver of freedom in the morning -and it does not come every morning- when Maureen has noticed there is still and quiet yet the morning routines are in place. Lazy and weak, the prisoners do not rise with the sun, although some stir and moan and try to meet the new day head on. The guards unlock the doors and yet many choose to lay abed. So many in fact that Johnny Brady ceased making breakfast at that hour as with so few ready to eat it, the ordeal became a waste. He does often fetch water for morning pit baths and teeth brushing, the occasional splash on the face to wash off the sleep.

Maureen has often contemplated these little slivers of time as a chance to break free. Not of the compound, that endeavor holds no fascination to her, but rather out of this combine and out from under the watchful eyes of people who know her all too well. Or think they do. They don’t, they very obviously don’t. And she’s losing all sense of who she is to be known by as the days go on.

She listens as Johnny gathers the buckets and milk pails, always gentle with the clanking metal, vestiges of the considerate boy his mama raised still clinging even in this place, and he hands an allotment to Hambone who is awake with him and less considerate.

Then there is the hushed flurry of beratings and the sleepy protests of trying one’s best.

They leave together, and they leave the door adjar as usual, to come back in quietly if needed. They’ll be gone for at least fifteen minutes, then they will come back and then Brady will leave again to run his two goddamn laps around the compound while that testicular looking bald headed doctor clocks his pace. Maureen doesn’t think Johnny likes running track or ever did it before, but he and Ida both took it up, the latter probably to get rid of the child and the former maybe to stay warm. The doctor didn’t care about the timing of Ida’s laps and soon she began to grow too large to risk attention by keeping Johnny company.

Now Johnny runs his timed laps alone and the only motivation Maureen can imagine for it, beyond the over-familiar assessment of his limbs by the doctor, is the chocolate he earns from it. Priceless sugar to keep up his specimen’s strength in this starving place.

Chocolate Johnny regularly gives to Ida. Though for Christmas he made them all a mashed chocolate pie on a tin plate and it had honestly been the kindest and loveliest Yuletide treat anyone had ever given any of them.

Maureen has considered running with him, trying her luck and seeing if she can win chocolate herself. Maybe that would make Gale smile. She doubts the doctor would care, he’s curiously uncaring regarding the existence of females in camp.

Maureen knows all these sounds of morning routine by heart, can track the progress of each stage of the routine while feigning sleep, motionlessly facing the wall.

Gale has no need to feign, it would seem. He is not snoring but he is whimpering and muttering in that annoying way of his that only occurs when he’s in deep. She used to think it cute, she now thinks it helpful to judge if he is able to catch her at her scheme.

-useless fucker with his useless radio and his useless cock, making her feel useless-

Careful as a cat, and with as much grace, Maureen rolls herself upright, and uses the slats of their upper bunk to balance her weight, keeping the mattress from giving a tell-tale dip. She swings from one slat to the next, carefully crouching when the movement jars the whole frame but Benny stays asleep below her and Gale makes no move to arrest her. It’s a feat to drop soundlessly to her feet after such a climb in a full overcoat, but she manages it. Her boots are under Benny’s bunk and she fetches them with no small amount of terror, but despite his shifts and erratic movements, he does not catch her.

She takes the boots into the hall, which is gratefully empty, and fastens them there. Taking her woolen cap from her coat pocket, she puts it atop her head while tucking in her hair, and fastens her scarf high over her nose, and knows that she is about as inconspicuous in form and feature as the next man. When Brady is bundled similarly his eyes appear as gentle as a woman’s and Maureen knows her own are no longer half so beguiling, not with their pale lashes and absence of cosmetic relief.

Perhaps she’s grown so wane and bland Gale has even lost the ability to pretend attraction. He always was fastidious about cleanliness and order, fussy and volatile when she took him unawares. In fact, when she had first managed to get so far as to undo his pants, to fondle his half hard length, to pull him from the slit of his drawers, to tug his shaft to orgasm, it had been beside the antiseptics. And that had some sort of parable in it, she thought now. Recalling how she’d had to talk him down off a panic as soon as he had shuddered and given her the sought after reward, hot and sticky and plentiful as only a virgin’s would be. He was not comforted until gauze and betadine was used copiously to clean her hand, and the nurse was later puzzled as to why when she entered only one had needed treatment, but both left stained with the orange stuff.

Back then a word, a flick of her eyes would have Gale in full pursuit, bodily if not mentally. She could wage a war with his ever so impeccable spirit and win it with the help of his own flesh. Now? Now he couldn’t even respond, not even pretend it. And he’d tried to warn her and she’d thought he’d been begging and she realized he wanted to stall her, keep it from her, one more thing.

These thoughts carried her dozens of rows down, combine after combine, lost in a flurry of snowflakes that were turning gradually pink as the sun rose. It was beautiful here before all the footprints ruined it.

At the far end of the sector, outside the last combine before the fence that separated them from the Brits, Maureen spotted a huddle of men gathered around a fire pit. She hadn’t known those were even allowed, not doubting that its proximity to the fence had some other subversive reason beyond warmth, and if she thought it then the guards must have. Yet here it was alright, jugs hung over it from a makeshift spit and crackers impaled and being toasted on the same. Maureen’s mouth watered, as much at the thought of genuinely smoke flavored food as she did at the heat. She was still undecided as to her course of action when a loud guffaw, followed by a familiar and harsh curse made her startle.

Polish airmen -or, at least by way of America. They would be sat out in the cold at dawn and they would toast their crackers. Maureen had frequently used her brief passes from Thorpe to terrorize other officer clubs, finding the joy of it a great distraction and some of the girls had joined her at it. She was usually greeted in such escapades with shock or even disgust but the men’s flailing helplessness in the face of a female serviceman always served as a full quota of contentment.

No one had terrorized her back as good as she gave until the Poles. And then they had bought her a drink, and lamented with her that she had not become a fighter pilot. Because Maureen still held a flame for the small craft, resentful that her decent piloting had been considered too poor for the clunky birds, for she knew she wasn't all bad, it was merely those awful forts and their terrible bulk. The Poles had agreed and bought her another drink, and tried to seduce her to their squadron. That had been a happy night and she’d come back to barracks so late as to break curfew, and chatted Gale’s ear off in drunken joy about her wonderful time and her new friends.

Maureen now eyed the fire in the snow and the group of foreign speaking men around it and tugged off her cap, allowing her hair free. And she sauntered up with calculated aimlessness, as if she were indeed only checking out their s’mores to ridicule them compared to her combine’s delicacies. It was effective, they defended their crackers vehemently and she remained derisive, this called for a demand that she try them and so she did and admitted they weren’t too bad but were too dry to be gotten down her throat. So they then passed her coffee and she had to squat to receive it and then she was given a seat to finish it and before long, she was one of the huddle and her feint at leaving them was argued against so heartily she knew she’d won, and so she stayed and played cards and told stories and drank hot water with boys who had been born over here but were in many cases educated not far from her house. And when afternoon came and went she stayed, and when evening fell and the guards became stricter with the perimeter and their fire, she snuck in with them into their combine and there played drinking games despite the violation of curfew.

For the Poles had liquor in this hell hole. And that, Maureen thought, was the true measure of a great nation, their capacity for ingenuity and irrepressible spirits.

Gale entered his own combine in the falling dark with the persistent press of a gun barrel at his lower back, right about at the kidneys, he figured. It was the only thing possible to persuade him to keep from looking, and the others were filing in right ahead of him, saving him a bullet their only motivation for abandoning the search. The guards locked the door after them, and Gale’s chest heaved in panic at the thought of her out there somewhere and locked out and him locked in.

“Fuckin’ Kendeigh.” Murph grumbled but without any heat,

taking himself to his barracks.

Bucky kept pacing up and down the hall with his hands in his hair, snapping at anyone who dared clog his promenade. “Jerries said it was time for bed -so get in your goddamn beds!”

“Why would she do this?” Gale begged him again and Bucky huffed again at it, furious for him.

“She give you grief last night?” Bucky asked wisely, the loyalty in his voice soothes Gale, as does the structure of his sentence, it suggested it wasn’t his fault. And Gale wanted to believe that and he just as strongly he knew it was wrong of him.

He had been in the wrong and he didn’t deserve Bucky’s sympathy for this or the damn radio. They’d been talking of repairs every spare minute of this day that hadn’t been taken up with trying to find Maureen. And while Bucky could remain as adamant as he wanted, that it wasn’t his fault that his radio didn’t work -it didn’t change the fact that his failure now meant Bucky was gonna try something awful instead, like climbing the fence with a pregnant woman on his shoulders. And it was all because Gale couldn’t fucking make a connection. Just as he couldn’t connect to his own body for Maureen and now she’d probably gone over the fence too, or got shot trying.

“So fuckin’ unless.” He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes and mashed the tears away.

“She call ya that?” Egan barked, and Gale didn’t need to see his frown to know he was about to track down Kendeigh to punch her, not rescue her.

“No, don’t need a dame to tell me what’s what.”

He didn’t see it coming so he was reasonably startled when he found his hands dislodged from his eyes and his face suddenly collided into the weave of a musky sweater, Bucky’s hand gripping the nape of his neck like he were a child. That hand was so damn large Gale could imagine he was young again and his father was holding him. “Somethin’s gonna come to you,” this reassuring rumble was light years away from his father’s belittlements and he shuddered, “I’ll get you new wire or somethin’ but just- ain’t your fault, Buck, and that goddamn parakeet needs snow down her pants if she can’t see it too.”

No one pretended to sleep that night, even once the lights were out. Ida sat up in her bunk with her brother beside her, a telling lack of sympathy being expressed for Maureen’s self inflicted plight. Ida had spent her own time at the radio and while it hadn’t done much good, it had gone some way to reassure Gale she didn’t see anything amiss. It ought to work.

Small talk was kept carefully low in the bunks, and Bucky kept a firm position on Gale’s bunk, sitting upright with his legs slung over his friend’s boney knees, affectionately trapping him in a lying posture. Bucky had taken to entrapments here in camp, perhaps the barbed wire inspired him.

They had already given Benny his fair share of chiding for not going out with Maureen that the morning, although Brady’s report of her absence in the time he had fetched water plainly represented someone not wishing for accompaniment -or, as Brady so helpfully reminded of the obvious, her desire to obey Cleven’s long standing order on the matter.

It was probably close to 0100 when a great commotion sounded outside, followed by a crash bang of the combine’s main doors being thrown wide and the rhythmic tread of jackboots had everyone pouring out of their bunks and standing at the ready, -they weren’t sure for what, but it wasn’t something you wanted to be caught lying down for. Gale wrenched open the door, expectancy already perfectly in place on his face until he caught sight of Kendeigh, hauled like a child between the guards and one of their captains met his eye with unimpressed disdain.

“This we found in wrong sector.” he explained, gesticulating to Maureen with a gloved hand, “Sleeping under combine steps. I have told you, Major, I cannot guarantee safety of your females when they are alone, something happen to them, you blame me but I told you! Cannot guarantee.”

“Understood.” Cleven gave him his soberest nod, feeling ill and angry and watching warily for the next move, wondering when he could get his lost package back, yet not wanting to appear eager.

“Discipline, major, discipline!” The Captain insisted and Gale felt Bucky’s heat searing at his back as he pressed forward, taking the German’s eyes away from Gale’s, preventing something rash.

“Oh believe me, sir,” Bucky drawled as he pressed forward, the guards posture confidant and lax, “discipline will be met.” he took the brave step of gripping Kendeigh’s coat flap in his hand and tugging her forward, a movement that yanked her free of the gaurds’s grip.

“Met?” the officer was confused, anger and annoyance tinged his repetition.

Bucky shook Maureen meanly by her coat in emphasis of his statement, “Discipline!” he agreed, insistent.

“Well?” It appeared the officer intended to wait until it was meted out.

Bucky stalled and Gale caught Maureen’s panicked eyes even as her nose flared rebelliously with measured breaths, trying to get on top of it all. Gale felt himself pushed to the side abruptly, having to catch himself on the door as Ida Brady strode past him into the hall, the book she’d been perusing still clutched in her hand.

“Child.” she muttered loudly for the officer’s benefit before raising her book and striking Mauree square across the face, one cheek and then the other as the blow sent her staggering, sharp thwacks with the flat side of the volume.

Maureen took the reproof with good grace and a stunned whimper, Bucky’s still supportive clutch on her jacket keeping her from making a fully pathetic scene and melting to the floor.

“Go, in, get in bed.” Ida snapped her fingers, pointing to the door and when Maureen took a second too long to collect her spotted vision, Ida raised the book again and Maureen needed no more incentive, knowing if Ida did not deliver it the guards would.

She tumbled over the barracks threshold like a bedraggled orphan, hair snow drenched and cheeks throbbing, her jacket muddy and undone.

“Well done.” Johnny Brady greeted with montone venom and only Benny Demarco’s well placed foot tripped her and prevented her from clawing his face off in long suppressed spite.

She landed inelegantly on her face, elbows bent just enough to catch herself from a truly ugly splat, she was gathering herself for another spring when the troop of her officers sounded and the door closed and quiet fell over the place, lethal and accusing.

So the Germans had let her off easy then. Maureen drug herself up to her knees and suddenly wished she hadn’t, it felt too close to contrition.

She staggered upright, ignoring the indignity of having to push up on Brady’s knee to do so. Once on her own two feet she raked muddy fingers through her hair and smiled at her superiors, tired but dandy. They looked pissed and that was to be expected.

“The hell did you go?” The others seemed to acknowledge Gale had some right -or maybe it was responsibility- to address her first and it was leveled at her even more scathingly than she had braced for.

“For fresh air.” she chimed, leaning against a bunk brace, arms crossed easily.

“Sleepin’ out? Sneakin’ out?” Gale stormed on and Ida actually took pains to bypass him and climb into her own bunk, her merciful discipline administered she seemed to wash her hands of the business, “Flagrantly disobeying my expressed orders! Answer me! The hell were you thinking?”

“I wanted to get out,” she leveled back at him, her smirk grown sharp and practiced and debutant-worthy, “I wanted to be somewhere else besides in this stinking, miserable cabin with its miserable, stinking occupants. Nothing but a bunch of self righteous, maniacally focused dreamers who can’t have fun for shit.”

As soon as she said it, no regret came, only a feeling of utter validation. Indeed, what had changed since she had been gone? Ida was still sick and pregnant, Johnny was still fussy, Benny was still playing at cards, Bucky was still pushing Gale harder than any over the radio and her Cleven was cleaving to the damn thing like it were his god.

“I mean, tell me if I missed something essential!” She scoffed, “Some great development occur? Or was I needed for some great task you all missed me so desperately during? No? Didn’t think so. Because we don’t go anything in here except talk about getting out like it’s actually plausible and I’m sick as fuck of it and I-“ she pointed to herself, voice growing in volume as Gale’s own fury seemed to wane into something shocked and scared, “I have spent my day with men who have ingenuity and good humor and liquor, because they aren’t hopeless fucks like us. The Brit’s have a tunnel started, the Polish have one too along with a bathtub of potato peel vodka, and we have a pregnant colonel! Sto lat!”

It was terribly quiet for a moment, half the cabin's occupants intent on appearing discrete and the other half stunned into a sort of mortified offense.

“You gonna thrash her or am I?” Egan finally broke the tension, his head turning lazily to look at Gale, his mouth was grinning like he was eager and it made Maureen’s bruised cheeks flame. It seemed to be some private joke, Maureen could only tell by the way Cleven’s eyes widened in warning protest at his friend before biting his lip and sniffing harshly. Then the lights cut again and the place was plunged in darkness, it brought Maureen both relief at the obscurity and a strange feeling of terror at the pitch black surroundings. She still hated the dark, ever since those Gestapo cells.

“Take that filthy shit off and get in your bunk.” Gale’s voice so near and so sudden startled her, and it wasn’t rebellion that made her lag in response but he seemed to take it that way, the snap of his finger seeming dangerously close to her nose, and she felt his fingers pluck at her muddy coat, “Now, don’t test me, get in, now.”

She peeled it off and let it flop heavily to the floor before kicking off her boots with the same carelessness, and then taking a step up, digging her frozen toes into Benny’s mattress and hauling herself up to the next level, laying down with a shiver in the cold sheets. The quiet sounds of rustling and bedding filled the place, the others putting themselves away for the night too, but to her relief no one seemed to be murmuring about her. Then the bunk creaked again and the unmistakable feel of someone climbing in beside her made her gasp.

Gale, of course it was Gale, laid himself out atop her, like he planned to keep her there by his weight alone like Bucky had with Ida, and an odd feeling suddenly took possession of Maureen’s chest, one she hadn’t felt all day: she felt undeserving. His head was hard and awkward against her clavicle but she didn’t want to budge him, secretly and utterly grateful he was being kind, that he was not ignoring her. Maybe Ida was right and she was childish but if that were the case, what was to be done about it? She was as she was and she needed him, so tentatively after a few minutes, she withdrew her legs out from under his own and wrapped them around his hips, pulling him close all along her like they were mating, she meant it as a hug and she felt him limp and heavy between her thighs but she did not withdraw.

Gale waited patiently until the snores began, wind whistling outside so loudly it would cover their whispers, and she shuddered to think of herself being petty enough to try to sleep in that icebox. “I need you to tell me what’s wrong.” he rasped at last, raising his head a little and trying to get a read on her in the semi dark. “Maureen, you can’t worry me like that, please.”

“I’m tired.” her voice was weak from the effort to hold back an ugly sob.

“You've been tired before.” he soothed, “What about today? What about last night? What’s all this? C’mon, you can tell me, I need ya to tell me.”

Maureen sighed raggedly, always a sucker for his cajoling voice, more so when she knew she deserved and expected the thrashing. “You don’t need me that way. You don’t need me at all.”

Gale dropped his head a little, his hand reaching up to pinch his nose, humiliation and impotence warring with need to assure her. “I'm sorry about that.” he settled for, “I’m too fucked right now, I admit it. It’s all just, it’s a lot, we’ve all got a lot goin’ on. You too, I know, I’m just not right up there, Maureen. Doesn’t mean I don’t need you.”

“You don’t need me during the day and you don’t need me at night.” she had tried to dissuade herself of this painful reality, truly! -but those were the facts as she saw them and it hurt her worse than him.

“I’m doing this for you!” he begged, his large hand cupping the side of her throat and she would love to think it a caress but he was only trying to make a point, one she contested vehemently in her heart. “I won’t be okay until you’re safe, baby.”

Maureen scoffed, thick and bitter, she had no child, she had no threat, she didn’t need to get out. “I don’t have any reason to get out!” She seethed back, “What’s in it for me? Besides you dead and me too, maybe I’ll get sent back to the Gestapo. That’ll be lark. I don’t need to get out, Major, I need-“

Gale was panting in her face, hot and hurried as her own ire rose with each word, “What do you need?” he goaded, and she could hear him lick his lips.

“I need you to pay attention to me.” she said it.

And to anyone else it would have sounded the most petty thing of all, but to Gale Cleven it was something he already knew deep down when he wasn’t so caught up in the imminent might-be’s of their situation, when he wasn’t needing to save Bucky from himself, or Ida from being put down or Johnny from whatever Greek hell that doctor had enlisted him in. He knew Maureen needed him, not his brains or what he could give, not really, she just wanted his flesh, and he had never bartered in that currency before her, having always assumed it was cheap if not with love. He was not sure he was loved but he knew it was not cheap, whatever it was they shared. And he knew she needed him. Just as he needed her, even though he could not manifest it as he wished.

He could kiss her, though. That he could do.

She did not expect the plush press of his lips when she saw him duck his head against the halo of window light. He kisses with intent and with reproof and the part of her that enjoys his anger begins to thrum to life as mercy and justice both battle in his kiss, his tongue all forgiveness and his teeth implacable rightness.

“Why?” she whines at him, feeling herself need and yet he lays between her legs useless as a girl, “why’re you when you can’t-“ she has insulted him enough today, she trails off with surprising tact.

“Don’t mean I don’t need you.” his voice has gone gruff like it does when he holds her head firmly and grinds his once hard cock down her throat, “Don’t mean your boy don’t want you.”

And that’s all she needed, really.

Along with the feeling of his fingertips walking down her bare stomach, his hand somehow sneaking its way through her layers undetected until now. It awakes a trail of fire down to her core, her core that is already ablaze by his kissing, his neglect, his language.

“My baby.” she moans in ascent, loudly and exultant and a little mournful.

“I gotchue, I got you.” he swears into her mouth and his hand wastes no time in slithering between her legs, elegant fingers cupping her and smearing her arousal around beneath his fingertips.

“Fuck them into me.” she begs, his hand swiping and rubbing at her heat until her hole clenches in desperation, wanting the burn of a stretch.

He is used to her instructions, they’d have accomplished nothing these last months without them, he is able to obey without ceding one bit of control in the kiss and the dichotomy of it, of him, makes her spiral as long fingers plunge, three at a time into her like he’s mad at her, and she cums from it alone with a hoarse cry of shock. He leans up and over her, hair aglow in the dim light and his hand beginning to slam again and again between her legs, forearm hard at work before he brings his wrist to her mouth.

“Bite.” he tells her, an offer and an order and she does, repaying him the vicious assault below her waist where she is tugged apart and jammed at with all too much finesse, his thumb swiping at the apex of her slit everytime he plunges knuckle deep. Gale knows by now the signs of her peak but he pushes beyond it, adds his pinky until all four digits wreak havoc and makes her go again. She uses his wrist out of necessity not to wake the whole place. The sounds of her squelching may have done it for her.

He pets her after, his palm warmed up by his work and it cups and soothes her as she jerks and jolts and settles, and his nose nuzzles her own sweetly, murmuring her name again and again just how she likes it.

“Don’t you ever scare me like that again.” he begs between smooches and Maureen feels entirely too weak to deny him.

“Ok.”

“Promise?” his tone and his hand grow firm again.

“Yeah.”

“Alright.” he sighs beside her and she thinks she could fall asleep now he’s wrung her out. He pets her a few moments longer, as if loathe to pull his hand free. He cups her one more time, collecting her wetness in the crook of his fingers before at last he does, carefully bringing his hand up and out of her waistband. He holds it in front of himself for a brief moment as if debating how to enact his thoughts, and she watches him curiously because he does not lick his digits clean like usual, perhaps she is too soiled tonight, even for his devotion.

Instead she watches him roll onto his back, hand still aloft and glittery with an obscene amount of sticky pleasure and his other hand trails to his own fly, popping the button deftly with his left hand and tugging down the fastening. Her breath catches in her throat, suspense and arousal at the familiar motion making her perk once more. Gale shimmies his clothing down his thighs until she can see him just barely, lying fat and peaceful against his thigh. He deserves a little peace, she thinks, now that she is not so cross with him.

She holds his gaze in startled suspense as he locks eyes with her, wanting her to stare when he moves his wet hand down and wraps it around himself, smearing her juices all over his soft member, clear and creamy swirls rubbed into the pink meat of him, down to his very balls.

“There,” he manages between her kisses as she assails him anew with desperate appreciation, “you’ve still got me. I’m still yours.”

She drags her hand down there to feel the sticky evidence of his promise, to rub and fondle him as he lays dormant in her palm. She has often snickered to him that he is too tidy to ever fully have sex, he has had qualms over even what they do with their hands, their mouths as well. He was pleased she could swallow only for the mess it prevented. She’s often told him he’ll find coupling a filthy business and he oughta brace himself. This tacky feeling under her palm is the closest they’ve ever gotten to the act, her fluids touching him there, drying on him. She appreciates the gesture, more than here heart can bear to ponder: she also knows he’ll regret it.

“I’ve got some amends to make.” she acknowledges after giving him one last kiss and checking that the coast is clear. Egan is doubtless still awake as usual and perhaps Brady, but it can’t be helped and she doesn’t give a damn. “Try to be quiet -don’t think too hard on it, it’s fine if this is all it is.” she preemptively cautions before he can realize what she intends.

She slinks down the length of him, careful not to jar the whole bunk, careful to keep a low profile to the blankets before dipping her head in the little nest of covers shoved around his thighs. Despite her assurances Gale makes a keening noise of confusion when her tongue darts out without preamble and licks up the seam of his balls.

“Maureen.” he sounds half strangled but his hand flies out, not to prevent her, but to pet her lustrous hair. She feels utterly content in that moment and continues her quest to tidy him up.

“You hate being sticky.” she reminds in a whisper before gently sucking on his soft tip, she can feel his belly heaving in relaxed sighs, the connection not fully alive and yet, potent all the same, he pets her hair more firmly and even pushes her head down further and she gets the hint, abandoning his soft cock head for the chubby vein beneath, licking stripes of herself off him.

“I’m sorry I hurt you.” she whispers to the inanimate little thing, remembering how meanly she squeezed it the night before. “I swear we’re still friends.”

Gale vaguely registers her apology to his bits and bobs but he is genuinely more distracted by two glinting shards across the room that have to be Bucky’s blazing eyes. Trained right on him. Holy hell, he feels himself shake and the closest thing to a twitch animates between his legs before he throws his hand over his eyes and pretends he is very alone. He pets her head more purposefully, long, feminine strands slipping through his fingers.

John Egan once put a bet on how long it would take these idiots to learn they were in love. It was once all a bit funny. And now, seeing in a dim haze what appears to be the ritual of making up, it’s not so funny any more. Today could have gone far worse, any attention to the women was bad attention and having Ida have to make a scene while hiding a belly like that was nearly criminal in Bucky’s mind.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t glad for Gale. No, he was so glad he was half jealous watching, imagining more than even seeing. He wondered if Maureen knew how much she loved him, he wondered how it compared to his own, and he ached like hell.

Next morning Gale woke up with a sore spot on his chest from the weight of her head lying there all night, and to the tinkering sounds of the metal water jugs being jostled. There was a laugh and a responding “shh” and another stifled laugh following. He rolled his head on the pillow and blearily cracked an eye open, taking in Brady and Maureen over their task. Or at least, Johnny was trying while fighting some whispered bit of comedy that Maureen continued despite Johnny’s wheezing protests and incompetent fumbling with his handles.

“You ain’t bein’ quiet, if ya think you are.” Benny’s grumble from the bunk below said what Gale was thinking, but he was too relieved to see Maureen awake, cheerful and integrated again to complain.

“I’m telling him about a Romanian girl in the other sector, met her yesterday.” Maureen stage whispered and Brady began to lose it again, muffling his whole face into his sleeve, milk pail abandoned on the floor so he could laugh. “There’s a fence between and she’s a fighter pilot but she’s seen him at his laps and she wants him.”

Benny stayed quiet a minute before his own laugh started and Gale could feel the vibrations of it from a whole bunk below. “She put in an order or somethin’?”

“Practically.” Maureen drawled, “She was so relieved to meet an American so arrangements can be made for my fellow. She has cows back home Johnny, she’d trade ten for you. Those big Eastern European cows, straight from a storybook, it’s worth consideration.”

“Grab your jug.” Johnny insisted instead in a small wheeze as he collected his own and strode out, looking behind to ensure she was following and beginning to laugh at eye contact. Maureen threw her head back and guffawed that ugly little cackle of hers as she went out.

“I think we missed part of the first act.” Benny observed about the joke from below, Gale didn’t know what talent it was but his co-pilot always seemed to sense when he was awake, no checking needed.

“Yup.” Gale puffed into his pillow, not giving a damn about the content of her material only that some material was back.

Someone else who was shit at playing asleep was John Egan. Gale slunk out of his bed quietly to not awake everyone else and went over to the sprawled out form of his friend, Ida tucked behind his back and the wall, genuinely asleep despite the nicotine she had coursing through her. Gale reached out and flicked at an overgrown curl dangling over his friend's face, the return momentum of it tickled his nose and he sneezed on compulsion.

“Sleep well?” Gale asked as Bucky stared up at him, betrayed and crinkly faced.

“Was.” he accused.

“Talk?” Buck proposed in a monosyllable and he watched Egan’s raw morning eyes shutter closed into something as readable as millponds.

“Yeah, sure.” There was a series of grunts and heaves of effort as Bucky righted himself and finally pushed out of the bunk, “Hall?” he asked while contemplating just how little he wanted to don boots right now.

“Hall’s fine.”

They went out together, it was quiet in the hall despite the awakening rustle in the various rooms off it. It stayed quiet once they’d both taken a wall to lean against because Gale Cleven wasn’t good at broaching topics despite his bravery to initiate their surroundings. Egan had a sense what this was about, but then, things usually weren’t about the thing they were about, they were about another thing reflected in the thing and that’s where he got lost. But watching Gale Cleven take in a breath five times only to exhale and chew his lip got a little tedious, even by his standards for how much he enjoyed watching his Buck at anything.

If this was about being observed last night, Egan sure as fuck wasn’t gonna take the blame for seeing shit in a packed dormitory. Or, combine, barracks, whatever. So, a sentence like -sorry I watched you get licked at like a bowl of milk last night- didn’t reflect his sentiments at all. And he’d never lied to Buck, not once, except maybe about not social engineering his way onto planes during rough missions. So instead he went with an easy going, “Must be nice to almost get everyone killed then get rewarded for it.”

Gale’s eyes sharpened instantly but the harsh retort Egan panted for didn’t come, instead something tired took over and Gale pinched his nose. “We’re all goin’ a little looney in here.”

“Are we?” Bucky hummed combatively, “How you crackin’ up these days?” it wasn't fair his Buck had all this weight on him and a fussy woman besides.

“I’m havin’ an affair with a fellow officer.” Gale recited in a devastated montone, and Egan hadn’t expected such transparency. Not in criminal language.

“Well,” he ceded, “there is that.”

“And occurrences like last night are gonna need to keep happenin.” Gale was informing him and Bucky didn’t know what to do with that, his tone was that of an officer but his soft blue eyes flicked with a plea to be understood. “To keep her -tame. Some sorta sane. She’s like you, she wasn’t meant for this place.”

“Just last week you told me nobody was.” Egan pointed out just to be contrary but he couldn’t help his grin and Buck caught sight of it before he could suppress it, knowing the banter and its innate kinship was back.

“I need you to promise me somethin’.” Gale went on, a nervous hand rubbing at the back of his neck and Bucky perked at the sight of that tick.

“Yeah?”

“I want you to promise to wait a week before you try anythin’.” Gale said, “You said I’d come up with somethin’ and I will, but I need a week Bucky. Give me that, can’t let you leave here without any direction of where to head toward. Wait on that radio, don’t you go off gettin’ yourself shot and Ida, too.”

A week in this place felt like a year, a week with an ever swelling woman felt like an eternity of valuable, crucial time. Bucky ran his bare toes over the splintering wood and tried to focus on the way the wood shards pricked at his frozen toes. “Alright.” he agreed, couldn’t help himself when Buck was looking at him like that and telling him he didn’t want him to die. “Alright.” He repeated more forcefully just to see Gale’s face clear and some old expression of peaceful relief smooth out his worry lines, not as much as Maureen’s tongue could do, Bucky wagered, but it was a little relief of his own he could give. “But you make a poor incentive for obeying you.” he pointed out cheekily, shoving off his wall to advance on Gale and shove a finger in those still full cheeks, “You gonna reward me if I disobey an’climb over on day six?”

Gale rolled his eyes, an expression all too pretty with his cheek distorted by Egan’s rough fingers, his eyes wary and loving all at once, Bucky had missed that look, it was coy as hell and one of his favorites on his friend. “Don’t count on it.”

💋 Hope you enjoyed! Feedback is a writer’s lifeblood, please feel free to scream in comments or the inbox, I love it and wanna hear it all. Trust me, nothing is “too dumb”. Your thoughts mean the world to me.

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#masters of the air #mota #mota fanfic #mota oc #mota imagine #john egan fanfiction #Gale Cleven fanfiction #bucky egan fanfiction #Buck Cleven fanfiction #gale cleven x oc #those who can #integrated au

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blackdollette · 1 year ago

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ok I have a really good one that I don’t think you’ve done before. The reader and euronymous having an argument at a party and she storms off and when he finds her to apologise she starts crying and he continues to apologise and comfort her🤭🤞🏼

ohhh i love angsty stuff 🤭

"remember how we used to party up all night?" | euronymous

this is what makes us girls. - lana del rey

✮⋆˙ [tags] @faesucksass @lustkillers @mayathepsychic1999 @josibunn @simply-stellarr

female!reader x euronymous

word count: 1988 (buckle up yall. this ones a whole novel)

contents: slight implications of rape, violence, blood. please dont read if uncomfortable!!

you felt eyes travelling and up down your body as you and euronymous made your way into the jam-packed house. music was blaring along with lights that were bright enough to blind an unsuspecting victim. the atmosphere had changed the instant you walked through the door. you couldn't tell if it was because of the uncomfortably short dress he’d made you wear tonight or the fact you were the only girl at the party, making you the perfect target.

euronymous dragged you by the arm as he pushed through clumps of people who all had their eyes on you. you’d learned the hard way that there are good and bad types of attention, and this type wasn't making you feel too great. lustful stares followed your trail as euronymous sat on the couch, pulling you onto his lap. the dress travelled up your thighs, catching the attention of those nearby. a few burst into a fit of laughter and cheers, causing a sick feeling to start brewing in your gut.

you shuffled off of his lap, sitting on the couch beside him. you hid your face as you pulled the dress back down, grabbing a pillow to prevent any further incidents. euronymous shot you a glare as you climbed off of his lap. he enjoyed showing others that you were his, but sometimes it just felt like you were a doll that he took around so his friends could gawk at you. you couldnt help but feel exploited whenever you were in this type of situation. but even worse, you felt like it was all his fault.

you turned away from his glare, shifting nervously in your seat. euronymous shifted his attention from you, trying to ignore your attitude. you had been acting out all night and he didnt like it one bit. he often thought back to the earlier times of your relationship when you followed his orders like a little dog. you were becoming more resistant, and he knew that he had no power to stop you. he looked at you through the corner of his eye, watching you shift in your seat. you looked uncomfortable and as much as he wanted to hold you in his arms at this moment, it was you that had pushed yourself off of him.

the stares from all around the room only grew more intense as time passed. there was a horror flick on the black and white TV in the corner of the room, but you were a much more attractive sight at the moment. you kept your head down, not wanting to catch any of the predatory stares coming in your direction. euronymous had brought you here for a good time, but he knew he wasn't getting that out of you tonight. the sickness in your stomach spread as you felt the people watching you like you were on display.

euronymous nudged you with his shoulder, not looking directly at you. you looked up a little, wondering if he’d noticed all the bright signs and wanted to take you home for the rest of the night. his gaze met yours, but it was cold and bitter. “grab me a beer.” he muttered under his breath so you could barely hear him. as you began to stand up, he snatched the pillow off your lap, his face beginning to contort with anger. “now!” his voice was loud enough to catch the attention of a few more people.

you froze on the spot as things went quiet for a fraction of a second. you took a deep breath and turned around, starting to make your way to the kitchen. you pushed through the congregated group of people, trying your best not to touch any of them. a few whistles caught your ear and you felt tears starting to sting your eyes. still, you walked into the kitchen, scanning the area for where the drinks were. there were two guys there and you recognized them at first glance. both were members of euro’s band, and you’d had troubling encounters with both of them in a not so distant past.

you hands began to tremble as your feet travelled in that direction without your brain’s command. they were involved in some conversation that prevented them from noticing you until you were about two feet away. “ ‘scuse me…” your voice was quiet and shaky, but your quiet squeak was all it took for their attention to shift to you. a sickening grin spread across they’re faces. “well long time no see, doll…” his eyes subconsciously scanned your body. their gazes were lust-filled and were radiating with bad intentions.

you sighed and brushed past them, reaching for a bottle of beer from the rack behind them. you stretched to grab one, but your motions were stopped when you felt a two pairs of hands grabbing your hips. your and mind seemed to disconnect, leaving you completely frozen. you heard a quiet chuckle from the other man. “it’s been quite a while since your special night with us… i must say, i’ve really missed this ass of yours.” a band inside your mind snapped. you grabbed a beer-filled glass bottle and closed your eyes as you swung aimlessly behind you.

the bottle hit something hard. it wasn't until you heard a pained cry that you knew that you’d hit your target. the other man watched as blood streamed down his face from his nose. his face was flushed red with an unearthly amount of rage. in a flash, you felt his hard hand make quick contact with your face, the slap sound echoing through the kitchen. you fell to the ground, the power of the slap being enough to literally knock you off your feet.

you saw that he was planning to strike you a second time, so you quickly crawled away from the area as the pained screams grew louder. you felt your knees and palms bursting with sparks of pain as you knelt on the shards of broken glass. once you’d gotten out of their sight, you stumbled out of the kitchen, tears starting to stream down your face. a crowd had gathered in the kitchen by now as the noise grew louder.

you saw euronymous who was standing by the couch and looking slightly puzzled. you ran up to him, wrapping your arms around his torso as a few choked sobs escaped from you. he had never been the affectionate type but at this moment he was even colder than usual. he shot you a glare, like he was saying that whatever was going on, it was all your fault. “what the hell happened in there?! all i asked was for you to grab me a fucking beer!” you looked up at him through tear-filled eyes. you voice came out in short gasps. “t-they were gonna hurt me… i had to do something..!”

you tried to plead with him, but you saw as his expression hardened with every word you said. it was like he had completely convinced himself that you were completely at fault here. he glanced down, seeing the blood that was dripping down your legs and hands. he sighed, rubbing his forehead as if he was trying to reason with a child. “go get yourself cleaned up so we can get out of here. before anyone sees what a mess you’ve made.” a pained look flickered across your face.

“y-you really think this is all my fault, huh?” your voice broke midway through the sentence. euronymous scoffs, “you’re seriously gonna play the victim here?! i know who my friends are. and i know you. so if im being honest, i’d say that you’ve ruined this night for everyone.” you stand there, completely stunned. he rolls his eyes and you feel your heart tear into two. “what, cant handle the truth? sorry doll, but one of these days you’re gonna have to learn not to bitch out whenever something doesn't go your way.”

his bitter voice pierces through the layers of your heart. though you tried to fight it, you couldn't stop the tears from rapidly streaming down your face as your entire body started to ache with fatigue. “drop dead, you bastard. i never want to see you again.” and with that, you took off, running out of the house and running down the street with no place to go in mind. you’d caught a glimpse of his face before you left. his expression was a mix of deep hurt and pure shock. you tried to delete the image from your mind, but the look of his heart breaking right there made you realize how severe the situation had become.

pain tugged at your heart strings as your silent sobs caused tears to fall down your cheeks. it was pitch black outside, and the only thing in sight was a bus stop a little while away. you carried yourself over there, setting yourself on the bench as the night sky began to drizzle. you sighed, looking outside and realizing what a mess your relationship had become. you buried your head in your hands, weeping silently at the lonely bus stop.

time became elastic, leaving you with no clue of how long you had been there. you felt a wave of drowsiness starting to hit you, but the pain you were feeling to too much for you to relax. dark shadows appeared on the streets, an eerie glow dusting over the sidewalks. you were trapped in your daze, it finally breaking when you felt a cold, soft material being draped over your shoulders. you jumped at the feeling, knowing that you were too weak to fight with anyone. you slowly looked up, seeing a dark figure whos silhouette was illuminated by the moonlight.

euronymous’ pale face came into sight, his usually cold and guarded eyes having traces of vulnerability in them. then you realized that they were tears. the lord of chaos himself was crying. “may i..?” his voice came out as a squeaky croak. you simply nodded, not wanting to speak to him until you knew what his intentions were at this moment. he sat down with a sigh, starting to fidget with his thumbs as he avoided eye contact with you. his eyes slowly travelled up, carefully meeting yours. you could see by now that he had been crying a lot. his disheveled state revealed that he had been looking for you ever since you left.

he wiped his tears away before pulling your body into his, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. when he spoke, he sounded like a small child pleading for forgiveness. “i-im so sorry… i didnt mean to hurt you.” a sob escapes from his lips as he continues to get his words out. “i really dont wanna lose you. you’re the best thing that’s even happened to me, and i couldnt imagine what i’d do if anything ever happened to you.”

he put his head in your shoulder, silently sobbing into it as he managed to get his last statement out. “i love you more than anything…” he lifted his head up, trying his best to contain the rest of his tears. you managed to get a tiny smile out of yourself, which he mirrored immediately. he looked down at your bruised body. “look at you, doll. you must be freezing.” he wrapped you up in his leather jacket. “let’s get you home so we can fix you all up.” he shakily stood up from the seat.

you stand up too, swaying on your feet slightly. he notices that you’re slightly disoriented, so he scoops you up into his arms and carries you bridal style. “i love you so much. i promise to never hurt you like that again. i swear it.” with that, he planted a tender kiss on your forehead and started carrying you into the night, taking you home.

author's note: im so sorry yall. this one's rlly intense 😭 and its rlly long. yall should lemme know if i should just keep going with my shorter fics. thank you :))

#rory culkin #lords of chaos #euronymous #x reader #angst #lana del rey #444rockstargf

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halfusek · 2 years ago

Text

man. batdr archives. what

i hate them

sorry im gonna go full on hater mode here because oh my god? oh my god

i’ve got a sneaking suspicion that this came out now as damage control for the AI thing because 1. it wasn’t included in the game all along like BATIM’s archives were and 2. this tweet

like was it thrown together in such a rush that they forgot a whole ass character?

or it is a joke and was a planned action half a year after the game came out but eh who knows

either way this is not what i’m here to rant about (cuz im sure this is gonna turn to a rant)

it’s about bad writing, bad exposition and bad game design. buckle up!

i see what they mean with the smile being a challenge to create, you can see in countless animations for fansongs how different artists tackled that and for one i think they did that very well

however. why the clothes exactly? is it just a meta reason with no reasoning in-universe whatsoever?

and look i’m not a fan of the ink demon having a voice (though i respect the craft behind it, the voice actor is very talented, it’s just a personal preference) BUT if you made the ink demon talk you should by logical extension either make toon bendy talk as well or explain why the hell he’s talking? i can see it being distracting but there are characters that have squeaky annoying voices in games and they’re fine (and it’s not like toon bendy is around the player for a super long time)

i dunno what logic this whole thing operates on anymore but if joey commissioned the ink machine then it should be his and arch gate got all his shit after he passed away so idk what retrieve is supposed to mean here

but it could just be badly written sentences and the archive is full of those (once again making me think that the thing was done in a rush)

that’s fair i guess

yall did make him look like a generic demon tho

i mean... it could be worse? if the goal was to make him look out of place then it was achieved but idk if it’s actually a good thing

i do like the bit about Wilson influencing how things look under him being in control of the cycle (though they have a very silly definition about what the cycle is but more about that later)

dude. the beast bendy design was already bad in BATIM and they made it even worse in BATDR like what TToTT

its just an angry mountain of muscles, the batim design at least had that leg injury thing going on which made moving with front arms make more sense, this dude right here is just a big inky gorilla (and not in a good way)

playing as the final form in on itself isnt a bad idea, does sound quite fun, personally tho i did not enjoy the very ending on the game

i dunno it just felt weird and all the other characters randomly appearing and the lost ones attacking being so awkward and ink demon acting as if they could kill you... nah man i wasn’t feeling it

okay so lets get this straight

cycle = a series of events that repeat

breaking the cycle would mean doing something different and stopping the cycle from continuing (so what... wilson was doing actually)

saying that making it restart again is what breaking it means is just??? no?

“satisfying face reveal” welp. each to their own XD

i see their purpose theme and thats neat and all but man do i hate how henry in this game is just. there and how some stranger is the person helping him get out of his horrible fate like its sooooooo unsatisfying

yeah she got more personality ill give her that

but she’s not a beacon of hope. she’s a beacon of tearing away the satisfaction of defeating a villain that we as the player worked hard towards

and uh... isn’t getting thrown into a horrible dimension full of monsters that audrey isn’t familiar with and is supposed to be freaked out about a bad moment to introduce a familiar face? like from a writing perspective, because it happens nearly instantly as chapter one starts

shouldn’t audrey be unmotivated then and struggling to figure out the world on her own? the player should also be haunted at this world, like it’s a horror game bestie ! don’t make me comfortable

well glad to hear the confirmation on that batds is happening in pararel to batdr

but his involvement in the main story is honestly such a nothing burger

is he there just so you can put batdr on the “can you pet the dog” site?

oh ok so what you’re basically putting down here is that he’s a boring perfect extremely rich guy, wasn’t even a bad father, completely stripping wilson’s arc of depth, cool, was afraid there would be something of substance powering the backbone of the plot of this game

and saying that both joey and wilson are worse people because theyre cringefail at business XDDDDDDDDDDD

ok here is something that im glad they addressed because ive been wondering about it - how audrey forgot that joey was her dad and how did she end up working at arch gate then

i suppose it implies that there’s something we might still learn/theorize about it, like for example if it was the machine drawing her in or gent wanting to get the machine back and manipulating things into place from behind the scenes

i really wonder how you can enter in and out the ink realm unnaturally but good to mention why he looks like that if he’s supposed to be nathan’s son

you cant just say that a character was important to the story, its not gonna happen from words

how is she important exactly? she just talks and uh.. helps audrey make the drink that makes you fall asleep? man that section of the game was Weird

i do want to like her, she seems nice and there could be interesting things to her backstory but as for the plot she really didn’t do much, sorry, betty

if you wanna say that pushing the plot forward by giving audrey that drink and then alice appearing outta nowhere and kidnapping here is a good big contribution then idk what to tell you... its such a bad way to make the plot progress, it was so confusing because characters were behaving as in forced to do Things to Progress the Plot (especially Audrey drinking that thing at all like seriously girl?? and Alice appearing comically at the last sip like wooooooow are you for real)

ah. so they were attempting a redemption arc

[saying this he didn’t threw aside the large rock. he was right to be holding the large rock]

this sucks man! what did joey help correct exactly? created more ink people to suffer eternally? wow, dude, thanks

also lmao what learned from his mistakes, did you HEAR his dialogue at the end of batim?? (an audrey can be heard right after that scene as well so isnt his whole change of heart supposed to be happening around here + allison has already been added to the squad)

it’s just... it’s just such bullshit man

you can make us like joey as a character but don’t you fucking dare make us like him as a person

bad. just bad

(aaaaaand this is the part that made me realize i wish the archives just. weren’t added! wow! i’m even surprised with myself with how much I Don’t Like them)

WHAT flaws??? hello??? please give it a big thinking and tell me what flaws does Audrey have im shaking and crying

also is her “deep dark past” supposed to just be like bEINg JoEY DRewS DAUghtER OOOoooOOo? lmao. wow so dark wow so deep

i dont know why this story needed a fresh pair of eyes because the story is that audrey is joeys daughter and that wilson is nathan archs son and that bendy is bendy. wow so deep so dark and complicated!!!!!!!11!!111

also whats the point of fresh eyes if you welcome us with familiar faces?

also sorry to break this to you but its not hard to stand out from the kinda cast that is presented to us in this game. sorry i cant decide if i care more about audrey or random employee number 24 with a random problem that i have 0 reason or time to get attached to. i seriously cant decide

suuuure we were so muddled xD oh you got us so good you sneaky little cheeky little quirky little

cant fucking believe we almost had a proper nathan arch jr and a secret one eyed villain that there was so much hype about and theories that they obviously tried to deliever here

its speculative but. knowing that they take inspiration from fan theories - they admitted to it and ex employees said so, i think we would have to be in some serious denial to think that @lucky-dreamfisher‘s one-eyed bendy theory wasn’t meant to be represented here with wilson’s character

ALSO THIS NARRATIVE. THIS NARRATIVE HAS ZERO- NO, NEGATIVE AMOUNT OF COMPLEXITY

GOD

this story makes so much LESS sense based on what you said! aaaaaaaa we were so close to greatness

what is so wrong with not resetting the cycle then?

not that im a fan of how wilson was approaching things, he very clearly wanted to make himself the ruler of this realm and have power over everyone but sounds like that sure beats living under ink demons reign?

but also idk if this is entirely true like in batim chapter 5 we can see that lost ones were capable of making that lost harbour and sammy is later mentioned to have mastered a special ability too so??

i wish we learned more about the pit because it sounds quite interesting and we were working hard towards getting there and finally didnt get to see it at all (a shame! very unrewarding to the player)

im not gonna comment on reverting here cuz its a serious mental thing im not knowledgable about

i haaaate this

you... this is not how exposition is done!

show don’t tell?? how about SHOW don’t TELL??

what in the goddamn. you can’t just pull that outta your ass and say yep. this is how it is. bro. dude.

im referring here to the ink machine bit, the previous sentences can actually be seen in the story

but the design does not reflect what is written here

and they are doing so much of that in these archives, this telling of the story in a place that is not meant for telling of the story, you do that IN the STORY. rarghrgrh

surprise i found another nice thing: confirmation on that alice was the one who mutilated the butcher gang, cuz i dont think that was ever confirmed before but at least you can find implications of that in the game so its fine to outright confirm that here, good job about that

i dont know what theyre on about carley, she doesnt really look like that to me and ive looked at her model in the archives, in the files and at peoples renders of her and i just dont see it

but i guess it might mean it was like a suit that someone got stuck in- FNAF?!>!!>!?

no way. no fucking way

we got robbed what ToT

he was removed in favour of WHAT???? AMOK????

dude there ill be real. there’s barely anything that is worth keeping there instead of having him play a bigger role

and im not even that big on sammys character! hes one of my least liked characters personally even! but at least there is something more to him and just man after 5 years you could have given him more than just a dumb wilhelm scream joke, that almost feels like a spat in the face lmao

thanks for again confirming something though with that flow thing, as we noticed sammy uses gaps in the wall in batim chapter 2 to travel around the place

why not have him teach audrey the flow ability? imagine how could that would have been

im just baffled this exist but sammy apparently had to be cut out

lol

lmao

moving on

my brother in christ why are you making it a mystery if she will appear, she literally appeared in every game so far with quite major roles

also... what layers? sure in batim with her story (susie’s story) there sure been some layers, susie’s story in batim is probably aside from joey’s story the deepest character arc they got

but alice in batdr? she’s there to play a stupid game she set herself up to lose, get mad at that (eh?) shoot you and die

what layers, really

gender

but also idk i found the fight annoying and random, you could throw it out and not much of value would be lost, put sammy back in

YOU MADE HIM NOTHING

YOU TOOK A PERFECTLY FINE ENEMY AND GAVE IT ANXIETY THATS WHAT YOU DID /j /ref

idk if id describe the ink demon as putting the player on edge because he doesnt actually roam the place

you see a grey overlay on your screen and you need to hide or you die... which gets tiring fast and annoying

you totally could still have lurker (even if just restricted to some areas) as a free roaming monster

and the unlikely ally thing is just so bland like yeah he’s there, we know nothing about him aside from that he eats hearts, incredibly charming fella

not thrilled by his design either but that issue i already had with the first trailer but i guess they just sticked with that

bendy devs not use mental illnesses as derogatory terms challenge

i like the crab boy design, he’s sillay

bro forgot a texture tho

so yeah not. happy with the archives

sorry if im like overly negative but ive honestly tried to give this sequel (because despite what they were saying it IS undoubtedly a sequel) my best assumptions and it turns out its nearly all the worst assumptions

its annoying, im annoyed

they should hire a writer to help them get this mess together, maybe get adrienne in on it, i dunno, because clearly if they need to be specific and not leaving things open like in batim, then they arent managing very well

they even fucking killed harold

#bendy and the dark revival #bendy and the ink machine #batdr #batim #halfpost

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axailslink · 2 years ago

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I'll Stay

Jamie Harrison x poc FEM reader

Summary: Everyone knows you and Jamie have this undeniable relationship but neither of you have ever acted on it and you find yourselves in a situation where you finally can and will.

A/n: Practicing my romantic scenes since I suck at writing smut why not go back to my roots? It's what I'm used to doing so here's a taste of how I really write. Unrelated but that photo Jesus she's so fucking fine got me drooling need to get myself a handkerchief for everytime I see her.

The romance between you and Jamie cannot be hidden from anyone everyone is aware of the way you two look at each other except you both but right now as you both are just inches away from each other it all comes into plain view. You both are hesitant to move your faces closer but your hands have a mind of their own as they climb their way up her shirt and grab her face. Her gaze is one that demands your attention as she stares you down. Jamie finds herself glancing at your chest taking notice of how quick your breathing has gotten she finds it cute because your breaths match her own as breathing has quickened in pace too. you two spend the longest time staring at each other before you finally find the energy to lean up and peck her lips she's quick to continue the kiss not letting you pull away not even to breathe. She kisses you like she'll find air in your mouth whenever she gets close to pulling away she only goes back in with a deeper and more craving-filled energy. Her hands find themselves to the back of your head not letting you pull away either your knees could be buckling from two things right now lack of air or the feeling of finally getting the girl you want but does it really matter which? Jamie's lips are soft and gentle unlike this kiss she has yet to let you pull away from only when she notices you literally sliding down against her body does she finally pull away.

The gasp you take reminds you of your surroundings and you carefully come back to her height well what you can make of it and she smiles as she gives you that gaze again the one that drew you into that breathless kiss not even minutes ago. Jamie hasn't had enough of you she's been craving you for the longest time and to finally have a taste of what being with you could potentially be like she feels like an addict. She feels as if she's trapped in a world without oxygen and the only way she can get it is by kissing you but you're still recovering from the first kiss. The peck you give her as you let your hands fall from her face is deadly because she knows you have intentions of leaving afterward but she's quick to grab you by your waist and pull you to her."Stay" her words are more of demand than a request "Jamie we are in a public bathroom... If I stay I won't stop" Jamie nods as she glances at your bruised lips again. "We have definitely been in worse places." She doesn't have to beg you as you shake your head and smile you lick your lips but she catches your tongue carefully between her teeth you can't help the laugh that shakes your body "leth go" she does as asked and smiles to herself "stay." you nod as you place your hands in her back pockets and push her toward yourself "okay I'll stay but you have to kiss me like that again."

A/n: Hopefully yall enjoy my real writing as much as my fanfic writing. I was thinking of a TikTok sound when I made this (there's just inches in between us I want you to give in I want you to give in.) I'm pulling FICS from my ass at this point.

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awesomesaucem · 1 year ago

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About-Face

Chapter three of The Wanting Comes in Waves (19,651 words)

Marianne stumbles onto more questions than answers as she unwittingly falls into a new routine. Stranger and stranger still, she pries at pieces of this puzzle she didn't want to be a part of in the first place.

Word Count for Chapter: 6,878

Woof what a break! I have returned once again with this fuckery. Also remember that post I made about having at least 10k words this chapter? Yeaaahhhh sorry. Just go ahead and redact all that.

Anyway, I did kinda rush this at the end so sorry if there's some awkward moments here or there. I currently do not have a beta reader (nudge nudge, wink wink) and chatgpt is down so I got zero feedback on this update. Hope its ok oof.

a/n for chapter: me months and months ago: hmm i think i can update on a weekly basis... me now: LMAO BITCH YOU THOUGHT Many apologies and thanks for patience with me here yall. I am alive and well for the most part. Work is painful. School is painful. You know how that goes. To make up for it, you see that handy little chapter number update? yeahhhh shits plotted OUT. So much is planned for this fic it's not even funny anyway BUCKLE UP. THE ANGST WILL BEGIN MOMENTARILLY enjoy, babies. And as always-thank you for reading :)

The clang of workers’ routine stole Marianne from a sleep she wasn’t aware of falling into in the first place. Rattling of pots and pans; scrubbing, scraping. Singing. Nothing like the morning before where there were only leering eyes and sinking feelings. Slicing open the padding beneath her, she slid her knife between the hay and silently prayed over it once again. It’s gone through quite enough with her already, but their knowledge of her treasure could very well mean death. Her breath clouded for a moment, deciding the blanket should join her for the day; not only as extra warmth but she would take all the layers of protection she could get. Still unbound and unwatched, she tried the door only to be met with the raised fist of Steph seemingly about to knock. They both stared in an abashed beat of silence.

“The Captain sent me,” she offered as explanation. “You’ve been quiet all day.”

“All day?” She looked around outside at the hard working crew. “I guess I slept a little late, huh?”

Steph's gaze hardened in both confusion and concern. “You mean you’re just now waking up? We all had lunch a few hours ago. Someone brought you some, but they said you weren’t hungry,” she recalled. Her tone shifted immediately into something more urgent. “Did no one come to check on you? Who did you speak to?” Nearly each word was punctuated with a heavy step forward pushing them both into the room.

“Uh, I-” Marianne was more confused than intimidated by the rapid interrogation. “I’m not sure.” She thought briefly to her dreamless sleep, not noting any visitors of significance. If someone had spoken in her room, she wasn’t aware of it. “I don’t remember, I'm sorry.” Steph snatched her wrist in hand and led her to the bed. In the other was a bundle of jars and rags with some metal instruments thrown into the mix as well.

“Girl’s sorry,” she grumbled under her breath. “Beaten and slept for days, not eating, and she’s sorry.” Her calloused hands lightly tugged the hem of Marianne’s tunic. “Up. I need to look at you.”

Stunned, she shot a glance to the open door and back to Steph in a silent plea. Without even looking behind her, her boot clanged against the wood and shut it with a click. Her brows shot up. Better? they ask.

Her own shaking hands gripped the edge of her tunic in response and pulled upward to reveal mottled purples and yellows from the days prior. Any scrapes from Roland's boots or the dirty floor were mostly cleaned during last night's bath. Marianne knew time and rest were needed to heal the hurt beneath the surface, but Steph had to make sure. She was expecting far worse if her supplies gave indication, but Marianne meant nothing to her; this was most likely an order from the Captain. But then again, she was a prize to be hand delivered. If she was broken on arrival, someone would surely pay for it. Without a legitimate reason to argue, she allowed her wounds to be dressed.

Steph worked in trained concentration. Softly yet methodically she prodded at the watercolor of blood beneath skin searching for anything more dire. Mostly she worked in silence except for the occasional hiss from Marianne at a particularly harsh poke which was met by an apologetic hum from her surveyor. Wraps of cloth soaked in liquid smelling strongly of rum and menthol were drug across her ribs and chest, wretching a muffled cry from Marianne as it seeped into any weeping lesions it found. The harsh burn subsided into a warm sting as Steph finally deemed her attentions enough and bound her sternum in fresh cloth.

“That should be enough for now. Nothing I haven’t seen, nothing I can’t mend,” she chatted, packing up her supplies. “You’re tougher than you look, you know,” she added.

“I know,” she retorted, keeping her eyes downcast at their hands.

Steph scoffed at her cockiness, nudging her knuckles lightly against her chin to tilt her gaze skyward.

“Oh, I know. Quite the tiger you are,” she laughed. “Got the Captain worked up for sure.”

That caught her attention.

“The Captain,” she began precariously. “Who is he? I mean who is he really?” The silence that followed was uneasy for the both of them. Cocking her head, she searched for any answer she could find in the stoic woman’s eyes. “You know something. Tell me.” It wasn’t a question. But if there was a time for answers, it would be now. She was tired of being left in the dark. Steph’s cordial demeanor soured immediately into forced professionalism.

“He is our Captain. What more is there?” A single heavy palm braced the mattress to steady herself as she excused herself from the bed to take her leave. For as strong as she was in a fight, she seemed to turn away from conversation. “Try not to sleep on your right side, girl. Nothing’s broken but you’ll be feelin’ it for a while.”

Marianne nodded, ignoring the defensive change of topic and busied her hands with whatever scraps that ended up left behind. The quick muttering and shuffling at the door caught her attention once more as the very same Captain was at the threshold exchanging knowing looks with Steph as she stepped around him. The tension, unfortunately, stayed behind with Marianne.

“So, er,” he scrambled for words at Steph’s leave. “I take it you’re faring much better, then?”

She rubbed at the phantom twinge of chains that have long since sunk into deep, murky waters and hummed low in her throat.

“I am.”

As watched as she felt, she made sure to observe in equal measure the ferine creature whose kindness shown in the decimation of men and possession of their wives.

“You gave us all quite the scare. I know this is less than ideal, but my will toward you is not unkind if you’ll believe it.”

Loitering uncomfortably, he continued.

“Roland joined us today as well. Asking for you.”

Fear and anger alike bubbled in her throat.

“What words in any of the realms would I have to exchange with that wretch -”

“None,” he yielded a hand to interrupt. “The last thing I need is two extra bodies on board who can’t control themselves. Now get dressed. You’re due to pull some weight around here unless you’d rather join him in the bilge.”

___

Before she could even think, a week went by. Then another. Day after day of choring, hearty food, and good conversation passed by in a comfortable blur. As it turns out, they were remarkably self-sustainable. Nothing was wasted aboard the ship and everything had a use. They also were thoroughly prepared from the chickens living below deck to the seemingly endless potable water that never refrained from surprising her. Scuppers were even plugged up to collect any rain water and sheep's pelts hung alongside the sails to catch morning dew each day. This plus the two months of fresh water they started with granted them surplus amounts for bathing, washing, or cooking. Much to Marianne’s satisfaction, someone let slip that the Captain was indeed from the mountains and used heavy blocks of ice to immensely extend the lives of their perishables until they melted and joined the stock as well. There are only so many uses you can get from the same water, however. If she wasn’t as exhausted and filthy as she was her first night on board, she would have realized the thin layer of cooking oil that went unnoticed among the soaps before she sunk into it. But she was clean despite any impurities of the water. And more importantly, she was grateful.

Since it was made very clear she would have a purpose on board after she was able, they wasted no time at all putting her to work. The little experience she had doing work of any kind limited her options of positions, yet they made do with her. Peeling potatoes isn’t exactly skilled labor. Mending and sewing were also available tasks and those too required the skill she was thankful to have. Those less fortunate with the knowledge muttered swears and hisses during their feeble attempts at stitching and took her back to a time when her fingers were also as bandaged up as her newfound friends’. While Brutus wouldn’t mind a needle, his hands weren’t exactly dainty nor dextrous.

As the days turned into nights, her unease gradually dissipated and without her permission she became as tamed as a mangy stray with a full belly. As her aches and pains left, so did her ferocity. One of the shiphands even taught her to play some obscure, backstreet card game where they played for extra pieces of meat and scraps of fabric. She still didn’t quite understand the rules in its entirety, but she seemed to be winning. The other players traded knowing glances which is when she realized they were letting her win, the bastards! They want to play shady? Marianne could play shady. Hamming it up, she trashed a few bluffs and discarded some wilds completely by accident, oh my! and snuck a few more winnings into her pile. This only seemed to egg them on more. If she actually paid attention to the rules, more winnings was actually not how to win, if you would believe it, and she walked away with nothing after all. Her own fault for not expecting pirates to play dirty, really. Grumbling, she pushed away from the crate-turned-table and excused herself to her quarters. One of the more skilled players snuck her a snack or two as she left as thanks for keeping them entertained for a moment or two. Nothing too indulgent. They were known for sneaking a piece of crusty bread or salted meat into their pockets now and again, but she appreciated the gesture all the same.

She supposed it was time to give these brutes their deserved grace as she’d harshly misjudged them from the start. The very same group that tore a military vessel entirely to pieces was the very same group that looked on her scars and snuck her little things to sink her teeth in. Each passing day became that much more comfortable. That much less spent anticipating the next disaster. Falling into routine proved easier than she could have predicted when she wasn’t constantly fearing for her life.

More and more was she fully content to stay in this dream and never wake. No more tutors or disapproving glances from her father. No more wondering who she’ll bribe next to let her sneak out night after night. Whether she meant to or not, she had found a funny kind of freedom here at sea. But then again there was still a warm bed at home waiting for her. It was fun to dream, but what happens when the other shoe drops? You’re still a prisoner here. Nothing has changed. Just as a stray never forgets its fight no matter the hand that feeds it, Marianne never forgot her blade still hidden and discrete.

Her trek back to her chambers was interrupted by clattering somewhere down around the bilge. She wasn’t allowed down in that part of the ship as that was where supplies and Roland of all things were kept, but she didn’t care to explore around the filth anyway. There were only so many potatoes you could look at. The clanging grew louder, drawing the attention of the rest of the crew. Suddenly everything halted as Roland himself clamored up to the main deck. Speak of the Devil and he shall appear.

Someone who was so vain about his appearance had never looked more haggard. His clothes were shredded and filthy and plastered to his frame with far too much sweat which showed the awkward angle of his shoulders jutting out from beneath them. Arms bound behind his back, he could do not much else but stare and panic. A long dried trail of blood lined his temple and was flaked away in some places, but held clumps of hair to his face against their will. Bare feet stumbled as he turned, frantically, looking for any last minute hiding places or methods of escape. Resembling more a deranged animal than a Navy Captain, a bitter satisfaction simmered from deep within Marianne. She was a captive, but he was the real prisoner. No one even had the chance to grab him before Boggart slunk out of his quarters to see just what the excitement was all about. Roland went from deranged beast to cornered snake at the sight of the man and instantly regressed to a floundering mess.

“N-n-now Crowley, please, let’s discuss this like gentlemen. I’m sure there’s been some mistake, here. I truly do admire you greatly and sir, ‘n I just don’t understand how I’ve offended you to this point-I really don’t!”

Everyone's attention turned to behind the sniveling rat as Thad, the meek quartermaster, finally caught up with hands on his knees and heaving breaths in between words of “sorry, sir” and “too fast!” Boggart surveyed the broken man and offered him a glance holding everything from anger to disappointment as he stepped forward.

“Mmh,” he grunted. “Not so lucky I found you though, Roland.” Keeping his chin tucked, he tried constraining his words to a minimum clumsily slipping into his false accent without proper warning. Marianne said nothing to indicate the switch but smiled to herself as Roland sagged to his knees in submission.

“Whatever I’ve done, I’ll right it!” He begged. “You’re reasonable, sir. Intelligent and reasonable and, and-”

A click of a pistol silenced his whining as the cold barrel was pressed to his temple.

“That’s quite enough, Captain. My business is my business and you’ll endure. Do you know why that is?”

Roland swiftly shook his head, flinging his sweat-matted hair free from his cheek.

“Because animals endure. And what do we do with a sick animal, men? ” His eyes and pistol remained on the poor bastard at his feet as he addressed his crew.

“We put ‘em down!” Many voices shouted from their various positions on deck.

“We put ‘em down.” His teeth were on full display in all their voraciousness. Roland’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull.

“No! Sir, please!” He pleaded, openly weeping. But Marianne saw through his crocodile tears. She knew this man would only beg for his life just because it was something he could take. There was no value to it, only consequence. Boggart finally turned his cool gaze her way, nearly freezing her along with it.

“What say you, Marianne? Does he live to see another day?”

Rolland turned his wallowing to her as well along with each other pair on the ship.

“I,” she considered. On the one hand, he’ll never exist in her life again. His demanding hands will never touch another living soul; no longer grasping in the dark desperate for tithings. She, and all others, will be free of him as long as they too exist. Yet his teary, snake-like eyes bore into her anxiously awaiting the decision of the woman he owned-at least for a time. Her vows made in lace and satin and glittering things under her father’s scrutinous eye urged for her hesitation. For eternity, she promised. Forsaking all others.

“Come on, Marianne,” he whispered in one last solicitation. The air stilled.

“Girl?” Boggart whispered, urging for a decision.

She too shook her head, almost in a panic, as dread pooled any and everywhere it could worm its way into her from head to toe. The short snapping of the hammer disengaging awarded Roland his undeserved reprise as his own dreadful feelings left him in a breathy and relieved sigh.

“Oh, Marianne! How I adore you, believe me. You know I’d do anything to make this right,” he bowed his head to the dirty floor and blubbered into the planks while Boggart rolled his eyes at the display. Turning to look behind him at the girl who spared such a lowly creature his eyes were uncertain, but firm. Disapproving, yet understanding.

With his back turned, Roland seized his opportunity to lurch up and dart for anywhere other than at the feet of his subjugator. The crew shouted their alarm and scrambled to subdue the man again, but Boggart raised a halting hand in favor of words as well as his weapon.

“Roland, I give you this last chance,” he warns over the noise at the rat zig-zagging through the deck searching for sanctuary. His words go unheard, however, as he darts and weaves behind barrels and crates, trying to find somewhere, anywhere that will grant him a few extra precious seconds of life.

“Please, lad,” he whispers in one last warning, forgetting his false inflection for a breath.

Finally heeding, Roland suddenly whips his head around eyes wide in recognition and stretches his mouth wide to utter accusatory words otherwise interrupted by the unanticipated firing of a gun sending its bullet right between the poor man’s eyes.

Marianne bit her tongue at the viscera as she witnessed the death of her husband for a second time.

Pocketing his handgun, Boggart sneered at the mess while the burn of spent gunpowder dissipates.

“S-sir, he…” Thad gasped meekly from where he stood to the rails.

“I know,” he avowed.

More knowing exchanges eluded Marianne as so much secrecy was had in such an intimate crew. One moment she was jesting along with her shipmates and the next it was like a haze shrouded them, separating her entirely. It was frustrating. It was nerve wracking.

It’s annoying is what it is.

“Thad!” He barks at the still-heaving man. “Clean up this eyesore, will you?”

“Of course, sir,” he pants. “But first you need to see the bilge.”

Boggart sighs, smoothing over his beard very much irked.

“What’s wrong with the bilge, Thadius?”

He squirms under his unhappy Captain’s glare.

“Well, it’s uh,” he struggles for words until Steph wrecks an elbow into his ribs forcing them out.

“Underwater! It’s underwater, Captain,” he sputters. “Roland kicked through some loose boards as a distraction. We need to dock for repairs.”

His jaw clenched and unclenched in disdain, fighting the urge to tear into the small man.

“We had just resupplied some two weeks ago, mate. I didn’t plan for an emergency stop in our schedule.”

“Well, we’re going to have to. At least a quarter of the new chicks have drowned already and that’s not even counting the water we’ve taken on.”

Thinking of any second options, Boggart resolves to stamp past the crew.

“Hoist the mains, gentlemen!” He bellows, forgoing reason. “Ready to ground!”

While Thad did his best not to heave at the blood underfoot, the rest of the crew scrambled to ready the masts and gather everything they needed to ready the ship for land leaving Marianne to process. Luckily the winds were favorable and they found a quaint little alcove far away from any form of civilization in no time at all. Immediately after reaching land, the ramp was tossed.

The ramp leading to the shore was caked in sand from the years of use. Crates and barrels of dry goods and sleep mats were carried arm to arm by meandering shiphands as Marianne watched them all. The chill of early Spring was holding everyone tightly still sending a wave of ice through to her bones and shivering, she looked to the emerging stars in the twilight. Long, winding shadows were cast from the conifer border to the inland. In fact, the treeline wasn’t too far from the shore and looked thick enough to get lost in. She leaned closer over the creaking railing to judge the distance. If she managed to get past the already busy crew, she’d just need to sprint through the brush. Far enough inward and they’d have less and less of a chance to capture her twice. A hand at her shoulder startled her from her dangerous train of thought - it seems her musings caused her to roam perfectly in the way of the workings that reminded her so much of ants. Murmuring an apology, she resumed her positioning off to the side and firmly out of the way.

Each member of the crew had something different in their arms. All crates and containers of sorts but each was meticulously labeled in stark, bold lettering burned into the sides. Dried meats, flour, tools, what have you were passed down one by one. Everyone had a job to do but her. Next, a metal cage with several of the surviving chickens was pushed to the ramp inspiring her. Everyone was busy after all. All she’d need was a distraction and her knife.

___

Sand squished between her toes as her legs carried her as far and fast as they physically could while she ignored the howling behind her mixed with panicked cackling of the startled fowl. Harsh winds whipped and whirled around her, almost guiding her forward as she couldn’t get it into her lungs fast enough. Bobbing and winding through the dense wood, she didn’t dare look behind her, couldn’t afford it. If she had, she’d see the sliver of a thin hand silently halting the rest of his crew as a single man stepped into the trees.

Heartbeat thundering in her ears, she finally slowed to catch her breath in heady gulps. The pounding in her chest matched that in her head, but she was too far gone to stop now. Now was not the time for giving up. Resting against a nearby tree she thought about the stories she would tell Dawn when she finally returned home; the crying they would do. The fear they would both put into their father. She could weep at the almost taste of her mother’s recipes just out of reach. Her bed, her blades, her sister, all seemingly paces away. Did she have any sense of where to go in the heavy foliage? Absolutely not. But all she really needed was to put enough distance between her and the creatures at her back. All she needed was an unfamiliar face and the promise of reward and she’d be home.

A nearby snapping of twigs broke her from the fantasy. Catching her breath somewhere between her heart and her lungs she waited; hands clasped at her lips to not even let the fog of breath escape. Scratching bark to her back shielded her from any searching eyes as she counted the urgent beating of her heart. Rather than haunted by the ever persistent threat of Roland’s men, she was instead hunted, rather, by a fresh threat of her own creation. The wheezing of trapped breath behind her palms threatened to reveal her; remaining calm must take priority. One, two, three, four, five, six. She counted with each stampeding beat. One, two, three, four, five, six. Leaves crunch from behind the nearby brush. Onetwo, threefour, fivesix. A scurrying of something much smaller than her from ahead, frightened. Onetwothreefourfivesix. The shadow of strong shoulders and hooked nose hovered behind her sanctuary and for an instant there was nothing for her to count. Just as he rounded the edge of the trunk, she bolted once more revealing her position but willing her legs to test their limits and ignored the fire in her lungs.

The Captain hollered triumphantly and soared after her, his own legs that were much longer and stronger granted him just enough extra speed to gain on her and close the distance. With a roar that mingled alongside her yelp, his deft fingers gripped the back of her tunic and pulled sending her flying backward and landing harshly on the cold ground. Luckily she kept her breath which she used to scream every obscenity she could recall while he pinned her beneath him.

His breath was hot in her face as she bucked and struggled against his unwavering grasp. She was all nails and teeth and elbows, and she wondered exactly what the rest of the crew was thinking back at the beach. Fallen needles of pine and spruce dug into her back, threatening to pierce the flesh there and she remembered her scabbard that has survived all this time hidden at her hip. She snuck a hand downward to reach for her undetected defenses to at least even out the fight. A flash of astonishment, panic, and something else entirely washed over his face as he narrowly dodged a swipe of the blade and with gritted teeth, placed all of his weight on a knee at her stomach. She cried out once again. His long dexterous fingers held her wrist in a bruising grip only to slam the offending hand in the dirt once, twice until the hilt slipped from her grasp.

“No!” She cried. “Please!” But she was already flipped to her front, face shoved into the dirt beneath them.

“Stupid girl,” Boggart snarled, pinning her arm to her back forcing her shoulder into an arduous position. “Had that with you the whole time, did you? Incompetent Roland couldn’t be bothered to search you over?”

“Fuck you!” Marianne spit behind her only to be met with grit at her lips once more.

“Such a filthy mouth on a pretty thing like you,” he leaned down to whisper, whisker gruff prickling her neck and shoulder. “Now I see why he liked you so much.”

He palms the blade, and with one hand binding both wrists forcefully tugs her to her feet. On clumsy footing, she stumbled to escape his grasp but he whistled low in warning.

“Be good,” he grunted. “Wouldn’t want to spill your own blood on that knife, would you?”

Exhausted from the chase, she hung her head low and trudged onward. She would either be killed here or back at the ship-at least this way she could see one last sunset.

She hadn’t recalled how far from the shore she had taken them as the walk back was much longer than anticipated. His hold on her never faltered nor were words exchanged. Just the Captain’s thickly accented mutterings in an unfamiliar language filled the silence their sand dampened steps wished for. Once they reached the shore, the crew’s work became more leisure than anything to sneak a nosy glimpse or two at the both of them as Marianne was shoved up the ramp. There she resumed her struggles of hurling swears hoping at least to hurt him with words rather than blades. Long, spindly fingers gripped her wrist much too tightly while her legs frantically rushed to catch up to his long strides as he drug her through the cavity of the ship. Once they reached her chambers, she was roughly hurled across the threshold, scraping her knees against the wooden floor. Clutching her wrist to her chest didn’t soothe the ache nor the fingertip shaped bruises forming there. In their first meeting, Marianne was spiteful. She wasn’t afraid of death then; she wasn’t afraid of pain. Now with tear-stained cheeks she watched the dreaded creature staring predatory in the doorway and understood they were one and the same.

“Now you’ll be a good little butterfly and think before you try flying away from me again," he scoffed, boxing her in.

“You can’t just keep me here!” She shouted from when she lay crumpled on the floor. “You aren’t taking me to Jones and you’re not keeping me for yourself!”

Boggart turned to meet her scowl, puzzled.

“I’m not your crew. I don’t know what I am to you, but I’m not going to be your prisoner anymore,” she sobbed. Watching her tremble from the watery words and Boggart softened his gaze in something that could’ve resembled guilt. “And don’t you dare touch me again or I’ll-”

He barks out a laugh.

“You’ll do what, girl? Kill me? With this?” He admires her prized dagger in the moonlight, catching the beautiful glint reflecting off the metal and curbing the reignited, unfettered rage in his eyes.

“Not anymore.”

He hums in thought.

“It's a pretty thing, really,” he growls watching the light refract through a quartz embedded in the hilt. Marianne helped Dagda pick out the stone when her cheeks were rose-tinted and her father was her world. “I’d like to think I should keep this; add it to my collection. Much too pretty to be wasted on silly noble girls.” The thought of losing the best treasure sent Marianne spiraling. She scrambled on her hands and knees to try and reclaim it, to try anything, but the blade was instead spun around to press its tip firmly at her throat. The Captain’s hand was steady. No sign of hesitancy shown in his eyes while she wept.

“None of that again. Escaping to the trees with stolen weaponry is so unbecoming of a lady,” he spat. “I hope you enjoyed your little adventure because it was the last free breath you’ll ever draw again.” He withdrew the blade and puffed out an amused laugh to himself. “You know,” he whispered to her crumpled body on the ground and lifted her gaze by the hair, just as Roland had done once before. “You’re a pretty thing too. Maybe I'll keep you as well.” He couldn’t help but laugh at her anguished expression as he closed and locked the door behind him, plunging her into darkness once again.

___

It must’ve been hours. They were still docked, but the laughter and crackling of campfire separated her from the crew she’d grown to care for from where they ate together on the beach. The crew that saw her as an equal. Stupid, she thought. He’d made no move to hurt her until now. None of them did. And now, thanks to her impulse, she was right back where she started. Trapped. Alone. And now she’s lost her only piece of home to her captor. Her skinned knees had long since crusted over, but she was still so incredibly sore from running as she never had to do in life. While impulsive, it was her only chance at freedom after she had already been given so much. Who knows if she’ll ever be allowed to see the sun again? The setting of heavy boots and the unbolting of a lock held the answer for her. Uncharacteristically timid, Boggart crowded the doorway and she couldn’t help but flinch.

“I..erm,” he began awkwardly.

Marianne just stared.

“Brutus found some wild greens and uh, made a stew. Everyone seems to like it.” His words apparently have found him.

Blinking up at him, she held enough quiet for the both of them.

“It’s getting late and you still need to eat, so,” he stuffs his hands into his pockets. “I’m asking you to eat. With everyone.”

His hollow laugh that bounced off the trees echoes through her mind as she narrows her gaze.

“You want me to eat with you?”

“With everyone, yes.”

“I thought I was never to draw a free breath again,” she challenged, articulating each and every sound.

Pursing his lips, frustrated, he leaves her a sliver of space at his side to follow him out into the ship.

“And I thought you were able to be trusted to stay manageable in these past few weeks. Especially since you’ve been armed all this time, I half expected you to be as senseless and shortsighted much sooner.” Dramatically, he flourishes his hand to beckon her. “Now would you like to eat or not?”

Against every voice in her mind screaming in opposition, she stands to her feet.

The walk to the beach wasn’t as awkward as she expected. The silence was appreciated by both of them as he guided her to the fire using his own sheer size to lead her without any argument. A few questioning eyes looked up from their drinks, but lingered reticently. Those who chose not to acknowledge them, kept to their comradery and focused on whatever tall tale was being shared around this time. Soup was slurped and ale was spilled just like all other nights back on the ship, omitting the sand beneath their feet. A bowl was nudged into her lap along with her share of ale.

It was a rich looking broth smelling earthy and fulfilling. Having spent all her energy scurrying and weeping, her stomach gurgled urging her to drink. She of course indulged, all but groaning in satisfaction the second the spiced broth hit her tongue. The fats of chicken and walnut melded beautifully with the hearty greens and wild spices that accompanied the charred smoke of the roaring fire they all huddled around. The thick glue of a porridge that Roland fed her was lifetimes away from her now as she guzzled down the stew. Brutus smirked in that pompous way only an artist could while she damn near licked the bowl clean.

The crew continued on with their storytelling's and singings, with the occasional shanty Marianne hummed along to having spent her nights evading palace guards and slumming with her most favorite peasant friends in backwater pubs. Vaguely impressed, Boggart snuck glances at her pretending not to know the words. Eventually, a voice piped up insisting on the Captain’s turn with a song. Boos and cheers rang around the blaze.

“You know he don’t sing,” gruffed one of the men.

“He’s too stubborn,” Steph griped, elbowing Thad sitting to her right. Light jeering erupts, settling at the Captain clearing his throat.

Marianne almost mourned the boisterousness from moments before as a tension settled heavy as a fog over the camp while he sang. Eyes lidded and shoulders stiff, their Captain recited what must have been some ancient lullaby from a time before life made him so cruel as he sang as if each word were a prayer. The melody flowed from his lips like rich wine and enthralled, she managed to only capture the last few lines:

She dwells with Beauty—Beauty that must die;

And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips

Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh,

Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips.

Solome here, here ’s were called and in the silence that followed his melody, the last of the stragglers retired for the evening bidding goodnight’s and farewell’s leaving just the Captain and his ward.

“Who was she?” She whispered, aching to fill the quiet. “The woman who made you feel this way.”

“Hmm? Oh,” he blushed. “No one.” Dowcast, he tossed a twig into the flames and watched it burn.

“You cannot be serious.” She tried not to smile. “You’re just always this morose?”

“Easy,” he teases. “Yes, I’m serious.” He retrieves a pipe from his breast pocket and lights it with a smoldering piece of kindling, taking a long drag as if the bitter herb could conjure the words for him. “It’s the only memory I have left of my mother before she passed. Sang it to me every night, nearly.”

“Oh,” she somberly replied, not used to being on the other side of this conversation. “It was beautiful, your singing.”

He huffs out smoke.

“Thank you. The crew always wants me to join in on their amusement, but I never oblige. This was my way of telling them all to fuck off.”

Marianne snorts into her tankard.

“Besides, that was a love that was never meant for me,” he continued. “She would dance with my Father in the candlelight after tucking me in. I used to sneak out and watch them every night. Always thought that was the closest thing we had to magic.”

Forcing the change in subject, he reached a hand into his coat to retrieve a wrapped bundle to pass into her lap unceremoniously. Wordless, she unwraps the fabric to reveal her blade back in her possession. Her eyes question him where her voice can’t find the strength to.

“You could’ve had me earlier, you know. Back in the forest?” He coughs, continuing. “If I was just a tad slower you’d have had it buried in my neck quicker ‘n you should’ve,” he laughed. “Quite embarrassing. Glad I had the rest wait for us back at the beach; no doubt you’d be long gone by now.” Not able to bring his own eyes to meet hers, he settles for mouthing at the wooden lip.

“I don’t…” Marianne shook her head at both his admission and gesture as neither made any remote sense to her.

“You’re quite confident with it; from what I’ve seen anyway.” He takes the blade from where it lay untouched in her lap to manipulate the hilt in his hands. “It’s tarnished, but sharp. It’s taken care of, clearly.”

She nods an affirmative. Her swordsmith back home got fed up with her asking to have it sharpened so often that he finally just taught her how to do it herself. She couldn’t ask anyone else for help anyway. Sharpening her dagger became a meditation, but it was also a matter of pride.

“Listen, girl,” his voice came once again much more stern. “There was no sign of you being on that ship with him. Things weren’t supposed to happen this way.”

“How were they supposed to happen then?”

“That’s complicated.”

Marianne scoffs. “That’s a word that keeps getting tossed around and I’m sick of hearing it. Everyone around here seems to know something I don’t.”

“There’s a reason for that.”

“Well I’m tired of it,” her voice wavers, frustration evident. “I’ve done everything I was supposed to for hell, however long I’ve been here. I’ve washed your damned laundry, scrubbed your damned deck. I think I finally deserve an answer.”

Boggart sighs in indignation. “Aye. ‘Suppose you do.”

He takes a long drag of his pipe, stalling.

“There’s something much bigger than your little honeymoon going on here. It’s been in the works for some time now and,” he sucks in a breath. “I’m sorry you got mixed up in it all.”

“Tell me,” she pleaded.

“I can’t. Wish I could.”

“Why not?”

“‘Fraid I can’t say.” His smile never reaches his eyes.

Marianne thinks for a beat.

“Then why did you kill Roland but not me? If I’ve already stumbled into too much, then why keep another mouth to feed on board?”

Boggart chews the inside of his cheek in contemplation.

“Because he’s wronged me and you haven’t.”

“Wronged you how?”

Another drag.

“Let’s just say I’ve been trespassed and invaded. And I’m not amused.”

Marianne grins, taking her blade back from him.

“I’ll be sure to be on my best behavior then.”

“I don’t know if the chickens’ll believe you, but,” Boggart sucks his teeth. “About that. Don’t run again.”

She peers up, puzzled.

“You know too much already whether you believe it or not. And whether you like it or not, you must stay until everything is finished. There’s far too much I’ve gambled to let you ruin it.”

“And why should I trust you? After everything you’ve put me through?”

“Stubborn just like her father,” he spits under his breath.

“You don’t know my father, you filthy-”

“Watch yourself,” he warns. “And do not mistake this kindness for weakness, I knew your father very well,” He sighs. “A little too well.”

“My father is a worm, but he’d never stoop to associate with pirates.”

“Give me some credit please, I wasn’t as cruel then.”

“Care to enlighten me?”

“‘M afraid that’s a tale for another time.”

He glances at her finally, grateful for her milding temper.

“Look,” he sighs. “I have no reason to bring any harm to you. But if you run like that again, you’ll be forcing my hand, do you understand?”

Fully heeding this warning, she nods.

“Yes,” she breathes. “I won’t run again.”

He nods in kind, accepting her answer and tosses another log on the fire.

“Good.”

The flames crackle in her brief flash of consideration.

“Will I ever see my family again?” She questions, hoping.

Miraculously, he nods.

“You have my word. I’ll take you to them myself.”

“Good,” she echoes.

Together they finish the night in silence watching the flames lick at sandy logs and flitting smoke dance up, up, up into the sky until it cannot be witnessed by any living thing any longer.

Much later into the night, so much so that it could be considered morning, Lord Dagda is awoken to urgent pounding on his chamber door and only then did he notice the frantic shouting in the harbor below. They all seemed to be swarming, pointing at something in the water. Squinting in the dim light, Dagda could make out the form of long extinguished remains of a ship washing aground in these dark hours. Remains that should not have lasted this long without sinking into the depths. This was something that had seen utter horror and left only tattered flags and charred masts as a cautionary tale. He stumbled out of bed to hurriedly shrug on his robe and join the clamoring as they all gawked and rushed toward what was left of a familiar Naval ship teetering into the harbor.

a/n lol how'd you like that little shit tossed in at the end >:) also the poem featured in this chapter (because I was too lazy to write one myself) is Ode on Melancholy by John Keats stay tuned for me to put these semi-beloved children's movie characters through the absolute RINGER maybe they'll kiss who knows??

as always: thank you for reading, cuties.

#sauces' pirate au #the wanting comes in waves #butterfly bog #marianne x bog #strange magic (2015)#bog x marianne

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kiankiwi · 1 year ago

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Working as a barista has not been your finest choice. But if you wanted to keep your apartment and car you needed a job. And the coffee shop was about the only place that accepted you. Though truth be told it can be fun. and other than the rude and demanding old ladies it’s a good gig. plus you’ve made some real close friends here.

Though today is one of those days that reminds you what a shit job you have. All day it's been loud teenagers making those cringey tiktoks with their iced caramel macchiatos with extra caramel and bitchy middle aged women who complain that their hot coffee is too hot or their iced coffee is too cold. Simple terms? You were fucking over it. And despite there being three other registers you always end up with the bitchy and loud customers. And god forbid you bitch back and that's when they call the manager. But luckily for you, you became fast friends with them. And you knew that they were gonna defend you and the looks on the womens face when they do is laugh worthy. Except today you really were just so done with everything. You were just hoping that the coffee maker would stop working so yall could just close for the day. Even worse, you haven't had your break and it's been about seven hours. And it's been rush after rush. The breakfast rush lasted until lunch and now the lunch rush comes in. And to say you were losing your mind would be an understatement.

You had definitely lost that charming smile and cheery greeting 20 guests ago. Now it was just a “hi, what can i get you?” And you prayed it was just simple. Even though every time it was some complicated order they had seen on tiktok and you had to remind them every time that this was not a starbucks and you just get a scuff and they just order the most sugary drink available.

As you took customer after customer you felt a little relief seeing it would be almost time for your break. You prayed to whoever was above that time would pass quickly. but alas to your luck a long line came in.

you were beyond aggravated as they of course all had long orders. Even worse, you were cutting into your break time. by the time you got to the last customer you weren’t having it, weren’t even looking at them anymore. “welcome to spill the beans what can i get for you?” after a few minutes of no answer you were about to give the customer attitude and it was clearly written on your face as you looked up. but when you saw the guest had bright pink hearing aids in you immediately felt terrible and worse he looked a bit scared. “shit. um I'm so sorry.” and you saw he was about to speak but he just ended up giving you an awkward thumbs up. you let out a soft sigh. “um what can i get for you?” he just pulled out his phone knowing this wasn’t gonna work and he had written out his order. a hot chocolate and a chocolate muffin. you quickly rang him up and lucky you could show him his total with your hands.

you let out a soft sigh as he went to his table. “y/n you can go on break now.” you nodded and had your coworker ring you up for a sandwich and some juice. but before you really went on your break you wanted to make this customer's order. but you really just wanted to apologize. you really felt terrible even though you didn’t say anything mean to him. but you knew he was expecting it. so after drawing a little picture with cream you went over to his table with his hot chocolate, muffin and a sorry note.

when he saw your cream picture he smiled and you swore your knees almost buckled. He had the prettiest smile you’ve ever seen. you saw him quickly scribbling something down and when you read it, it said thank you. you mentally smacked your head. Of course you’d say that out loud. just leave it to you to embarrass yourself in front of the prettiest boy you’ve ever seen.

but as he scribbled something else down, your luck was beginning to turn. sit down with me? and who were you to refuse? so after taking your apron off you sat across from him. He pulled out a paper and an extra pen.

hello. My name is austin. you can talk out loud i’ll just answer on paper.

you smile and nod. you sat there for a bit not knowing where to start. “oh my name is y/n.”

he chuckled silently. He wasn’t gonna embarrass you more and remind you he saw your name tag.

You have a really pretty name. a pretty name for a pretty girl.

you couldn’t help but blush and giggle. you saw him think for a bit before writing again.

Is this your full time job?

and every true crime documentary you’ve watched flew out the window as you nodded. “yes for now at least. I work here Monday through friday. I do have Saturdays and Sundays off, thank goodness.”

he smiled again and you nearly passed out from the eye contact and smile, missing how he wrote that down.

“Well where do you work?” and before he could even answer his phone vibrated heavily on the table and when he read the notification he looked sad and started scribbling a lot and gave you a sad smile before rushing out. he picked up the page he left.

i work at a flower shop! and i have a delivery to make so sorry! but here’s my number xxx-xxx-xxxx! hope to see you again soon!

THIS IS SO FREAKING CUTE! So all, this is the meet-cute for OUR QUIET WORLD! You did wonderfully and it's so adorable! Onto all our other ideas....

WHAT IF HE BRINGS HER LAVENDER FLOWERS NEXT TIME

OMG I love this world so freaking much! Thank you for creating it with me!

#yn and austin meet #meet cute #love at first sight #coffee shop romance #deaf!austin #our quiet world au

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ruiyuki-archives · 4 years ago

Text

Star Tear AU - Alt. Timeline: Todoroki ver. [Part 1]

This is an AU I wrote on the todomomo discord server eons ago. Anything posted to this blog will be transcripts of old original work and not really edited, save for formatting. I have no guarantees if I will ever finish these AUs either so these will only be kept as an archive.

Original transcript posted to tdmm discord: Aug 2020

Momo ver. Alternate timeline: Todo ver. Part 1 || Todo ver. Part 2 || Todo ver. Part 3

Star tears in which Todoroki falls for Momo first.

shortly after the exam with Aizawa he doesn’t know what he’s feeling but just admires her strength and quick thinking

and him hanging out with Deku and Iida at lunch means Todo hears all the nice and good things Momo does when she and Iida to discuss class prez stuff

which intensifies this ??admiration?? and respect more

and he just?? Holds onto those feelings unable to figure out what they are until idk maybe holidays where 1A and 1B throw that holiday hotpot party

and Momos really cute lookin’ in that Santa hat she made with the festive turtleneck

and so that feeling inside Todo grows into something more??? bc "oh shit she cute".... and Todo’s blushing while looking at her from afar. Probably.

so Todo talks to Fuyumi abt it and Fuyumi’s like: “I think you like her Shouto”

and he writes to his mom abt it and Rei's like: “she sounds like a lovely girl Shouto”

and he texts Natsuo abt it and Natsu's like: “aw little bro has a crush”

but all the while this is happening, Momo's gotten closer with Iida over class prez stuff and hero stuff and everyone in 1A (read: mina and hagakure) think iimomo might be a thing???

ofc Momo denies it and making excuses politely like "no no ofc not we're being responsible class prez and vice prez" but she’s kinda stuttery while doing so, so no one buys it

and no ones brave enough to ask Iida except Ochako but he gives some straight laced answer like "i admire her work ethic and respect her as a hero and vice prez" but he also has some tint of blush across his cheeks

so idk fast forward to graduation where Todo's been holding onto these feelings for Momo since first year and iimomo is still very very likely

so its all cherry blossom petals flying around and congratulatory celebrations

and when Todo sees Momo amongst the sakura trees smiling like he's never seen before (bc they're finally officially heroes!!) he thinks she’s beautiful

but just as he's about to approach her, Iida approaches her and Todo can see she's blushing and he knows its really not good to eavesdrop on one of his best friends and the girl he likes

But... he's curious.

or so he lies to himself.

Ofc what he hears isnt what he ever wants to,,,,

cuz Iida just confessed to her.

and she feels the same.

and a star tear slips from Todo's eye as he walks away.

he stops mid step as he touches his cheek bc he didnt even realize he was crying

but what are these tears??? What’s happening?? He's never had these before bc even though Todo is an emotional crier, he doesn’t cry that often.. only when he is completely overwhelmed with emotion

so he has this dumbfounded expression staring at his fingers as these star tears are twinkling out of his eyes catching sunlight and sakura petals

until he hears "Youre a fucking idiot" from a few steps away

Bakugou.

(Baku really likes eavesdropping ok its not the first time lol)

Baku: theyre called star tears.

Todo: You know what these are?

Baku: it happens when you like someone and that person doesnt like you back, idiot.

Todo: ... oh.

Baku: get that shit sorted or you'll go blind

(And for those who are curious, yes maaaayyybe Bakugou has a case of the stars in this timeline too, that’s how he knows. To whom? I'll let you decide bc honestly, I just want todobaku brotp bonding over unrequited love)

so now Todo thinks he might be fucked. One of his best friends confessed to the girl he likes too and she likes him back and now Todo has this disease that might make him go blind and might get in the way of heroing (which they've all secured post graduation positions by now) and what can he do about it?

nothing, says the doctor he sees. The disease is not curable and the only way to stop it is to have your feelings returned else you'll go colour blind and then completely blind, so he's told.

ya he's really fucked.

maybe its a good thing then, that he doesnt cry often. It makes it easier to ice over these feelings, freeze them in time with the memories of U.A.; of his last congratulations to her and her smile at the end of the ceremony an hour after he overheard that confession

maybe its another good thing that right after graduation, everyone went off to their own positions as side kicks with agencies across japan, focusing on heroing

but its 3 months after graduation that Iida tells Deku and Todoroki that he is seeing Momo when they meet up every Friday to catch up

its 6 months after graduation that its publicly announced in Hero Magazine that Ingenium and Creati are dating

its 9 months after graduation that he sees Iida and Momo attending the Hero Association's rising stars gala as a couple and are seated at the same table as them

(Bakugou is scowling at him across the table.)

Todo tries. He really does. To be happy for them.

but he's angry at himself that he can't be happy for them. That it saddens him to see Momo glowing under the ballroom lights but its not himself to make her shine like that, its Iida. That he sees she is the one to make Iida genuinely happy in the way his eyes light up when he smiles at her.

and all three times Todo goes home, lies down alone in his room, an arm slung across his forehead as the star tears leak from his eyes.

he starts to lose seeing colour at 12 months.

after 24 months he needs glasses for colour correction (and ironically gets a sponsorship with the brand. The fashion magazines print headlines for weeks "Hot-Cold Hero Shouto Fall Fashion! See page 7 spread for his newest spotted specks and turtle necks")

at 36 months Iida breaks the news. Iida's gonna propose to Yaoyorozu and wants him, Deku, and his brother to be his groomsmen

she said yes.

and a part of Todo washes away with the star tears flooding him room and twinkling against the tatami.

he tries to stay out of the wedding planning as much as possible. He'll go to the tuxedo fittings as requested and still keep up hearing the updates when seeing Iida and Deku for their weekly get together on Friday nights.

But for anything involving Momo's presence, there will always be a "sorry i have a mission that week", "sorry im visiting my mom", "sorry Endeavor needs to see me about the agency"

... all excuses Bakugou knows, but the others pay no mind. They are rising heroes near the top of the billboard by now

month 48. Wedding day.

she's stunning. Gorgeous. A near goddess walking down the aisle on her big day.

but she's not walking down for him. No its for iida.

there was the ceremony, the cheers, the congratulations, the reception. Fairy lights around the dance floor and along the walls, champagne glittering after the sound of a cork

Todoroki stands off to against the wall as the night dies down, a glass in hand, watching the newly weds grace the dance floor.

someone slides up beside him, he feels the presence. Bakugou.

"She's beautiful isnt she?"

"Yeah."

. . .

a star tear falls from Todoroki's eyes, twinkle hidden among the fairy lights and champagne glitter.

she's beautiful, but maybe its a good thing I can't see

somebody said: what if she knows everything that had happened and the reason why he couldn't continue his career is bc of her?

me: ok you’re asking for it

Momo, 3 months pregnant with iimomo baby, announces with Iida the news to their friends

the soon to be parents want to choose godparents for the baby so Iida gets to choose the baby’s godmother and Momo gets to choose the godfather

and ofc along with the announcement Momo asks Todoroki to be the kid’s godfather

he can’t say no to her.

the same week later Todo and Momo's agencies are requested to deal with this one villain case while Ingenium's agency deals with another in another town (later turns out the cases were connected)

small talk, civil, very professional between Momo and Todo when they’re in the debriefing

at this point Todo's pretty much completely blind and uses some special contact lenses from Hatsume to help "see"

but the contact lenses can only do so much as to detect light movement and shadows and it reallllllllly doesnt work well when he's using his fire

so Todo already had tossed around the idea of running away to the mountains like Roy did in the FMA 2003 ending, "mysteriously" retiring bc really his vision cannot keep up

until this last mission with Momo

and really its been nearly a decade now since they last worked together side by side (not since U.A. he thinks).. so just let the blind man be selfish one last time

and so smth smth missiom happens, Todo and Momo fighting side by side

but Momo senses there’s something off with Todo's movements? His reflexes are slower.. it doesnt seem like he's prediciting the opponents moves like he used to.. he's more so reacting and retaliating than attacking..

she chalks it up to that they havent fought side by side in a long time and his style must’ve changed and really, she doesnt know him anymore... not like she used to

smth smth 3 months pregnant Momo gets hurt, knocked unconscious for a bit

Todo saves her

and when she comes to, while Todo's holding her, star tears fall onto her cheek from Todo's eyes.

She's shocked. Reaches up to gently graze a finger tip at his left cheek.

"Todoroki-san, these are?"

and again its like Todo didnt realize he was crying. He jerks away from her hand and brushes her off with "its nothing”. Changes the subject with "are you ok?"

Momo: yes.. i think so

Todo: and the baby?

Momo, sitting up: we're ok I think

Todo, moving away: good

the mission concludes and they meet up with Ingenium’s group to wrap up the two ends. Todo slips away before Iida and Momo and approach him

theres no activity from Todoroki for the next month

neither Iida, Deku or anyone else in 1A know where he went except the Hero Association's vague comment on "Hot Cold Hero Shouto has taken a sudden indefinite hiatus"

(Only Todo’s family knows and Endeavor asked the Association to say "hiatus" instead of "retirement" bc Enji wants to believe in his son making a comeback. He didnt stop Shouto from taking off)

and ofc Momo upon hearing this is so confused??? Her last mission with him was the last time she saw him and he was crying. Why was he crying? Strange star tears twinkling and landing on her cheeks? What even is that phenomenon?

its too many questions and ofc Momo's gonna investigate. For the sake of her friend.

so she digs up all the texts she can find on star tears. Internet search all the possibilities. Consults the doctors at the hospital. Even asks Tenya if Todoroki has been acting strangely during their weekly catch ups.

but Tenya tells her Todoroki hasnt been the the meet ups since after their wedding

so she asks anyone in their pro hero circle of associates she can think of. Tsukiyomi, Burnin', heros from his agency, anyone she can think of that has worked with Todoroki before and could comment on his behaviour

no body knows. No body noticed anything different either. Sure there were some off days but the Hot Cold Hero Shouto was always on his game being one of the top 3 heroes on the billboard charts

she searches and searches, splitting time interviewing colleagues and researching the possible star tears phenomenon

until eventually her search takes her to...

Bakugou.

Of course.

Momo, pleading: please Bakugou, you know something about him dont you?

Bakugou, who at this point had been very careful trying not to get cornered knowing her investigation: save it pony tail, you’re about to have a baby. Go have people harass you about that brat in your oven instead of harassing other people

Momo, nearly begging: please. You and I both know he's strong and a good hero that would not suddenly retire. Whatever he is doing, he might need help.. please tell me Bakugou.

... theres something about pregnant women that you cant say no to.

Bakugou, relenting: tch. The half ass is somewhere in Yokohama

and thats all she needs nearly running waddling (as fast as a pregnant woman could) out the door

Bakugou, calling out after her, still reluctant: when find that half ass, i suggest you throw him a gift. Literally. Throw it at him. He deserves it.

she finds him along the port, watching the sunset in Yokohama (its really not that hard to find someone with heterochromia and two tone hair in a city, especially if youre a hero that knows what methods heroes will use to go incognito)

and for some inkling of a feeling, Momo takes Bakugou's advice. She has a carton of strawberry milk in hand.

Momo, a few feet away from him: Todoroki-san, it's been a while.

Todo, turning his head in her direction: Yaoyorozu...?

Momo, sadly smiling: the sunset is beautiful here isnt it?

Todo, brows furrowing: .. sure. Yaoyorozu what are you doing here--

Momo, interrupting him: --i brought some snacks. Strawberry milk, you liked this while we were in school right? Catch.

she tosses it at him.

he tries to reach out.

But he'es completely off. And misses

Momo, sad: Todoroki-san. You're blind, arent you?

Todo, guilty: ah.

Momo, tearing up: will you please tell me?

he still can say no to her and confesses his story

and when he's finished telling the tale of star tears, the stars above are twinkling too

she's crying and choking and sobbing through tears and its intensified by baby Iida with pregnancy hormones

But the last thing she manages to croak out at the very least is still wholly her

She apologizes

“Im so sorry Todoroki- san. I cant love you that way.”

“I know.”

END NOTES:

red is the last color Todoroki wanted to lose because it reminds him of Momo

during missions, as long as he could see her, “that’s ok” he thought. she is the only one he sees in color. that is okay with him

to him, Momo is his shining star. And there’s something tragically poetic of him losing his sight to the stars if its for his shining star Momo

He leaves the last stars in a tiny little jar like those paper stars as a gift for her with just the words on a note "goodbye Momo" the day after she finds him in Yokohama

Momo has the jar of stars forever on her bedside and looks at them with this melancholy expression. Baby Iida grows up and asks mom: "what is that jar of stars?"

Momo responds: "a gift from someone that was blinded by love"

Bakugou in this timeline had a case of star tears too but I'd like to think he got his feelings requited so he never went blind to contrast Todo

So thats why Baku is (begrudgingly) sympathetic to Todo cuz he thinks: “that could’ve been me”

The ending shot of a blind Todoroki in a dark room, all alone, eyes closed, thinking back to Momo's shining smile from UA surrounded by star light with a sad smile on his face and it fades to black

> archives masterpost

#todomomo #todoroki shouto #momo yaoyorozu #tdmm star tear au #ruiyukis unfinished aus #sorry not sorry #for spamming the tag #this ones my baby #angst angst baby #oops heres a bandaid for your heart #buckle up yall it just gets worse from here

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hotseok · 5 years ago

Text

morning, i see monbebes big mad

#this whole issue funny to me because from the jump we were telling yall eshy aint right for mx and yall asked us to shut up and trust in him #and starship because yall wanted to retain that peaceful fandom status so bad and now that things have gone from bad to worse #yall wanna create petitions and yall wanna be mad where's the peaceful fandom status at now?#only people i feel bad for in this in mx and i just hope to god things get better from here on out #bc whether we like it or not they're gonna be linked to that contract with epic/eshy for a while #so buckle up yall 😛

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machinegunbun · 4 years ago

Note

Did we ever get the freaky colson fic? Asking for a friend

Yenno what? I’ve been practically starving yall so i think you earned it. Ask (for a friend) and you shall receive. Buckle up kiddos, this ones a doozy.

TW?: Like? everything. everything is a problem here lmao. Just weird. H/A stands for haunted attraction, i had one in mind but it felt disrespectful to mention.

I present to you... The Freaky Fic ™

~*~*~

You knew this interviewer had a history of asking personal questions, which meant when you came on you were completely expecting to be asked something or other in regards to you and Colsons sex life, but asking about the freakiest sex you’ve ever had still felt a little forward. You weren’t thirty minutes into what would be an hour-and-forty-three-minute podcast and he was already pulling out what you originally thought to the big guns. Your eyes met Colsons as you silently tried to decide whether or not you should avoid the question.

“I already know what it would be, I'm just not sure we should say.”

“It’s that bad?” The interviewer asks

“Well, it’s more that everyone is gonna say its white people shit. Cause it is.” You took a moment to think about the statement “It wasn’t incest though! Obviously. Just a little weird.”

“What was it?” Colson asked, mind reeling through your personal kama sutra for anything that would stand out as the freakiest. Colson and you were definitely not vanilla, but that was the problem, wasn’t it? When you’ve done so much weird stuff, it’s hard to rank which would be the weirdest.

“The [H/a].” You say, watching as a flash of recognition falls over his face

“Seriously? That’s the worst thing you could think of? Cause I can think of, like, five worse than that, just off the top of my head.”

“I mean, it’s definitely not the freakiest, but it’s a good story without it being super embarrassing or personal.” Colson nods in agreement, mumbling a small “Right”

“Yeah, go ahead. You can tell it.” He says, turning to face you in his spinny chair.

“Okay, so, I’m very superstitious and, like, paranoid right? I mean, I literally will not sleep in a room that has a mirror facing me. It doesn’t even have to be facing me, it could be facing the wall opposite me, but it has to be covered. I don’t even really trust it when it’s covered, honestly, I prefer it to be face down to the floor. Because mirrors are supposed to be portals to the after life, or whatever, and I remember hearing that if one is facing you while you sleep it’s easier for ghosts to manipulate you. It’s not that I necessarily believe that, or that I think if I slept with a mirror facing me that I’d die or something, but that I respect it. However, I think when places are advertised as haunted they usually aren’t. I mean you see these youtubers go to these places and film all these videos and it’s just- That’s not how hauntings usually are. Ghosts have an ability, to an extent, to manipulate your emotion. Have you ever heard of someone suddenly being overwhelmed by an emotion because they believe a loved one is near? It’s more like that, it’s very spiritual. Being haunted, coming from someone who ghosts seem to love, is nine times out of ten nothing like what Hollywood portrays it to be. It’s not to say that I think every one of these youtubers is lying, I think some of them definitely are, or that they were scared and when you’re scared it’s easy to blow little noises out of the water, but mostly I think it has to do with the places themself.”

Your story was cut off by the interviewer asking a question,

“Hold on, you aren’t about to make a joke about freaky also meaning spooky, right?” The interviewer asks

“I mean, you could totally make that joke, but it’s definitely a little kinky. I’m just giving some background.”

“Okay, continue.”

“Where was I? Oh, yes. I think when you go somewhere that is advertised as haunted they are selling you an experience. If you went to the [H/a] and nothing happened, some people would be disappointed by that and would want their money back, right?”

“Absolutely.”

“I think some of these places have audio recordings and mechanised doors, things that they can use to manipulate every room and give you a good scare. This is all theory, by the way, so don’t sue us.”

“You really think it's more plausible that they have a whole control room to scare people and that none of the workers have ever squealed than believe that these places are just… haunted?” The interviewer asked

“I don’t know. Maybe, if they only allowed people with a certain seniority and made them sign an NDA? And if the ones who control it get to give their coworkers a little scare so they come online and say they’ve had their own experiences? Yeah, I think it makes sense, and it's making them money, so why would they stop?”

“Okay, I guess.” He nodded along, entertaining the idea

“But, I also believe that if you talk to ghosts or call on them they will show up, so it’s kinda” you made a scale motion with your hands before continuing.

“Anyway, I went on board with this in mind. We were in our room, cuddled up on the bed and-” you took a moment to recall that night “I don’t remember if we were waiting for something to happen, or if it already had and we were waiting for something else. Anyway, we must’ve gotten bored, because we started making out.”

The crappy old hotel sheets shifted under you as your lips met Colsons, his warm hand reaching over to rest on your lower back. The kiss quickly became heated, your mouths smashing into one another, his tongue swiping across your bottom lip while his hand pulled you closer, your own reaching down to rub his growing bulge.

A short, fast knock came from the wall, breaking both the kiss and the silence.

“Oh, do you like that?” You ask, continuing to massage him through his loose sweatpants. Colson originally thought you had been referring to him, but quickly caught onto the fact that you were addressing the ‘ghost’.

“Hm, what about this?” You continued, kissing your way down his body, pulling his pants down when you got to them and sliding his tip between your lips. A barely audible creak erupted from the room beside you, the bathroom sink had turned on, a small stream of water pouring aimlessly down into the sink.

“Does that make you wet?” You ask, sucking one of his balls into your mouth as you stroke him. Colson found the whole act to be a bit odd, but you seemed to be enjoying yourself, so he let you continue. As fucked up as it was, the idea of a third party watching as the two of you were doing your thing was really getting you going. It wouldn’t have been a big deal to some, other than the fact that the supposed third party was a ghost.

“Do you like watching us fuck?” You slid your mouth down the length of his prick, hollowing out your cheeks before coming back up to continue “Tell me what you want me to do to him next.” You offer up, glancing up at Colson who looked equal parts freaked out and turned on.

“You’re crazy. God that’s hot.” He said, throwing his head back while you let out a small laugh. A book slides from the coffee table across the room, falling to the floor and landing on its spine, flipping open to a random page. You weren’t entirely sure what that implied, but the only thing that came to mind was him fucking you on that table. You took a moment to ponder it before deciding if you tried it would break and that you didn’t wanna bother paying the place for a new one.

You began kissing your way back up his body instead, admiring his tattoos as you go. Your lips landed back on his, reaching down to slide the tip of his prick through your folds, gathering your arousal. Stopping the kiss for a moment, you opened your mouth to take a breath. Colson took this opportunity to spit in your mouth, connecting your lips again soon after.

“Think the ghost liked that?” He said, reaching down to grab his hard dick from your hand, teasing your hole. You shrugged, leaning back into the kiss, moving your hips along with his movements.

After a minute or two of teasing, you swore you felt the bed begin to shake. It started off slow and small, almost as if Colson was shaking under you and it was transferring to the bed, before slowly building to a much more noticeable rumble.

“Oh, I think it wants us to shake the bed.” You say, a smirk playing on your lips, a gasp falling past them as you felt colson slip inside you. You happily obliged, the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room. You didn’t realise how badly you needed this, you couldn’t help the moans slipping past your lips as you fucked each other as hard as you could manage, trying your best to make sure the bed shook. You were looking down at Colson when suddenly his face disappeared, replaced by impenetrable darkness.

“What the fuck.” The interviewer mentioned, more amused than judgemental “I can't believe you’re telling me this. I can’t believe this isn’t the freakiest shit you’ve ever done.”

“Well, the ghost thing was kind of a joke. I mean, it happened, but it was more about the fact that someone was obviously watching us, or the concept of that.”

“Right, right. You guys like an audience, I see.”

“While it was dark though, I swear I felt a hand slide up the side of my thigh, I know it wasn’t Colsons cause I could-” You cut yourself off “I’m not gonna say how, but I felt both of his hands on me.”

“Oh shit, forreal? You never told me that part.” Colson said, you gave a small nod in his direction before continuing.

“But then the lights came back on.”

The lights had only been off for about a minute, small sounds of things moving barely audible over the sounds you two had been making, Colson flipping you over in the dark, pounding away at your hips. When they flicked back on, the room was messy, your eyes scanned the room, falling on the complimentary ouija that sat on the table first. It had fallen out of its box, the lid on the floor next to it. Next, you realized the closet had slid open, it had one of those bendy doors that made it so when you slid it open it bent out towards you, they were called bifold closet doors, if you remembered correctly.

It was slid halfway open to reveal the empty closet behind it, the only thing adorning the shelf being a couple lone close hangers. As you watched, one looked as if it were smacked off and fell to the floor.

“It wasn’t hot anymore at that point. I didn’t see anything, I think it was my paranoia-- remember when you were a little kid laying in bed and you were like, there is a person crouching beside my bed right now and if I look over the edge at them they will have no more incentive not to kill me?” A silent understanding “It was like that, I don't know how but I know what they look like and I was fully convinced that person was crouching next to us on the bed and if I looked over there I would see him. Because the bed was on the wall, and it’s a big bed, a queen I believe, and colson and I are laying with our head at the foot of it, there was plenty of room to the side of us cause we weren’t exactly in the middle. “Wait, you said that you believed the hauntings were mechanical, so do you think this was a ghost, or a worker?”

“I think it may have been the lady at the front desk, because when we came out she asked us if we were having a good day. I don't know. I don’t think I’ve ever been turned off so fast, I mean at first the idea of a ghost or a worker watching us have sex was hot, but the thought of that… thing being there with us-- That wasn’t hot. We just, kinda, silently put our clothes on and walked out to the lobby. We went back later and got our stuff and checked out early. All I know is it was a dumb fucking idea.”

The day after the interview was released twitter was filled with variations of “If Mgk and his girlfriend wanted an audience they could’ve just asked me.”

Guess you should’ve expected that one.

#machinegunkelly #machinegunkelly smut #machinegunkelly fic #mgk #mgk smut #mgk fic #machinegunkelly fanfic #machinegunkelly fanfiction #mgk fanfic #mgk fanfiction #colson baker #colson baker smut #colson baker fic #colson baker fanfiction #colson baker fanfic #colson baker x reader #mgk x reader #machinegunkelly x reader

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no-droids · 5 years ago

Text

A Show of Good Faith

Part Six of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 7.1k what i fuckin tell yall

Warnings: SMUT, rough sex, dirty talk, creampie, canon-typical violence, slight description of blood/injury

***

Isn’t it weird that nobody really ever talks about what happens immediately after you have a dead body in front of you?

It’s the part leading up to it that’s usually the most crucial, obviously. The adrenaline of the actual moment is overwhelming—you react without thinking, danger pumping through your veins alongside your blood and sharpening your survival instincts until they’re deadly. You do what you have to do to stay alive, nothing more. So it’s not really until you have a still moment with the evidence of your actions right there in front of you, glassy-eyed and staring lifelessly up at the ceiling, that you suddenly don’t know what to do.

Shocking is a word.

Debilitating is another.

Things… things come in flashes. You have blood on your hands; it’s thick and cold and electric blue in color, not dark or warm or crimson. One of them is vibrating violently, clutched around something heavy and clunky and unfamiliar, something with a handle made to fit a six-fingered grip. The kid is passed out in your other arm after expelling all his energy helping you take down the brutal assailant, choking him with… with some unknown baby shaman toad powers and holding him in place so you could grab this knife and you could… and you could…

The body of the man you just stabbed lays in a bloody pile on the floor in front of you. It was self-defense, but the reasoning behind it doesn’t take anything away from the gore, the blank state of shock rendering you motionless for Maker knows how long.

Corellia is a fucking shithole, you knew that coming in. If it was a sewer even with the Empire’s shipbuilding industry boosting the economy, it’s even worse after its collapse. To circumvent any unnecessary danger or attention, you chose to land the ship in one of the dense forest areas on the outskirts of the tracking fob’s radius. But unluckily for you, rats like forests just as much as they like sewers, and one of them apparently crawled his way onto the vessel a few minutes ago.

You drop the vibroblade to the floor with a clatter and slide down the hull wall, clutching the baby to your chest and trying to calm your breathing. There could be more of his friends close by. What you should do is climb into the cockpit and find somewhere else to lay low, send Mando a coded message with word of your new location.

But there’s a dead body in front of you.

And it’s… it’s dead.

Strangely, you default to something you’ve never actually done before. Something you probably shouldn’t ever do, in case your companion is in stealth mode or trying to hide from something, because it’ll immediately give away his position. You could theoretically get him killed, but you’re not thinking straight.

Your wrist trembles as you hold it in front of your lips. “Uh… M-Man-Mando?”

The sound of blaster fire and grunting crackles through your emergency comm link, before you hear a quick, breathless, “What’s wrong?” come through the speaker.

“It, uh—” you stare down at the oddly-colored blood on your fingers, wondering how you voice is able to come out so calmly, “it s-sounds like you’re busy, I’ll—I’ll just—”

More grunting. A thud. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

You’re at a loss for words. You take a second to look down at the dead body, before lifting your wrist back up to your mouth. “I’m o-okay now, but I… but someone followed me into the Crest and he tried to… I-I mean he’s—he’s dead now, but—”

“Are you hurt?” He suddenly sounds urgent. It’s ridiculous that he didn’t actually sound urgent until now. “Is the kid hurt?”

“We’re—we’re both fine, but…” You look down at the child in your arms. “But the baby did something I—I c-can’t explain—and now he’s… I-I think he's asleep…”

“Good,” he replies shortly. You can hear him running now, pounding footsteps and heavy, quick breaths. Another blaster shot. “We need to get out of here. Rendezvous Sector-15, soon as you can. You’ll see me.”

“Do I…” Maker, you sound like an absolute idiot. “Do I just… just leave the body here, or…?”

“I’ll take care of it when you get here.” He doesn’t sound frustrated with you, but for some reason you feel incredibly frustrated with yourself. You should be able to pull yourself together, but your hands are all tingly and you can’t actually feel your fingers unless you really work for it. Stars, when’s the last time you actually blinked? “Can you fly?”

You don’t respond. You don’t even feel like you can stand up right now. The blaster shots scream through the crackling comm link for a second, and then you jump when he barks your name even louder than the gunfire.

“—Listen to me,” he urges, and you blink rapidly, the seriousness of his low growl hitting you right in the chest. “You can fly. Understand? Get the kid, get in the cockpit, put your seatbelt on. Fly out to me, right now. We’re leaving.”

His voice doesn’t call for argument. It’s abrasive and rough and unquestionable enough to get through to you. Of course you can fly, you can fly with your fucking eyes closed. Coming that firmly and doubtlessly from him, it’s a universal truth.

“Copy. Sec-Sector-15.” You say, adrenaline beginning to pump blood through your veins again. Just. Just don’t look at the body, okay? Don’t look at the body, you can do this if you don’t look at the body. “I’ll see you?”

“You’ll see me,” he repeats. And then the noise cuts off with a click.

You struggle up to your feet, heart pounding. You can do this. You can totally do this. You can walk, because you can fly. Duh. Mando said so.

You admittedly almost fall a couple steps down the latter while trying to climb up it one-handed, the baby held tightly to your chest, but you’re eventually able to get the both of you into the cockpit. The kid is carefully buckled into his little booster seat before you’re collapsing shakily into the pilot’s chair and swiveling forward.

Okay. Flight check. Now. To your left, flip down these few switches here—one two three four five—okay, good. To your right, press those two buttons sitting just above the nav console. Yep, got it. Up top now, those two red ones overhead. Good. Good, you can do this. Type coordinates into the nav comp. Sector-15, locked. Easy. This is easy. That big, knobless lever to your right—yes, the one with the exposed threading at the end, push that long metal stick forward and set thrusters to full. Okay. Left thruster, looks good. Right looks good, too. Okay. Seatbelt… seatbelt is… Seatbelt: on. Hatch: sealed. Shields: engaged. Flight check complete. Now all you have to do is take off.

Now all you have to do is take off.

All you have to do… is…

You stare down at the joystick in front of you blankly.

And then you shake your head back and forth frantically, hoping the rapid movement will jar some sense into you. Maker, get it the fuck together. What did Mando hire you for? You told him you were useful, didn’t you? This is what you do. You fly. So fucking fly, yeah?

You lift the ship off the ground and immediately take her around southeast, taking deep breaths and feeling the powerful rumble beneath your chair. Yeah, you can do this. Don’t think about the blood on your hands, the dark streaks of sickly purple now smudged all over the controls. Don’t think about the dead body in the hull. Don’t think about how you’re the reason it’s dead. Just fly the ship. This is something you can do.

You coast over the thick treetops and into the industrial sector, carefully scanning the gritty streets below. You don’t know what he meant when he said you’ll see him—until you suddenly see him. Smack in the middle of the airspace, rising phoenix strapped to his back and hovering a few hundred feet above absolute chaos wreaking havoc in the slums below. Blaster flares light up the night sky, though the sparks and flash grenades illuminating the dirty Corellian streets have nothing on the beauty of seeing those small twin jets in the darkness, the ones beginning to fly towards the ship.

“Got eyes,” his voice says through the comm link. Relief pounds through you. Stars, relief shouldn’t feel like this much of a struggle for your cardiovascular system, should it?

“Beginning deceleration,” you confirm breathlessly, slowing down and pressing a few buttons to open the hatch with your free hand. You bring both of them back down to swing her around until he’s got a clear path, feeling the ship dip just slightly with the sudden weight of him dropping in.

“Landed,” he grunts. “Set course for Nevarro.”

You floor it and elevate the Crest up through Corellia’s smoggy atmosphere, punching in coordinates in the meantime. The ship dips just a touch once more while the computer takes a few seconds to calculate a hyperspace path, and your eyebrows narrow before it quickly pulls back up again. It’s not until you see the manual hatch override indicator light blink next to the nav console that you realize he must’ve dumped the body before closing the door himself.

Well, that’s one way to handle that, you suppose.

The computer beeps quietly when it’s finished. “Standby for jump,” you tell your wrist.

“Copy.”

You triple-check the positive seal integrity readings before your hand is reaching for the double-reinforced hyperjump control, still trembling slightly. You lean all your weight forward into it, trying to keep your arm from buckling as the stars slowly shift across the observation shield for a split second, before you’re being hurled into the interdimensional wormhole.

Quiet. Hyperspace is fucking quiet. You forget, sometimes. Not how quiet it is—but how loud everything else is, not until you’re hurtling through the closest thing to purgatory you’ll ever experience in life. It looks… indescribable, even after the thousandth time. Empty space collapsing in front of you and expanding behind you simultaneously. Starlight streaking across the windows, space-time curving around the ship faster than the ship itself is moving through it. You take a moment to consider it as you unbuckle yourself shakily, before standing up and checking the seat behind you.

The kid is still knocked out cold, but you press the button to close the shield to his crib just in case, setting an alarm protocol to Mando’s remote arm brace should it open.

And then you slowly make your way around bulky cockpit chairs and down into the hull, shakily climbing down the ladder one step at a time. As soon as you turn around, there’s a caped wall of beskar rummaging through something with his back to you.

“Did you…” You announce yourself while looking around, trying not to sound as small as you feel. This is a such stupid question, you already know what he did with the body. But you… you should make sure, right? “You already took care of… of the…”

“Yeah.” Mando spins around and pulls out the cot from the wall at the same time, and you jump when the bed rattles loudly on its track and ricochets a few inches backwards after reaching its full extension. He quickly makes his way around it and over to you. “It’s gone. Come here, you’re hurt.”

“I’m f-fine,” you insist, feeling your hands shake when he abruptly grabs the left one and turns it over, pulling your wrist out towards him and up to the light so you both can see. “What about the qua—oh.”

There’s a long, ragged slice decorating the inside of your forearm, dried blood staining the ripped fabric along your sleeve. You blink down at it, not able to recognize its pain even with the evidence of the injury in front of you. It doesn’t look deep, but its edges are a little nasty and it’s still bleeding. Why can’t you feel it? Shouldn’t you be able to feel that?

He makes a noise through his helmet—something you can’t quite figure it out. Something between a short growl and a low huff of breath, before he’s grabbing your hips and steering you over towards the bed, lifting you up and setting you on its suspended platform when you’re close enough.

“Didn’t find the quarry,” the Mandalorian says quietly, turning around and looking through the first aid kit once more.

“You didn’t find the…” You blink down at your injury. He didn’t even find the quarry? But then what was all that ruckus about? And why are you going back to Nevarro to collect payment? Shouldn’t you be turning around and… and…?

He’s suddenly in front of you again, and this time he’s got a… a syringe in his hands? An E-bacta shot, you realize with an uncomfortable jolt. He pulls the cap off and sets it down on the bed next to you before holding out his gloved hand for you, waiting patiently but expectantly.

“No,” you immediately tell him, heart beginning to pump faster as you bring your arm up and hug it to your chest. You didn’t even know those things were street legal—they heal incredibly quickly but people have been known to abuse them because… well, because they’re supposed to give you a wicked fucking high. Bacta isn’t addictive and there’s no possibility of overdose, but this shit is concentrated. You can’t imagine how expensive it was. “Don’t b-be ridiculous, Mando—you—you almost bled out from a knife wound and we didn’t use one of those.”

“What do you think that is?” He looks down at your arm.

“It’s a scratch!” You exclaim, starting to feel a bit hysterical now from the adrenaline comedown. Maker, that needle is big. You knew bacta injections were thick but holy fucking stars. “It doesn’t even h-hurt! I could’ve… I could’ve done this to myself on accident for all I—”

“This has boosted antibiotics, too,” he cuts you off, quickly losing his patience and grabbing your wrist when you still don’t hand it over to him. He levers your forearm down, holding it parallel to the floor on your lap. “We don’t have any bacta kits left, I looked. This’ll work fast and it won’t scar. Hold still.”

“No—” you try to pull your hand away, hating the way your voice jumps when you’re aiming for calm and reasonable. “—I’ll be fine, w-we shouldn’t waste th—”

He tightens his grip. “Listen. This isn’t a scratch. It’s a torn laceration from a dirty Corellian vibroblade. Now I’m giving you at least a quarter dose, so hold,” he tugs your wrist forward, “still.”

You see the large needle heading towards your arm with determination and you’re instantly going rigid with panic, whipping your head away from him and squeezing your eyes shut as you suck in a terrified breath.

You wait like a statue for the pain, frozen in anticipation and fright, but it never comes. Slowly peeking one eye open, you look back to find a chrome visor staring intently at you, unmoving.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” you eventually gasp when he doesn’t say anything, and Maker, are your eyes actually starting to water? “I-I’m sorry, I’m just—that’s a b-big needle and—and I actually just k-k-killed someone and it’s just—” oh stars, here come the sniffles, “—I’m s-so sorry, I’m trying t-to keep it—keep it togeth—”

He carefully places the syringe down on the bed next to you as you turn your head away from him and try to stifle your short, panicked breaths with the back of your hand. But then you’re being caught and pulled forward, hauled into an iron chest without a single word.

It should be uncomfortable, you think. You should want to take the armor off and feel the muscles of his arms wrap themselves tight around you instead of cold metal, but for some reason, you don’t. He feels… right like this. Like the beskar is a natural extension of his body, like it holds just as much comfort as his bare chest does.

The Mandalorian stands there between your knees and silently embraces you, holding stoic and steady for you, tilting his head so you can calm your breathing into the crook of his neck. It’s covered in fabric but it smells like him, warm and soft and damp with sweat. You breathe him in, clutching him tight with your uninjured arm and feeling your heartbeat gradually begin to slow as it’s pressed against cool metal.

“E-bacta has calming properties,” he says quietly after a moment. “It’ll help more than this.”

“Shut up.” You mutter against his throat, doing everything you can to drown yourself in him. Maker, he smells good. He just got finished bringing down an entire Corellian sector, why the fuck does he smell so good? “I'm not—not letting you stick that thing in me.”

“Yeah?” He returns softly, dragging a hand up your back. “Bet I can make you want it.”

“Not happening,” you grunt, tightening your hold on him. “You’ll put regular bandages on my arm until we can resupply on Nevarro and save that torture device for another poor soul who needs it.”

“This isn’t over,” he eventually warns you, gently pulling away. He turns around and starts picking out gauze and tape from the first aid kit regardless. “I was just blindsided. Tears don’t work on me, but. Don’t ever do that to me again.”

You relax, smiley and dopey-eyed and happily sticking your arm out for him for whenever he comes back, so fucking glad he gave in. You’ll get bacta on Nevarro, that sounds perfect. “So… so all that fuss and you didn’t actually find the quarry?”

“Someone tried to take off my helmet,” Mando replies shortly, starting to rip open a few packets of sterile gauze strips without looking at you. And then he doesn’t say anything more, like that should be explanation enough.

“Ah.” You remark after a second, thinking about how many blaster fires you saw. Maker. “I see.”

What a pair you two make. Someone who went into shock from hurting another person in defense of your life, and someone who brought an entire block down because another person tried to take his helmet off.

Something he’s done with you twice now. Without ever being prompted.

Stars, you’re both so different, aren’t you? Such massively different problems, different ways of life. You’re suddenly struck with how much you could learn from him, if he was ever willing to share. How much the both of you could probably learn from each other. His assertiveness; your humanity. His decisiveness; your consideration. His secrets; your honesty. None of them are true opposites, not in the way people normally think. They’re not polarizing, they’re… complimentary. Filling in the gaps neither one of you can fill in yourself.

“Does that scare you?” He finally asks, when you’ve been quiet for too long.

“No,” you tell him blankly, watching his hands work. “Just… no. Not really. I mean. It makes sense. Was just thinking about how different life must be for you.” You tilt your head thoughtfully. “Showing my face, telling people my name. Things I take for granted, I think.”

Maker, maybe you’re getting a little too honest here.

“Is that why you never ask about those things?” He’s quiet. You both stare purposefully down at your arm as he begins laying down the strips of white cotton over your cut. “Because you recognize what it means to give them up?”

“What—like your name?”

“Anything,” he says, and though he keeps working, his hands start to slow down. “You never ask me about anything. My name, my past… why I don’t take the helmet off. Everyone always asks, but. You never have.”

You shrug a shoulder. “Figured you get tired of telling people no, don’t you?”

His fingers still, hovering over your injury. He doesn’t move, so you elaborate.

“I mean… yeah, I’ve thought about those things, but…” you speak slowly, choosing your words very carefully. Your eyes narrow with the effort, trying to pinpoint and voice your exact opinion without making assumptions. “But I respect you. And your creed. I call you Mando because that’s what you told me to call you. And if you don’t take the helmet off, then you don’t take it off.” You shrug once more. “Some things don’t need explanations. They just are, and I’m okay with that.”

It’s a while before he goes back to dressing your wound, and even longer before he speaks again. When he does, he’s almost completely finished securing the bandages and it’s barely above a murmur. “Nobody usually thinks that simply about it.”

“Well. Fuck ‘em.” You blurt. “I think it’s the simplest thing in the galaxy. You should be the one who gets to decide who you are and what’s important to you, right? No one else.”

He stops again, this time tilting his visor up to look you in your eyes. You blink up at your own warped reflection.

“I think that shit is yours. Fundamentally. Doesn’t matter if you want to share it, change it, hide it, or burn it away forever. It’s your decision, and you’ll tell people what you want them to know. So fuck ‘em if they don’t respect that,” you tell him bluntly. “They obviously don’t know anything about you at all. Else they wouldn’t be asking.”

He doesn’t move. He just stares silently at you for a few seconds, and Maker, for some reason you wish now more than ever you could see his face. Even though it contradicts everything you just said, you wish you could see his face. What color are his eyes? You bet they’re brown. You bet they’re a warm, deep brown—expressive and soft and lovely behind such hard, unforgiving steel. His features are probably just as warm as the rest of him. Dark hair, wavy hair. Plush, gentle lips.

His hand comes up slowly. Gives you ample time to pull away before he’s softly cupping your cheek, tilting his helmet to the side as he studies you.

“Would you.” He’s quiet for a moment. And then he clears his throat through the modulator, before he tries again. “Would you like to know my name?”

You go shock-still, blinking at him and barely breathing. Why? Why is he asking this? He wants to give you his name? Immediately after you just told him why you don’t need it?

Your throat is a desert. “Only… only if you want to give it to me.”

He tilts his head the other way and takes a moment to consider you, gently trailing the leather of his thumb along your bottom lip. Your eyes dip down the length of his body, heat suddenly filling you when you realize how close and well he’s positioned right now, how his hips are at the perfect height standing right between your legs like this.

Mando slowly lowers his helmet to look down at your parted thighs, too. And then he’s shifting the visor to the side just a bit, eyes catching on something on the bed next to you. “Want to give you a few things,” he says lowly.

You probably would’ve melted into a puddle if he didn’t immediately hold up the E-bacta shot in front of you in both hands.

Your heart starts pounding though, all the same. “No—”

“Listen to me,” he tells you calmly, as if you could do much of anything else right now with how much space he’s taking up in front of you. His size and proximity gave you a thrill just a second ago, but now he’s nothing more than a giant fucking metal wall armed with a needle and blocking your escape. “I want to give you a few things, but only if you say yes to all of them. Are you going to listen?”

Maker, your heart is racing, rapid calculations going off in your head as your eyes flick between the syringe and his visor. Where the fuck is he going with this? “Y-yes. I’ll—I’ll listen.”

He holds the shot up between the two of you, as if you didn’t see it the first fifty fucking times. “First. I’ll give you a quarter dose of this. I’ll be gentle and I’ll give it to you somewhere where it won’t hurt, where you won’t even be able to see it, and it’ll make you feel better. Even good. Okay?”

You narrow your eyebrows at him. “You’re not doing a great job at selling me h—”

“Second. I’ll give you my name.”

Your breath catches. He continues on casually with the terms of the deal, as if he didn’t just set your whole world on fire with five words.

“You can’t ever use it around other people,” he tells you. “Only here. With me, on this ship. In front of the kid is fine. But if anyone else ever asks, you don’t know it. Okay?”

“Okay…” you whisper after a second, your chest filling with flames.

“Third.” He slowly catches your uninjured wrist in a gentle grip and begins to guide it forward. “If you… if you want, I’ll… I’ll give you this,” he murmurs, bringing it down to cup his cock. “I… won’t be gentle. But I will make you feel good.”

Maker, he’s already rock hard under your palm, throbbing and swollen for you. Almost as quickly as the urge first came on, you suddenly don’t want to escape anymore. Instead, maybe you can just… appeal.

“What if we…” You carefully reach down into his pants, holding his hips still between your knees and beginning to caress his cock. His skin is like silk under your hand, as hard as the beskar he straps to his body but so warm, and pulsing with life. “What if we reverse the order, maybe?”

“No,” he grunts immediately. “You’ll take the shot first, it’ll be a—” his breath catches when you give him a good, rough squeeze. “—a-a show of—of good faith.”

“That’s literally the only thing I don’t want from this all-or-nothing deal,” you reason, wrapping your legs around him to bring him closer. He acquiesces cautiously, slowly moving forward. “I’d be an idiot to give it up first. Ideally it should go second if there are three terms.”

“I know what you’re d-doing,” he tells you flat out, though he makes no attempt to stop it at all. He just growls low in his throat when he’s close enough for you to lean up and bite down onto his neck, one of his hands landing on your thigh and locking down onto it tight. “It won’t… won’t work. You’re—you’re t-taking the shot first, that’s the deal.”

“I could try crying again,” you proposition breathlessly, squeezing his cock once more and feeling him shudder.

“Ngh—meant it when I—” he gasps when you brush your thumb over his head, dampening the fabric covering his neck with your hot breaths. “When I-I said that you—you need to w-work on your… your negoti—tiating—”

“What if I just ask you really, really nicely?” You whisper, slowly starting to jerk him off. Your grip is tight and strong, and he practically sags and grabs the metal bedframe on either side of you. “Will it work if I ask you to please fuck me? Please? And then I’ll take your shot?” But then you’re struck by a sudden thought, and maneuver your head away just enough to look up at where his eyes should be. “But we don’t… we don’t actually have to… y’know, do the other thing, though, if you don’t want to. It’s okay.”

Mando abruptly pulls back, pinning you with a blank chrome stare. “W-what?”

“If you…” You want to find some way to word this to get the correct sentiment across, but it’s difficult with him looking at you so hard. The last thing you want to do is sound ungrateful. Your hands stop moving, carefully letting him go and resting on his hips instead, so he knows this isn’t you just trying to find some way out of this. “You don’t have to tell me your name, y’know. It’s okay, I’ll—I’ll take the shot, it’s fine. We don’t need to… to turn something like that into a. A deal, or anything. You can still tell me if you want, of course, I just… I don’t want it to be part of like, some sort of… agreement between us, or something.” You tap a thumb over his hipbone, tilting your head. “So I’m taking it off the table. Even if you were the one who put it on there. No pressure. I’ll take the shot. And then you can tell me whatever it is you want to tell me after that. Apart from that. A… a show of good faith.”

Mando holds still as a fucking statue in front of you. If you couldn’t feel the warmth of his skin under your hands, you’d say he looks like a droid in sleep mode almost. He stays like that for so long, you actually start to worry a little bit. Was that a thankless, bitchy thing to say to him after he offered to reveal such a big secret about himself? Should you have just kept your mouth shut?

You suppose he was right, your negotiation skills could use a bit more work. You did technically just… willingly give up something incredibly valuable in exchange for absolutely nothing in return, didn’t you? Actually not absolutely nothing, you just agreed to have an actual fucking needle shoved into your body just so he wouldn’t feel any sort of obligation to reveal himself to you whatsoever. That’s like… rule number one of what not to do when negotiating, isn’t it? Fuck, what have you done? Is it too late to take half of that shit back? Can you start this whole thing over real quick? How much pressure do you think that glass syringe can handle? You know you can’t outrun or overpower him, but do you think you’d be able to smash it with your foot before he can stop you? No. No fucking way, you would. Don’t be stupid, don’t be fucking stupid.

And Maker, he’s… he’s still not moving. You actually start to squirm a little bit under his unreadable gaze, before he eventually brings both hands up to your face and gently cradles your jaw in his gloved palms, bringing you to a still.

“Unbelievable,” the Mandalorian says softly, tilting his helmet at you and carefully brushing his thumbs along your cheekbones. He doesn’t sound upset. He sounds truly mystified by you. Stumped. Reverent.

You blink at him. “What?”

“Nobody w-would… but you’re…” He seems like he’s trying to find the words to describe what he’s thinking, but he can’t. “You can’t—you… t—? Not just. But be—because of. On—on… pr-prin…”

“I… I do still want you to fuck me, though,” you eventually whisper when he never finishes his sentence. He’s not the best with words, but that’s okay. You’re perfectly willing to entertain other mediums. “First. Even if it is part of a deal, I don’t give a shit.”

You bring your hand back to wrap tight around him, beginning to pull up and down in strong, steady strokes once more. The tips of his fingers tighten just slightly on your jaw.

“Please,” you whisper, turning your head to kiss one of his palms. “Just show me, it’s okay.”

He stays like that for just a split second more.

And then he’s suddenly whipping one of his hands down to grab your wrist. The other wraps itself more fully around your jaw in its absence and firmly holds your head in place in front of him.

“I won’t be gentle,” he tells you once more, voice coming out hoarse and shaky. “I—I c-can’t—”

You nod in affirmation as much as you can with his iron grip wrapped tight over your chin like this. “Th—”

You can’t even get a single word out before Mando shoots both hands down to grab your hips, abruptly yanking your ass off the bed. Your legs have just enough time to buckle once they hit the ground, but then he’s spinning you around and practically shoving you right back on top of the metal platform, facedown with half your upper-body and both arms hanging over the edge.

Your pants are being snatched over your ass and down your legs as you still work to adjust yourself to the chaotic shift in position. Holy fuck, he wasn’t ki—

Something blunt presses up against the apex of your thighs, pushes forward, and oh, holy fu—

—oh—holy fuck—

You’re surprised you have enough breath to shout as loud as you do when he slams full-force into you, rattling the bed as he sheathes himself in your slick warmth to the hilt, fully armored behind you and pressing cold beskar tight up against your ass and thighs. You claw your fingers over the smooth metal surface under the cot and try to brace yourself on something, but there’s nothing to hold onto. Fuck, he’s so fucking thick. Forcing you to yield to his hardness, tightening his grip on your hips and keeping you locked in position.

And then he pulls out and then slams back in—starts pounding into you, using your body as a counterweight to thrust himself into and Maker, you would probably be screaming if you could even breathe right. The inability to inhale just means you can hear him groan through the modulator, shuffle up closer to you and start to drill into you harder.

“Sweet, sweet girl,” he murmurs, and fuck, you would think he was suffocating you if it weren’t for both of his hands being anchored to your hips. It blazes through you like wildfire, burning your lungs and setting your body alight with flames. He leans over you and clamps a hand down over your shoulder, and your eyes roll back when he moves up and adjusts his angle just the slightest bit, pounding down into you instead of just into you, and—

“Maker, h-how did I deserve this?” He whispers quietly to himself, delirious and tight as stars explode behind your vision. His helmet rests on your shoulder blade, the beskar as heavy and unyielding as his thrusts are as he pummels into that one blinding, heavenly spot, over and over and over again. “What did I d—where were you when I was—when I was—?”

You finally gasp a ragged, desperate breath in like you’ve been underwater for the last minute instead of under him, taking his cock the way he needs to give it to you. And then you’re writhing, grinding your body back against his as much as you can, choking on the burning air and trying to put your needs together into a coherent sentence.

“T-take your helmet off,” you finally manage to lift your head up and beg, “please—please, I-I won’t—I won’t look, I sw-swea—” and then your cunt clamps down hard when he shoots up from you and practically rips the thing off his shoulders without another word, the sound of steel clanging loudly on the floor by your feet.

His hand comes around your throat and yanks you to the side before his teeth are sinking into your neck, not a single break in his hard, pounding rhythm.

He probably gets about ten good thrusts in like that before you’re going rigid under him and cumming—hard.

Everything below your waist locks down tighter around him than a fucking vice, and then you explode wet and hot around his cock with a hoarse shout, squeezing him and spasming through each rough, steady thrust as it launches you higher, and higher—

“Fuck—” he snarls into your neck, and then he suddenly kicks up from the rapid slapslapslapslap that got you over the edge to a surging, brutal bam—bam—bam that wrings a sharp, ragged cries from your throat. Your face screws up and you try not to scream at the sensation, wondering how it was possible that he could make the bliss even more debilitating. “Fuck, th—your cunt gets… s-so fucking tight when you cum—”

You just whimper for him helplessly, listening to the vulgar sounds of him fucking into you, the loud squelching as he keeps rocking mercilessly deep.

“You hear that?” He murmurs next to your ear, and the slick sound of it echoes obscenely through the silent hull. His voice is soft, contrasting blindingly with the way he’s holding you down and fucking you so strong and steady through the aftershocks. “Fuck—you get fucking wet after you cum, too, don’t you?”

You try to move, try to adjust yourself just slightly, but he locks down around you and holds fast to his rhythm. Fuck, it feels like he’s fucking the air out of you faster than you can breathe it in, grip like iron and tightening the more you struggle.

“‘M never leaving this,” he slurs, dropping his head to rest between your shoulder blades. “Never. Fuck, I’m—you’re—you’re never getting rid of me, sweet girl, I’m—I’m never—never f-fucking leaving—”

“Fuck, I’m—” you gasp, closing your eyes and trying to focus on the spark of a feeling deep inside you. “Stars, I think I-I might—”

And then Mando licks a slow, warm line up the curve of your spine and a second orgasm is suddenly burning a fucking hole through you, tearing another broken wail from your throat. You spasm and arch under him, bearing down on his thick cock and trying not to sob.

“Fuck, there we g-go—” he grits against your skin, picking up his speed and fucking hammering into you, completely deaf to your hoarse squeal at the change in tempo. “Good. Ngh, fuck—you—y-you want me to cum now?”

“Please,” you beg. “Please cum, p-please—”

“Where?” His voice is tight, breathless and shaky. “Tell me where—quick—”

“Fuck—inside,” you moan, eyes rolling back at the thought of taking his load deep inside you.

Mando’s hips stutter. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, they jerk back in before they could fully extend all the way out, and your abused lower muscles start to squeeze him in anticipation.

“I can’t—” he rasps, “—I’ve—I-I’ve never—and y-you’ll—”

“Safe,” you wheeze, because you don’t have enough air in your lungs or composure in your thoughts to tell him you have an implant contraceptive. All you can manage is a shameless, breathless, “Cum deep,” half-tossed over your shoulder.

Your hair is gathered and locked in a tight fist behind your head and if you thought he was fucking you full force, you soon realize he was only at about an eight. He flattens you against the bed and yanks your head up, arm coming around to brace across your chest and starting to just fucking wreck you from behind.

The change in angle forces his cock to spear up against something that blinds you, something so raw and impairing that you can’t speak anymore, even if you could find the air to.

“Fuck—m’gonna cum,” the Mandalorian grits, the bed rattling on its tracks as his head drops to your shoulder, “f-fuck, s’too fucking good, sweet girl—m’gonna f-fucking cum, I—”

He plows his hips into you just like that once, twice, three—

You lock down and everything goes blurs and goes out of focus, white hot pleasure ripping you apart from the inside as you do scream this time, clamping down and straightening your spine and convulsing in ecstasy.

He snarls and bites down on your neck, grrriiinndding his cock as deep inside you as it’ll go and shuddering above you. You can feel him pulsing, throbbing as he growls his way through it, breathing heavy and giving you his load just how you asked.

Mando pulls out of you much quicker than you want him to and stumbles backwards, suddenly dropping to his knees on the floor behind you with a metallic clang. He doesn’t do anything more than that, though; he just stares at your fluttering hole as you slowly start to leak his cum, one of his hands coming up to brace itself on the back of your thigh as he catches his breath and watches.

Fuck, you’re spent. Panting and exhausted in the same position he left you. You try to move, but you can’t. You just sprawl there on your tummy and slowly wait for the feeling to return to your body.

But then he says something. It’s too quiet—a soft, one syllable word you can’t quite make out.

“Wh—?” Your muscles feel like lead. “I couldn’t hear y—”

Gloved hands trail gently over your ass. And then you feel a small, sharp little prick on the swell of one of your cheeks, but it’s gone after a split second.

And then… fucking bliss.

You sag into the metal bed, feeling the room begin to spin. Fuck. He gave you the shot. The fucker just gave you the shot. How dare he? Before you could even work yourself up to the point of tears again? While you’re still… still fucking dripping with cum right in front of his face?

Until—

“Din,” he says softly. “It’s Din.”

Din.

How perfectly appropriate, you think.

Short, simple, and to the point. No flourishes. A quick, one-syllable punch of air. One singular, closed I vowel sitting quietly between two consonants, guarded on all sides. Hard at first, but then tapering off to a soft sound if you let it. Din.

“Din,” you whisper, fighting the overwhelming high with every last fiber of your gradually depleting consciousness, wanting so desperately to hear the word out loud with your own voice before you’re pulled under, trying to make sure it’s real. It comes out sounding that way, too; weak and quiet and straining for these last few precious moments with him.

Both of his hands wrap around the back of your knees and you feel his plush lips press gently against your upper-thigh, just below the curve of your ass. He opens his mouth and licks hot and warm along your damp skin, pulls both your knees apart just slightly and then starts to drag his tongue to the side a bit, and then—

And then everything goes dark.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #pedro pascal #fanfic #no-droids #smut

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meltwonu · 4 years ago

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10. “We’re in public, you know.”

23. “We cant do that here!”

34. “Tell me what you want.”

notes; dom!mingyu, drinking/body shots(drink responsibly yall), dirty talk, degradation/name calling/v minor dumbification, creampie/cum eating, fucking in public, v minor hair pulling, yikes what isn't a warning on this one LOL 😩ok i def def def imagined 24hr long haired mingyu for this for the full fantasy heheh ykno the outfit with the distressed denim and black blazer with the chiffon shirt underneath, also this is long so the rest is under the cut!! Thank you again for requesting!! enjoy!!💕

Dive bars were typically reserved for post-exam, post-finals, ‘I’m not sure if I fucked up but I don’t want to think about it’ situations.

Which is exactly why you found yourself there with a handful of your other university friends; 4 shots deep into the tequila.

“Oof, don’t look now but your campus crush just walked in with his entourage.” Vernon teases, already sliding off of his bar stool to get another round of shots. “Do you want another, or?” His voice already sounds faraway when you fixate on Mingyu, the source of all your recent sexual frustrations. You hated to admit it but you were always too shy to approach him, even when you had the same classes. But this time, you knew you were going to finally make a move.

Vernon rolls his eyes when you don’t reply, leaving as you stare off at Mingyu.

And you can’t help but fantasize; goosebumps rising on your skin when you imagine Mingyu’s hands all over your skin and his cock deep inside your pussy. The thought alone has you rubbing your thighs together and it only gets worse when you start to imagine him eating you out; fingertips tangled in his long wavy locks.

Biting your lip, you tear your eyes away from the tall male as soon as you see Vernon walking back to the table.

“Here, got this just for you.” He wiggles his eyebrows, placing a shot glass full of tequila, a slice of lime, and a salt shaker in front of you. “A body shot!” You blush a crimson, eye twitching.

“W-why would I need that?”

Jeonghan snorts from across the table, eyes rolling when you glance his way. “‘Cause you’re ready to break your kneecaps for Mingyu and we all can fuckin’ tell. Here, drink my shot too. You need it.” Gulping, you pick up the glass and quickly down the liquid.

“Now we’re getting somewhere!”

It takes 3 more tequila shots before you’re stumbling off of your stool; swiping the shot glass, lime and salt shaker off of the dirty table before your wobbly legs start taking you towards Mingyu.

His laughter only grows louder the closer you get, heart pounding in your chest when his friends gesture your way.

Mingyu turns to you; a hint of a smirk on his face when he meets your bleary eyes. “Yes?”

“Come do this tequila shot with me!” You slur out, lips forming a drunken smile when he moves to get up from his seat. He wraps his hand around your wrist holding the shot glass, tugging you towards a more secluded part of the bar as his friends look on.

“We’re in public, you know. I’m not sure if body shots are for a dingy dive bar.” Mingyu smiles at you, eyes twinkling with playfulness. “And I’m not really a fan of tequila.”

“If they’re not for sleazy bars, where are they for then, huh?” Your body tingles with electricity with his hand on your wrist and you can’t help the way you lean in closer when he doesn’t respond.

“And who says you’re the one drinking it anyway. What if I just needed to use your body?”

Mingyu laughs, half in disbelief and half in amusement, letting go of your wrist as he opens his blazer. “Well? Get to it then, let me see what that mouth of yours can do.” You giggle in response, juggling the shot glass and salt shaker in one hand before bringing the slice of lime up to his lips. He bites into it, leaning down until he’s at a comfortable height for you.

Grinning, you unbutton his shirt a little more, leaning in to lick at the junction of his neck and shoulder until you deem it wet enough; shaking the salt shaker over the area until there’s enough salt on his skin. Mingyu laughs around the lime in his mouth, tilting his head a little more to give you more access.

Before you can change your mind, you quickly down the shot, leaning back in as you hurriedly lap at the salt on his skin. The last step has you hesitating for a moment, Mingyu’s firm stare meeting yours when he brings a hand up towards your head. He tangles his hand in your hair and brings you in closer; your lips puckering around the lime wedged between his lips as you suck.

As soon as you bite into the lime, Mingyu pulls back, letting go of your hair in the process. You pull the fruit slice out of your mouth, setting it onto the nearest table just as he wraps a hand around your wrist again, tugging you towards the bar’s restroom.

He quickly pushes you into the one person restroom, locking the door behind himself before turning to face you.

“Tell me what you want.” He grits out, body rigid as he watches you lean against the dirty wall. “Tell me what that greedy pussy of yours wants, baby.”

“Mmh... want you to fu--fuck, hic, me~”

The alcohol finally hits you hard, body sensitive when he pins you against the wall. “Fuck, that slutty ‘lil mouth of yours could probably do some damage, huh? I bet you’re good at choking on cock.” You can’t help but moan as you rub your thighs together.

“We can’t do that here!” You whine, hazy eyes trying to focus on Mingyu. “The--the floor’s d--dirty and I, hic, I wanna feel your c-cock inside of meee~”

Mingyu scoffs, eyes rolling when he rests the palms of his hands on either side of your head. “Yeah? You think you can take my cock? Is that pussy wet enough to take me already?” He pauses, watching as you lick your lips. “I could see the way you were staring at me, y’know? Always thought you were a cute ‘lil thing. Playing coy around campus... Who knew you really had it in you.”

“God, Mingyu, would you stop t-talking? I’m trying to get, hic, you in me, so if you’d please just h-hurry!”

“So impatient. You’re just a cock hungry cumslut who’s willing to get fucked by me in a dirty bar restroom, aren’t you?”

You feel the wetness pooling in your panties, hands immediately latching onto his belt as you start to undo the buckle.

“Yes, now fucking, hic, give it to m-me, damn it!”

And Mingyu does.

His strong arms are the only thing keeping you up; your legs wrapped around his waist and back pressed into the wall as he fucks you hard and fast. Your fingertips tangle into his wavy hair, latching on for dear life when he angles his thrusts in a way that has the head of his cock tapping your g-spot.

“O--oh, fuh--fuck, Mingyu, there! Please, h-harder!!”

He chuckles under his breath; harsh thrusts making your pussy tighten even more around his thick cock. “Yeah? You want it harder? You want me to fuck this ‘lil pussy until all it knows is my cock?” Garbled noises spill from your lips at his questions, hands tugging harder onto his hair.

“Y--yes, god, yes! I--fuck, w-want you to fuck me until, a-ah, all I know is how to take your c-cock!” You cry, digging the heels into the small of his back. “God, just please fuck me stupid, Mingyu!!”

The said male grins, nails digging into the underneath of your thighs as he doubles his pace. “Yeah? Wanna be my dumb ‘lil cumslut? I’ll give you what you want. Anytime, baby. Just say the word.” You can only whine in response, teeth chattering when you feel your orgasm coming.

And Mingyu can tell, growling when he feels your pussy sucking him in deeper. “Make yourself cum. Touch your cute ‘lil clit and get my cock wet.”

You reach a hand down between your bodies, fingertips on the swollen nub as you mewl. “Mmh.. Mingyu… need ‘ta cum…” You mumble, pinching your clit between your fingertips. “Pl--please cum i-inside of, hic, me…” Moaning, you rub circles on your clit, eyes rolling to the back of your head when you can feel his cock throbbing inside of you.

“You want me to fill you up with my cum, huh? Filthy ‘lil slut.” He scoffs, grinding against you until you whimper. “Fuck, you’re so goddamn tight!”

“Ngh, Ming----Mingyu, ‘m, ah, gonna c-cum!”

A jumbled mix of words tumble off your lips, Mingyu’s name a broken cry in the mix as you cum; thighs shaking and body tensing as the immense pleasure washes over your body. Mingyu fucks you through your orgasm, finding it harder and harder to thrust into you as your pussy tightens into a vice grip around his cock.

But he soon follows suit, licking his lips when he unloads all of his cum inside of you. He slowly grinds against you, riding out his high as he watches your eyes flutter shut. “Does it feel good, baby?” You can only nod in return; moaning at the feeling of his warm cum filling you up.

Mingyu gives it a second before he lets you down onto your feet gently; your hand slipping from his hair as you try to stabilize yourself on wobbly legs. Your eyes are hazy and your head still feels fuzzy from the alcohol and orgasm, but Mingyu drops to his knees within seconds, a smirk on his face when he looks up at you.

“Spread your legs. Let me see you push my cum out.”

A blush coats your cheeks as you follow his orders, spreading your legs until you can reach down and use your fingers to keep your swollen folds apart. Mingyu immediately leans in, licking his lips as he watches the cum dribble down your thighs.

“Such an obedient slut.”

He places his hands on your thighs, leaning forward until he’s lapping up at the rivulets of cum that drip down your skin. He licks around your fingers, catching all that he can on his tongue before he stands back up.

It takes you a moment to catch onto what he’s doing; tilting your own head up as he tangles a hand through your hair. He leans down, lips on yours in a heated kiss and all you can taste is his cum and the whiskey he’d been drinking earlier in the night. But you moan into the kiss, parting your lips willingly when he pushes the cum into your mouth for you to swallow.

Your eyes flutter shut just as he pulls away, a thread of cum and spit connecting your mouths when he takes a step back.

“So…” You swallow the salty substance down, trying to adjust your focus on Mingyu who wipes at his lips with the back of his hand.

“Y-yes, Mingyu?”

He runs his hands through his messy hair, checking himself in the broken mirror above the sink.

“D’you come here often?”

#mingyu smut #seventeen smut #svt smut #mingyu scenarios #mingyu imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #svt scenarios #mingyu

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theladyscarlettt · 4 years ago

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Petals (pt.1)

*I have returned and I bring with me a Bucky x Reader mini series. This takes place during #TFATWS. Also, this is a bit lighter (yet darker) than my regular stuff. Not fluff but sweet because god knows Bucky deserves to be happy every now and then. Also, this does have references to the X-Men comics and WandaVision*

-The Lady Scarlettt

Synopsis: Madripoor had everything you needed to forget your past, and everything you needed to lose your future.

Part Warnings: suggestive scenes, language, mentions of mutilation

---

Sunlight caught the blinds in a dance of shadows. Her eyes twitched with the familiar warmth of the morning star across her face. She slowly opened her eyes taking in the sight of their small room. It was bland and empty, just like their luck in finding Karli. (For a girl to be everywhere, she was also nowhere.)

A grunt came from across the room, she sat up in the stiff bed to find Bucky lying on the floor with a blanket barely clinging to his sweaty body. She let out a soft sigh and rubbed her eyes. While he was capable of so much, she found it heartbreaking he had so little, it broke her to see him robbed of even the simplest of things such as rest and a bed. She pulled on his black tee shirt from the night before and snuck over to sit beside him. She watched as his eyes darted side to side behind his dark eye lids. If he didn’t sleep well before, he surely didn’t now with the constant traveling, search for Karli, run in with America’s Next Top Asshole and the literal cause of his night terrors in the next room.

“Did you know it’s considered an invasion of privacy to watch someone while they’re asleep.” Bucky grumbled, his eyes still closed.

“Good thing you weren’t asleep then.” she stated.

A slight smirk tugged on his lips, “Did you sleep well?”

“I would have slept better if my pillow didn’t wonder off in the middle of the night.” she teased.

He opened one eye to look up at her, “Sorry.”

She only smiled sweetly, her hand finding its way to his stubbled cheek. “You really need a razor.”

He grabbed her wrist pulling her down to him, and began to nuzzle her neck with his chin.

She gagged at the sensation, “Ugh- for an old man you really behave like a child- hey!” In one swift motion he was on top of her tickling her neck.

“Stop. Stop it.” She hissed as she playfully swat at him to get off her. He chuckled and leaned back still, straddling her waist.

“You have so much energy in the mornings for literally no reason,” she groaned, rubbing her lightly burned skin.

He leaned down to her, a smirk on his lips, “I can come up with a few, if you’d like.”

She rolled her eyes, even though her cheeks began to flush, “Knock it off.”

He made a tch sound with his teeth, and sat back up.

She smiled and sat up on her knees, her hands clasping behind his neck, a finger twirling the slightly grown out hair. He leaned into her, looking up at her from where he sat, a sad expression came across his face.

“What is it?” she asked, rubbing her nails lazily through his thick hair.

“I just,” he sighed trying to find his words, “I want to stay with you, but I just can’t make myself. I’m afraid of what I might do, if I stay too long.”

She tilted her head, searching his eyes, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I don’t want to have an episode at night and lash out. Sometimes they feel so real and I get can’t control myself and the last thing I want to do is hurt you and-”

“Hey, Hey, Hey” she interrupted, “Look at me.” She lifted his face up to hers, “Look at me, you could never do anything to hurt me. I know you don’t trust yourself sometimes, but I trust you and I know you. I’m not afraid of the ‘what if’s.” Please, hear me when I say, I want you to let me in, I want to be apart of this, all of it. I want to help you Bucky, but I can only go as far as you’ll let me. And if it takes time, ok but it’s going to take more than a nightmare to make me go anywhere. Ok?”

He stared at her for a long time, a blank expression on his face. She couldn’t tell if she had overstimulated him with her cheesiness or he simply was dead.

“Bucky? If I’m overstepping, I understand-”

He abruptly wrapped his arms around her back, pulling her small figure to his. She melted into his touch, just as she had the first time he held her. They stayed like that for awhile until she heard him whisper.

“I love you.”

She smiled against his cool skin, “I love you too.”

He brought her face up to meet his and kissed her softly. His lips were always so soft and warm, something you wouldn’t expect. His thumb made tiny circles along her jaw, as she kissed him back. His hand slowly snaked their way down to her thigh where he pulled her onto his lap. She subconsciously, wrapped her legs around his waist and arched her back pulling him upward slightly. He held her thigh with one hand and reclined back with the metal one, smiling into her touch. She pushed forward as he pushed back, every kiss becoming more passionate than the last. She pulled at his hair, causing a longing moan to escape from his lips, exposing his neck. She began to place light kisses along side his neck, his breathing became deep as he massaged her thigh in return.

He flipped over, now pressing her back against the ground, topping her. He kissed her back deeply, his tongue becoming well acquainted with her mouth. One hand began to find its way in between her thighs.

Her eyes snapped open, “James.” She grabbed his hand, “It is 4 in the morning.” She hissed.

“HELL YEAH IT’S 4 IN THE GODDAMN MORNING!” Sam blurted out from the next room.

Bucky buckled forward burrowing his head in her neck holding back his horror.

“Shit,” Her face became the next 50 shades of red, as she covered her mouth with her hand to prevent a wave of uncomfortable laughter.

“HERE I THOUGHT AT 11pm I WOULD GET MY BEAUTY SLEEP BUT NOOOO. IF I HEAR THAT DAMN SHIT AGAIN I WILL COME IN THERE AND BEAT BOTH OF YALL’S NASTY ASSES.”

There was a moment of silence as the two looked between each other with mischievous smiles. He rolled his eyes and licked his lips knowingly. She let out a staged moan loud enough to be heard from outside.

“Fuck. Y/N.” Bucky grunted, his face tinted trying to remain collected. She covered her face with her hands moaning back at him.

Seeing her smile only made Bucky ham it up more as he began slapping his hand on the floor to create more of a scene to which she erupted in a fit of choked laughter. Sam yelled something from the other room about Jesus Christ and Sin. Bucky stood up with that smug look on his face, as he did whenever he won at annoying Sam Wilson. He gave her his hand and hauled her off the ground with barely any effort.

She finally settled down from laughing and looked at him, “I think we should do that more often.”

“What? Piss off bird boy or have sex?” He asked.

She grinned, “Can it not be both?”

Bucky made a face as if he was scheduling the next when and where.

She gave him a light slap, “Now don’t get cocky about it. Also, you stink. Go take a shower.”

He looked at her offended then gave a sly look, “Or we could ta-“

“No” she snapped like a mother to her child, “Get.”

He held up his hands up in defense, “Alright, Alright, but I’m going to need my shirt back.”

She groaned and peeled off the shirt and tossed it at his face. He pulled the shirt down and gave her a once over, “I like that color” he said inspecting her black laced undergarments.

“Good Lord, Go.” she shoved him towards the bathroom. He chuckled at her and whipped the shirt over his shoulder, sending her a cocky grin as he left the room.

Once the door closed behind him, she let out a sigh and sat on the edge of the bed. A wave of depression washed over her as she longed for the day they could just stay in bed and not battle some end of the world threat. She looked to the blanket on the floor where he slept the night before. He deserved so much more than this. They deserved so much more than this.

She couldn’t lie, after the blip the thought of going off grid looked truly appealing. With Nat, Tony, Vision, Bruce, Wanda, Thor, and Steve gone, the Avengers felt more like a club then an actual organization. While she had always been closer to Sam, Bucky and Steve the hole left behind by the others made it too hard to go on some days. What was the point? Every time something was fixed something worse happened. And they never were thanked properly, only ridiculed by what should have been done, because everyone always expected them to be heroes; yet they never saw they were also human. The only reason she stayed was for Sam and Bucky, they had become her family, especially after Steve’s passing, who was like a father figure to her.

She pushed away the memories that came rushing in. She could not allow herself to get emotional, their job here needed her full attention. She stood and changed into her suit and left the room.

Zemo was reclined on a sofa, drinking a cup of tea. When she entered he gave her a solemn nod. She cringed slightly, the anger at what he did to Bucky and T’Challa creeping back in.

“You’re up early.” She stated flatly.

“Hard to sleep with all the noise.” He shot her a look. “I can start you a kettle if you’d like.”

“Sorry, and no thanks, I got it.” She said. Grabbing a kettle and filling it with water.

Zemo stood, “Do you mind? I’ve read of your powers but never have I seen them.”

She shifted on her feet, “Well, sure but it won’t be a firework show or anything like that. It’s still a new thing to me and I can’t really do much.”

“Can’t? Or won’t?” Zemo asked, approaching her, finding a spot at the bar.

She looked at him as to say something but decided against it. She looked back to the kettle and placed her hands along the side. Zemo watched her every move; observing, analyzing.

She took a deep breath in and reached for a part in her to attract the sensation she feels around her. The kettle began to warm and in a minute it was boiling.

“Fascinating” Zemo whispered, his eyebrows scrunched in concentration.

She poured the steaming hot water into a cup and placed two teabags in it. “See, nothing special.”

Zemo looked at her as if she had said something absurd. “You have a gift.” He countered.

“Feels more like a curse.” She scoffed.

“When did this begin?” He asked.

“I don’t know, I feel like I’ve always had these... these abilities but it wasn’t until after the blip did I truly began to use them.”

“Fascinating.” Zemo repeated.

She pursed her lips, while she loathed everything about Zemo, she couldn’t lie having someone appreciate her abilities felt nice. She normally just felt like a freak, too afraid to show too much emotion, in fear she might lose control.

“Can I have you try something?” Zemo requested.

She scoffed, “Sorry, I don’t feel like playing lab rat today.”

Zemo made a face, “I understand your negative emotions towards me, but to say I have had failures in this field would be an incorrect accusation.”

She rolled her eyes, “Fine. What?”

He leapt off his seat, seemingly excited to play mad scientist again. He fetched a candle from the table and sat it infront of her. She cocked an eyebrow.

“Light it.” He said, gesturing to the wick.

“I- I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Light it.” He repeated, pushing the candle towards her.

She reached to touch the wick but he slapped her hand away.

“Hey!” She blurted out, glaring at him.

“Without touch.” He said calmly.

She looked at him then back to the candle, frustrated.

“Focus on what you wish for it to be, what it will look like, how it will feel.” Zemo coached.

She shifted on her feet again, finding a more comfortable stance. She focused on her breath and stared at the wick.

“Breath in, and when you breath out try to push your energy at it.” Zemo said.

She closed her eyes feeling a tingling sensation around her, she inhaled slowly, feeling the sensation grow. She opened her eyes and focused the sensation onto her target. She heard a crackle sound, as if a fire was trying to start. She looked to Zemo wide eyed, he never looked up.

“Again.” He said, staring at the wick.

She shifted and this time held out her hand. She took a deep breath and this time flicked her hand at the wick on the exhale, a flame consumed the wick and began to slowly burn. She gasped.

“Beautiful.” Zemo smiled.

“Well shit,” a voice was heard. They looked over to see Sam propped alongside a wall. “You got sparkly fingers, Y/N.”

She laughed, delighted in herself, “Did you see it?”

“I saw it.” He smiled.

She looked to Zemo, “How? How did that happen?”

Zemo held out his hand and she reluctantly lended him hers. He flipped her palm up and traced a distinct ‘M’ she never noticed before, with his finger. “You are a mutant. You were born with this gift and just now have discovered it.”

“A mutant.” She echoed. “How do you know?”

“All mutants have the symbol ‘M’ mapped on their palm. Each with a unique ability. Your friend Wanda, she is a mutant as well.”

“There’s more?” She gasped looking at Sam.

“Many more, we walk beside them each day, yet we do not know it.” Zemo said.

She looked back to Zemo, suddenly desperate for knowledge. She knew she had these powers but half the time she felt it was all coincidence, and was honestly too afraid to attempt to use them. Knowing what happened to Wanda.

“I want to know everything, please tell me what you know.” She said.

“Woah, woah. Look, the magic trick was impressive but I don’t think you should be getting your information from him, Y/N.” Sam said walking towards her.

“Sam, he’s the only one I’ve ever met, who knows about this stuff, besides Wanda and I don’t even know where she is.” She protested.

“I assure you I do not intend to mislead-“ Zemo started.

Sam pointed at him, “No. You do not get to say that after all you’ve done. The only thing you do is mislead. Hell, you’ve probably already done something to sabotage the mission.”

“You think so little of me, Sam.” Zemo pouted.

“Yeah, I do and for good reason.” Sam stated.

“Sam,” Y/N started.

“Y/N! Sam!” Bucky’s voice echoed throughout the small apartment.

The two took off in the direction of the noise immediately. They came into the room to find Bucky staring out the window.

“What is it?” Y/N asked, coming to stand beside Bucky. She looked out the window, her eyes widening in horror.

“My god.” Sam uttered.

Outside the window was a some kind of mutilated animal strung upside down. Blood dripped menacingly to the ground below.

“What does it mean?” Sam asked.

“It’s an invitation.” A voice said. The three turned around to find Zemo.

“The Power Broker requests our presence.”

Link to Petals (pt. 2)

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jessikahathaway · 4 years ago

Text

Vegas, Baby - Part I

Pairing: Kim Taehyung X Reader

Genre: Mafia!AU, Romance, Smut (Slow Burn)

Warnings: Explicit Language.

Summary: After four years, you have been let go from your job. Taking a chance you head to Vegas to make the best of a bad situation. A situation that only gets worse.

“Sorry Miss Y/N, but we are going to have to let you go,” your boss’ monotone voice echoed in your ears.

Four years of your life, wasted. Not that you particularly enjoyed the job, but it paid your bills. And that was what counted at the end of the day. Now, what were you going to do? Your parents had already said your room was still yours if you needed to move back in. It was sweet of them really, but you didn’t want to move back in with them, you wanted your freedom and you wanted to be on your own. But what other options did you have without losing everything?

“Your separation pay will come through at the end of the week,” your ears perked up. The separation pay would be a nice amount no doubt. This financial firm didn’t come without its perks.

“Very good, sir. Thank you for four years,” you said, trying not to let the bitter tone enter into your voice.

“You can show yourself out. See that your desk is cleaned out by the end of the shift,” he said, turning his back to you.

Quickly you let yourself out, heading toward your desk.

“So, what did dickhead want?” Namjoon, your table mate, asked.

“I got canned,” you whispered, gathering up your stuff.

“What? No way, let me go in there,” he said, preparing to stand up before you stopped him.

“Joon, honestly, it’s fine. I’ve wanted to quit for a while anyways,” you confess.

“But, Y/N, it’s bullshit that they fire you. If that bimbo in the receptionist office can keep her job, you can too,” he said, fuming.

“Joon, seriously, I’m fine. Do you see me crying over it?” You asked, smiling.

“You’re sure you’re good?”

“I’m positive,” you answered.

“Okay, if you say so,” he responded.

“Just let me get my shit and blow this popsicle stand,” you said, grinning at him.

“Whatever you say, Y/N, I’ll miss you here,” he said, sitting back in his seat.

“You’re acting like you don’t have my number or something,” you said, laughing lightly.

“It won’t be the same without you here to annoy,” he said, giving you a dimpled smile.

“I know, you like to do that a lot,” you remarked, throwing a good natured glare his way.

“Well, I’m good at what I do then,” Namjoon stated.

“Which should be working, don’t need you following me out the door,” you said, sighing as you collected the remainder of your important items.

The rest could be left here, consider it a gift to the next unfortunate person who has to work here.

“Hey, text me okay?” He said, giving you a little wave.

“Will do, see ya Joon,” you said, returning the wave before heading towards the door.

—

Two weeks later you found yourself on a plane heading to Las Vegas.

How did you find yourself here? Well, it was a rather impulsive decision. But you and Namjoon had decided to take the rest of your earnings from your job and make a vacation out of it. You were taking a week in the US and spending time in Vegas to get a little wind in your sails before moving back in with your parents.

Did that take what little wind you had in your sails out? Maybe, but that's besides the point. This was your way of giving the middle finger to your old job by blowing your money on something less than recommended.

A trip to Vegas was exactly your soul needed after four years of behaving like a good little desk minion. Years of filing and coffee runs, all going to be blown to smithereens. Thank God for that too. You didn’t want to spend another minute thinking about what had been, only what was going to be the best week of your life.

You had a couple friends that lived in the states, and you were going to meet up with them after landing and unpacking at your hotel. Jessi and Lily were waiting anxiously for you to arrive.

Jessi: Bitch, I can’t believe you’re actually coming. After all these years of begging, pleading and what not, you’re dumbass comes here on a whim. But, still excited to see youuu xoxoxo.

YOU: R00D. I was working and busy with trying to further my career that capped off at a measly management position. Where the hell were you m8?

LILBITCH: Okay, it is like midnight here so can yall quit your yapping and do the sleep sleep? K thnx.

YOU: Sorry Lily, Jessi decided to be a boob in the group chat. Rest young one.

Jessi: ExCuSE? I Did NO SucH thInG?!?

YOU: You did! And are still doing it!

LILBITCH: Can yall argue in a separate thread plz?

Jessi: Nah, bugging you is wayyyy more entertaining.

LILBITCH: I pick the worst friends. Consider yourself disowned.

YOU: Children children, I come to bring peace to all four nations.

Jessi: The only thing you bring peace to is a party, and that’s what we’re going to fix while you’re here. You are going to get wasted and you are gonna like iiitttt >:(

LILBITCH: Jessi what are you even doing up?

Jessi: Sleep is for the weak.

LILBITCH: No, it’s for people. You know, who aren’t fucked in the head??

YOU: We gonna ignore the fact that she practically said I don’t know how to party?

Jessi: I am perfectly sane!

LILBITCH: Yeah right....

YOU: So we are ignoring that deep insult? K great.

Jessi: Sorry Y/N, it’s just been so long since we’ve all been together like this I’m so excited. I’m gonna put you in my man stealing clothes and you’re gonna get dicked down while you’re here! Yasssss, I love my plan already.

YOU: THERE IS A CHILD IN HERE!

LILBITCH: Woman we’re both older than you. You’re the child. Who doesn’t know how to party apparently.

YOU: And here I was thinking you loved me Lily. This hurts. This hurts deep.

Jessi: So, slutty clothes shopping here we come???

LILBITCH: I read the word shopping and I’m so down.

Jessi: yAS

YOU: Some of my dearest friends. Insult me then demand to dress me like a blowup doll? WTF??

Jessi: Not a blow up doll! Is there a tamer version of those Lily?

LILBITCH: I mean not really.

Jessi: You’ll be the sexiest blow up doll out there!

YOU: I don’t like this.

“Ladies and gentlemen we are beginning our ascent. Please silent all devices and buckle up! Thank you for choosing Korean Airways! Enjoy your flight!”

YOU: Well you two can think of more diabolical ways to get me laid and I will be none the wiser. See you girls soon. Love ya! <3

You shut your phone off and let your head rest against the cushioned seat. Letting the rumble of the cabin lull you to sleep.

“Y/N!!!!” Jessi squealed as she came running for you.

You’d slept most of the plane ride, but now you were stiff in the joints and her frame colliding with your own sent the two of you tumbling.

“Oof, Jess! What the hell man, you’re gonna break me,” you whined as the older woman started squeezing the daylights out of you.

“Alright pda couple break it up,” Lily’s voice filled your ears.

You stood quickly and brought her into a hug too.

“It’s good to see you,” you whispered, rubbing her back as you separated.

“Good to see you too, have you lost weight?” she asked, making you spin around for confirmation.

“Maybe maybe not, I wasn’t exactly eating the healthiest diet when I was at the firm so, maybe I just gained it in different places,” you laughed.

There was a prickle on the back of your neck. Your guard went up and you looked around. But didn’t see anyone staring. Although, you were uncomfortable.

“Come on, let’s get going. We have a lot to do before tonight!” Jessi said, practically dragging you out of the terminal.

“Jesus Jessi I have ligaments and bones, those things can break you know!” you whined, but she didn’t relent.

Climbing into the car you still felt a chill of fear run up your spine. But didn’t let it bother you. Right now was about you and your friends, not being a little paranoid after a long flight. Plus, you were abroad, there were tons of people around and that was more than likely throwing your radar off a little bit.

“Okay, mall here we come!” Lily said with excitement in her voice.

“But what about heading to the hotel to unpack?” you asked.

“Oh, we cancelled your reservation. Did you know you saved almost a thousand bucks if you stay with me?” Jessi said.

“Huh? What do you mean? Guys I don’t wanna burden you!”

“You aren’t going to be, our most recent roommate has vacated the room and left it in perfect condition. It can be yours if you decide you wanna stay for a while?” Lily suggested with a brow wiggle.

“You two are impossible,” you complained, leaning your head against the window.

“Impossibly smart,” Jessi narked.

You sighed as you watched the cityscape pass you by. Jessi and Lily chatted about nothing it seemed like, but it was comforting that you all fell back into rhythm so quickly after so long of not seeing one another. It made your heart squeeze painfully at the thought of being apart. But you were here now, and that’s what mattered.

Lily was telling you all about her work at the little cafe she co-owns. She handles the customer service end while her partner handles the more... businessy aspect.

“And then one of my servers swears she saw a ghost of an old lady in the back room. The building used to be a house but now we have renovated it and turned it into the cafe like I’ve told you. But, I looked into it. And a lady did actually die in there in the fifties. How fucking crazy is that!? And, get this, if it hadn’t happened within the last ten years, the realtors don’t have to divulge that information. How fucked,” Lily sighs.

Jessi pulls into the parking lot of a large shopping center and you girls all get out, wallets at the ready.

Linking arms with them you smiled brightly and started walking towards the door.

About an hour later, your feet were killing you and you hadn’t even tried anything on, much to the dismay of your friends.

“Come on Y/N, you need to at least try one thing on in this next shop,” Jessi pleaded.

“Why? I packed clothes you know?” you said,

“And knowing you they won’t be attention getting enough,” Lily commented.

“Rude, you don’t know what I got,” you scoffed.

Lily rolled her eyes and picked you up off the comfortable bench you had settled down on and now you were being dragged off of it like a leech of an arm.

“Come on Y/N, I have the perfect place in mind,” Jessi announced, leading the pack towards another stylish little boutique.

“If I try something on will you guys quit pestering me?” you whined out.

“Maybe, depends on if we like it or not,” Lily’s voice rang in your ear.

Somewhere, deep down, you knew letting them drag you to a shopping mall was a bad idea. But you hadn’t realized how bad until they had you dressed to the gills in sequins, sparkles and everything glittery.

“Guys this stuff is itchy!” you said, itching your thigh, that was barely covered, for emphasis.

“Oh come on, Y/N, you look great! It really shows off those curves!” Jessi complimented, spinning you around.

“I brought the same style of dress, but in a popping red color. It will compliment her eyes for certain,” the lovely assistant of the boutique said. Of course they were trained to reach for the priciest piece they had, and tell you it would look good on you. But hey, A for effort.

“Oooh! Y/N, try it on, try it on!” Jessi yelled.

“Shh, we are in a store!” you scolded.

“God you’re worse than my mom,” Jessi rolled her eyes.

“Am not. I’m just trying to contain my two four year olds!” you said exasperated.

“As the youngest isn’t it your responsibility to be rambunctious. Getting into all kinds of trouble?”

“That’s what we’re here for Lily, she’s had a stick up her ass for too long called adulting,” Jessi teased.

“Remind me why I’m friends with you again?” you asked, teasing right back.

Jessi just laughed and went to go peruse the racks again. Lily snuggled up beside you and wrapped her arms around you tightly.

“I missed you,” she whispered.

Smiling you gave her a tight hug. “I missed you guys too.”

Jessi came back with a sexy white number that has cut off sleeves that draped off your shoulder elegantly and it was a little longer than the others they’d thrown you in during that afternoon.

Seeing your eyes looking at the dress with interest, Jessi knew she had won.

“Wanna know the best part?” Jessi asked, raising a perfectly sculpted brow in your direction.

“What?” you asked.

“It was on the sale rack!” she smirked.

“Okay give it here,” you said, holding your hand out. Jessi smiled and plopped the dress in your hand without hesitation.

You shuffled into the dressing room and pulled the garment on. You looked at yourself in the mirror and almost fell over. This wasn’t you. The girl looking back at you was a beautiful woman, someone with poise and elegance. Or was that what the dress conveyed? Because you felt almost empowered in this dress...

“Okay, show us what you got!” the girls said, waiting for you outside the dressing room.

Stepping down onto the floor the girls were silent.

“Well?” you asked, feeling a little self conscious at all their staring.

“Y/N, if you don’t buy that dress then I will and force you into it tonight,” Jessi said, still staring.

“Does it look alright?’ you asked, tugging at the fabric.

“Yes now quit fidgeting! We’re trying to figure out what shoes, make up and hair we need to do,” Lily said, settling your hands at your side.

“I think a red pump,” Jessi said, running off to one side of the store.

“And a red lip to match!” Lily echoed.

“I love the way you think,” Jessi said back.

You looked down at your bare feet on the floor and sighed.

“I don’t know, should we go clubbing tonight? I just got here and kinda want to-”

“Not bail out on us and have the fun you wanted to have by coming to Vegas?” Lily offered.

You sighed and rubbed your face. Jessi came back with a crimson red pair of heels that already made your feet hurt. But you decided to quiet down and just enjoy the time you had with your friends. It was so nice to bicker with them and laugh, it really made your heart soar to be here with them. Even if they were forcing you into some uncomfortable shoes. At their cores, they were great girls, and you were so lucky to have them in your life.

“There, see how it lengthens your legs?” Jessi pointed out.

“See how it will destroy my ankles?” you said back.

They just laughed and you guys took everything to the checkout counter. The clerk cashed you out and you ladies were on your way.

“I’m so glad you bought the shoes too! They look so killer with that dress, and we’re going to make you the prettiest thing at the club tonight! Not that you need much help,” Lily smirked, linking her arms with yours.

You shoved her a little but walked down the hall with her happily.

Until you felt that chill that had run down your spine earlier, reappear. You stopped in your tracks and turned, certain that someone was watching you. But no one was there... It made unease churn in your stomach. Jessi seemed to notice your hesitation and came over beside you.

“Something wrong?” she asked, trying to look in a similar direction as you.

“No no, it’s nothing. I’m fine,” you smiled weakly, going to move forward.

“If you’re sure,” Lily answered, following close behind.

“Yeah,” you confirmed.

After that you only went to one more department store and found nothing of interest, so you guys decided to call it. Walking back to the car, Jessi ran ahead to make sure that it was unlocked. Lily and you walked at an even pace, just enjoying each other's company.

Loading everything into the car you took off down the road for Jessi and Lily’s house.

Slowly, the sensation of being watched faded from your mind. And the three of you went back to your bickering and teasing.

Finally, you pulled into the driveway.

Jessi and Lily were quick to help you with your luggage, making sure everything got into the spare bedroom. And then, the work began.

“Babe, we love you, but you gotta take a shower,” Jessi said, pinching her nose for effect.

“Rude, I literally took a shower before I boarded the plane,” you told them.

“Yeah, and you smell like plane and food court, so go. Cleanse thyself,” Lily commented, looking at her phone.

“Fine fine,” you agreed, heading towards the bathroom.

Jessi handed you the dress and some undergarments and went into the kitchen.

The hot water felt heavenly on your body, washing off the grim of travel and shopping. It was nice. The foamy soap on your head invigorating you. You shaved every part of your body known to man, and woman to be honest.

But when you stepped out of the shower. Instead of the normal underwear you had picked out, was something else.

Sorry, but we had to burn those granny panties. Wear this instead! We bought them today while you were busy being one with the bench. We know they’ll fit you!

Jessi & Lily

“Those little shits!” you exclaimed, looking down in despair at your underwear option now.

Pink lacy panties were set on the bathroom counter. How did you not even hear them come in!? You looked at the bra and were certain that you’d be able to see a nipple through the lace that was supposed to be covering your shit. But apparently the quest to get you laid was a serious endeavor in their minds. So, to humor them, you put on the garments. That, in fact, fit perfectly.

“Those creeps,” you shuddered, wondering how your friends had known your exact size.

Pulling on the dress you bought earlier, you marveled at yourself in the mirror. You looked really good. And just as before, you felt as if you could conquer the world, in just this dress. But, you knew the only thing you’d conquer was maybe a bar scene, which would work. For now.

Walking out you found the nasty culprits of the underwear heist sitting around a vanity full of makeup.

“Wanna tell me why I’m wearing underwear that barely covers anything?” you said, venom in your tone.

“Because you put it on,” Jessi said, with a smirk.

“You guys are so fucking nosy,” you whined, throwing your headback in a mock tantrum.

“We aren’t nosy enough, when was the last time you got dicked down?” Jessi asked, suddenly serious.

Scandalized you made a squeak of discomfort.

“Wh-Why the sudden curiosity??” you asked.

“Because, we gotta know how out of practice you are,” Lily said, as if it were obvious.

“I’m not out of practice!” you shrieked.

“So it was recently then?” Jessi smiled.

“No! I mean-shut up!” you cried.

“When was the last time Y/N,” Lily said calmly.

“Three years ago,” you huffed, crossing your arms in defense.

The two girls almost choked.

“THREE YEARS!?” Jessi screamed.

“I’m right here, there’s no need to scream,” you said.

“BUT Y/N, THAT’S THREE YEARS,” Jessi yelled again.

“I can tell time, Jessi,” you commented.

“How? You’re practically a nun,” Lily snorted.

“I am not!” you defended.

“Sweetheart, listen we are doing this out of love,” Jessi shushed you, cradling you to her chest. “We will help you. Sit down.”

“This is all very offensive, just so ya’ll know,” you said, pointing to them with an accusing finger.

“Shut up and sit down,” Lily said, grabbing her hair appliances.

You settled into silence, letting the girls do whatever they wanted to you. You found it was easier this way than fighting with them the whole time. As much as you loved them, these girls were bossy and pushy. But, you wouldn’t have them any other way. They helped even you out, making sure you got out there and did have some fun in your life.

Lily was in the process of doing your hair and styling it the way she thought would work the best, while Jessi was deeply focused on doing your makeup. You saw the crimson colored lipstick come out and knew it was as Lily recommended earlier.

Jessi painted it on your lips with a precision that was awe inspiring. You just stayed still and let them continue their work. Enjoying the transformation happening before your eyes. Before, you were a nervous little office worker. Now, you were a girl on a mission. What mission was still to be decided, but it made you feel powerful. Not saying that you didn’t feel powerful without it, but it was nice to get dressed up every once in a while and to feel sexy.

Lily put down the hair products and smiled at her work.

“You look fucking hot,” she pointed out.

“Don’t make her smile. I'm working on the concealer around her lips,” Jessi whined.

“Sorry sorry, just, she’s really beautiful,” Lily smiled.

“We been knew,” Jessi smirked.

“Right right,” Lily said, going to gather the tights and shoes.

“Thanks Jessi,” you said as you stood up, stretching lightly.

You felt a light smack to your butt and you smiled back at her.

“Sorry, couldn’t resist,” she giggled.

“Alright ladies, we need to make a game plan for the night!” Lily announced as she walked back into the room.

“What do you mean?” you asked, raising a brow at her.

“Who wants to get laid, who wants to wing woman and who wants to be the sober one,” Lily said.

“Well, Y/N is the getting laid one,” Jessi confirmed.

“Did you ask Y/N if she wants to get laid?” you asked, pointing to yourself.

“Fine, Y/N, do you not want me to find you a fine specimen of man that could knock your socks off in the bedroom?” Jessi said.

“Well... I mean, it’s not that I don’t want that but...”

“But what?” Lily asked, coming to sit next to Jessi.

“I’m shy, I don’t really attract people. I’m more of a hang out in the corner until I’m drunk enough to approach someone type of gal,” you said, biting your lip.

“Don’t ruin my hard work,” Jessi warned.

“Sorry, nervous habit,” you answered, stopping the action quickly.

“Y/N, it’s all up to you, we don’t really have to go out but I thought this is what you came here for? To let loose and have some fun before moving back with your parents. But if all you wanna do is have a girls week then we can do that too... But, honestly you look amazing and any guy would be lucky to get with you,” Lily said.

You thought it over.

This is what you came here for. To let loose like she said. But now that it was happening you were retreating into office worker Y/N, not the badass you wanted to be for at least a week. So, you didn’t see the harm in getting laid. Honestly, it might get some of the pent up stress out of your system, and that sounded great.

“No, you guys are right. I wanted to come here to be free for a while. What’s the point in hiding in the corner when I can be the center of attention for once in my life. I say, let’s do it,” you said, confident.

Jessi squealed excitedly and clapped her hands.

“Yes! We are gonna be the best wingwomen you’ve ever seen Y/N! We’ll pick a great one out for you,” she said.

“She also has eyes, Jessi, she might find the one,” Lily chastised.

“Yes, yes sorry,” she said, shuffling through her closet in disinterest.

“Okay, so Jessi and I are both going to be wingwoman. It’ll be a shared effort so we can pick the best guy,” Lily announced.

“Right,” you said.

“But like Lily said, you have eyes. If you find someone you’re vibing with, let us know!” Jessi said back.

“Okay,” you agreed.

The rest of the evening was spent making out rules and exchanging safety measures to make sure no one got hurt or left behind.

This was going to be very fun.

#Kim Taehyung #BTS #Bangtan #Ficswithluv #Jesskia Hathaway #BTS fanfic #BTS Mafia Au #Mafia Au #Smut #V #Taehyung #V smut #Taehyung smut #slow burn

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missmorosis · 4 years ago

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Science Project

not requested hehe- enjoy my first enemies to lovers type thing sakldfjlkfsd!!! ILY ILY ILY <33

Pairing: Sokka x Reader

Genre: enemies to lovers baybeeeeeeeee

Word count: 1.4k :)

Warnings: okay uhm the reader has hospital trauma, BUUUT it’s told from sokka’s pov, so nothing is really described!! she does have some sort of a panic attack, so i would read w/ caution in case this triggers you!

Summary: Two enemies, Sokka and Y/N get partnered for a science project...

“Alright everyone, here are your partners for the upcoming science project.” The science teacher gestured to the board. Sokka squinted to see who he got partnered with. He hoped it was one of his friends, like Aang, or Suki. He would even settle for Toph.

Sokka and...Y/N.

Out of everyone in his class, he had to get partnered with the person he hated the most: Y/N. He didn’t even know why he hated her so much. It wasn’t the way she looked or anything; in fact, he thought she was actually quite cute.

Sokka heard Y/N sigh next to him.

“Looks like we’re partners,” she said, with a sad tone.

“I don’t like this any more than you do.” She rolled her eyes and faced the teacher once again.

She sighed again when the teacher told everyone to work on their projects with their partner after school.

“At this rate, you’ll be sighing all day,” Sokka commented, earning another sigh from her. She shook her head and began to speak.

"I'll pick you up and we can work on it at my house," she offered. Sokka scoffed.

"Nope, no way I'm going into your home. We'll work at the library near my house," Sokka said. Y/N shrugged and headed out the door, getting to her next class.

Hours later, the final bell rang, signaling that the classes were over for the day. Sokka jumped out the door, relieved the day was over.

Oh. He still had the project to do. He cursed and luckily turned the corner to see Y/N walking by.

“Y/N! Hey, Y/N!” She turned at the sound of her name, but quickly turned around again, continuing to walk away as if nothing happened when she realized it was Sokka calling her. “We have the project, remember?” he called out. She froze, muttered something under her breath, and turned back around.

She reluctantly got into Sokka's car, and the two drove to their destination. However, they parked before they got to the library. Y/N looked confused.

"Why- why are we here?" Y/N gestured towards the sign saying "Ba Sing Se Hospital." Sokka rolled his eyes and grabbed her arm, leading her closer to the hospital, no matter how much she resisted. He tried to push her past the automatic doors; the smell of sanitizer and medicine was overwhelming even before they went in. He looked at Y/N, who was backing away, refusing to walk in. Strange. She almost looked... panicked.

"I have a friend here that can give us some info for our project. Don't tell me you're scared of hospitals," he said, annoyed. No response. Instead, she turned around and walked the other way.

"Hey! Come back here," Sokka yelled. When she didn't respond, he rolled his eyes, and followed her. "Y/N, come on." He hit her side playfully, and she stumbled.

"Jerk," she muttered.

"Come on, I didn't even hit you that hard. Let's go."

"Uh- no. N-no thanks." Was her voice... shaking? Peering at Y/N, she seemed to have trouble breathing; her breaths were quick and uneven. Suddenly, she swayed to one side, almost toppling over and tripping on herself, making Sokka instinctively reach out to catch her. She leaned on the hospital’s exterior wall next to her, closing her eyes, still breathing heavily.

“What, are you faking?” he said with a scoff, but he couldn't deny that he was starting to get concerned. He got closer to Y/N. "Umm... are- are you okay?"

“Get... get off me...” she whispered, not having enough energy to speak up or completely push him away. Oh... she was actually not okay.

Sokka, despite her efforts to push him away, got closer, trying to see what was wrong.

"Sokka... I just told you to get off." She sounded tired, and her voice was quiet. Y/N was nearing tears, and Sokka was unsure how to respond. He chose to get off of her, and she huffed, but she rubbed her forehead, sighing.

Y/N sank into the ground, sitting into a fetal position, now unable to stay standing, and she rested her head on her knees. She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to get some sort of grip.

“Should- should I go get a doctor?” Sokka pointed towards the hospital doors. She shook her head, looking up breathlessly.

“No!" she yelled. Sokka gave a quizzical look, and she cleared her throat. "No... I’ll be fine.” She took deep breaths and wrung her hands, making Sokka frown. What's wrong?

"Would it be better if we went back into my car?" Sokka asked. Y/N nodded weakly, so Sokka helped her up, but her knees buckled, and Sokka raced to catch her again.

"Actually-" Y/N sat back down with a huff. "I- I can't walk right now, just... just give me a second." She ran her fingers through her hair again.

"O-oh. If you're comfortable, I can just carry you; you look like you're getting worse." It was true; Sokka was actually worried for Y/N, despite how much he claimed to hate her. She flinched when he reached out to her, making him hesitate, but eventually she nodded, and Sokka picked her up, bridal style.

Her body was shaking, and her chest was going up and down as she tried to breathe. They reached his car, and he placed her down into the passenger seat.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"No, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought you here. Do... do you have something with hospitals or something?" She stayed silent.

"Just... just a lot of trauma." Her eyes were looking outside the window, refusing to meet Sokka's. She cleared her throat, and quickly changed the subject, trying to get rid of the awkward tension in the car. "Any- anyways. Project?"

"Yeah, if you're up for it. Buckle up.” He drove to the library as quickly as possible. When he got there, there were no parking spaces. “Shoot.” He drove two streets down, finally finding a spot to park. “Sorry, it’s a bit far.”

“Alright,” she hoisted on her backpack. “Let’s go.” She hopped out of the car and started the walk towards the library. He sighed, and jogged to catch up with her.

Hours later, Y/N put her pen down and stretched, her chair squeaking. Looking at his phone, it was almost eight.

“I’m finally finished. Now, enough of this, and just...” She paused, looking for words to say. “...Remember to prepare for the presentation tomorrow. I’m going home.”

“See you... try to get some rest?” his voice went up at the end, asking a question. She rolled her eyes, but this time, with a playful smile. Hm. An improvement. He smiled to himself as soon as Y/N turned her back.

The next day started like every other, except for the fact that Sokka tried to cut back on his mean jokes, replacing them with somewhat loving ones. Thankfully, the two did great on their presentation, and so did the rest of their friends.

“Great job today!” Suki chirped. “Let’s celebrate with... some cake at the bakery?” Y/N clapped in delight.

“Yes! I’ll be right there.” She quickly packed up her things and grabbed her backpack. She jumped up at the table, and started to walk. Sokka laughed and decided to grab her backpack strap, making her grunt as she fell backwards. He stuck his tongue out with a smile as she glared at him, and she gave a sarcastic wave as she walked away, Sokka following close behind.

The walk to the bakery was nice, fun banter going on between the group. However, they happened to walk past the hospital from the day before. Y/N stumbled at the sight, but quickly tried to laugh it off. Of course, Sokka saw right through it. Thankfully they were going to just walk past-

“Oh, real quick, I have to check something with my nursing friend, can you guys wait for me in the waiting room? It’ll be quick, I promise.” Katara smiled, as she grabbed her bag, ready to go. Y/N’s mouth made an “o” shape, and Sokka saw her tense up.

“Uh, hey, Y/N? Let’s go for ice cream while we wait?” He pointed to the nearby ice cream shop, and her shoulders relaxed.

“Oh- yeah. Yes, of course!” Her eyes said a silent thank you as he pulled her away.

“Hm, nice to see you two getting along!” Aang chirped. Y/N smiled, as her and Sokka waved goodbye, heading to the ice cream shop together.

SO THE LAST 500 WORDS OR SO MADE LIKE NO SENSE 💀💀💀

ANYWAYS hope that was alright hehe!!

taglist (send an ask to get added to my atla work!!) @urmomoness @zuko-is-the-sun @busyforkuvira @appa-gaangnam-style @xxspqcebunsxx @akiris @welovediaaxx @ray-ofmoonlight @sokkaandzukosimp @u-4iia @sunnimochix @kaylove12 LOVE YALL SO MUCHHHH

#sokka x reader #sokka x you #atla x reader #atla x you #atla #sokka #sokka blurb #sokka oneshot #atla blurb #atla oneshot #sokka x y/n #sokka x yn #atla x yn #atla x y/n

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whump-town · 4 years ago

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A Cumbersome and Heavy Body

Chapter Five: They Told Me That The End Is Near

Summary: Stubborn until the very end, Aaron Hotchner isn’t going to go down without a fight. It’s just getting hard to tell the difference between fighting them and fighting the cancer.

Word count: 3195

Author’s Note: I’m about to fuck yall all kinda of ways-- buckle in babies cause shit is GETTING FUCKED

Warning: the subject of this fic is cancer and it’s treatment, cursing, maybe out of character (idk, man. hotch is weird)

Welcome to the final show Hope you're wearing your best clothes You can't bribe the door on your way to the sky You look pretty good down here But you ain't really good

She hates everything about labeling his days as “good” or “bad”-- this stupid emphasis on each thing that he does and how well he can perform it. The doctors will ask how he is, nearly expecting to be told something other than like he’s dying, and that always frustrates her beyond words. She can feel Hotch tense each time, looking to her in his desperate attempt to conjure a lie they will believe. “Good” or “bad” and he wants to say “okay” so that they don’t poke him more. So they don’t stand him up in the room and run their hands down his sides feeling for more swollen nodes and inclinations to infections or whatever other bad nonsense will rear its ugly head.

Mostly, she hates how there are “bad” days and there are days that aren’t gut-wrenchingly horrible but they aren’t “good” either.

Tuesday he’d smiled and sat for three hours with Reid. The genius turned on the sofa to face Hotch in the recliner, rocking himself gently as he spoke about anything and everything on his mind. Emily had watched them for a moment from the kitchen, shocked at the painless ease Hotch was sitting with. Enjoying something close to normalcy as Reid doesn’t look at Hotch and see the sickness overcoming his pale skin. Doesn’t see how tired he is or how weak. He’s just Hotch and they’re sitting in the living room talking about quantum mechanics and then attachment theory and diagnosing schizophrenia.

For three hours there is so much normalcy to their chaotic lives. For three hours there is “good” and for the remaining hours after Reid leaves there is something close to right in the middle. It’s fighting tooth and nail over some supplements he’s supposed to have in this meal replacement that tastes like chalk. She chases the fight with vodka and he locks himself in his office to drink the meal replacement in the sort of isolation that affords him endless frustration with no outward consequence. He ends up sitting in there and hoping she forgives him for being such a pain in the ass. He knows she probably will.

Then he does something stupid, something entirely brought on by impulse.

“You’re a fucking asshole.”

He can’t finish the job on his own, the clippers shaking painfully in his grip. His arm hurts and he can’t stand long enough to get the whole thing even. “It’s falling out, anyway.” He tells himself that it doesn’t matter, that he should be lucky he made it to this age without losing it. He tries not to think about it, mostly. To the way that his father used to smile at him and rustle it just to see the strands sit in all kinds of directions. How Haley would curl against him, arm over his shoulders, and brushing the strands as they talk.

But it’s just… hair. Mostly.

And “good” had melted into bad as Emily stood over him, running the clippers through his remaining hair. She’d cried and he had too but he had the free hands to wipe those tears before she could see them. She’s always the strong one, the least he can do is pretend for a moment.

Standing behind him, she can see every bone in his back. His pale skin stretched over each vertebra, like the hard pressure across knuckles clenched tightly. The plethora of scars in various stages of healing-- several from tubes and wires and tests and others from the childhood he refuses to speak of. A canvas with a story right there for her to see. There are no real secrets between them anymore.

The last bit of hair falls and she looks at what they’ve done. “You’ll have to wear a hat,” she tells him. She steps out of the tub, using his shoulder to balance herself. “I always thought you had a weird-shaped head but now I know.” There’s nothing abnormal about his head, she’s just thinking about how cold he always is. That at least now he’s got an excuse to wear a beanie inside and how he’ll look like a dork with the assortment of color and variations Garcia’s going to knit the second she catches wind of this.

She offers him her hands so that he can stand too and it’s a testament to their proximity that his shirtlessness isn’t strange. She’s watched his skin ease apart under the pressure of a scalpel. Sat beside him on the bathroom floor, head on his shoulder as the night moved on but they both knew he’d be back here all together too soon to get up. The scars are nothing to the vulnerability that he’s shown her.

Standing she… she sees the protrusion of his collarbone. Of the harshness, the invasion of the central line snaking into him. It overcomes her and she pulls him into her. Throwing an arm over one shoulder and around the other, pinning him against her. “I love you,” she whispers turning her face into his neck.

Her warmth seeps into him, in every place that her skin rests against his. The desperation in her tone makes him smile, the way that she holds him. He’s empathetic to her pain but it feels good to be held, to be loved like something someone is terrified to lose. “You know,” he says. “I kind of figured. You’ve stayed around too long for someone who, supposedly, hates me.”

She laughs. How many times had she gone out of her way to mumble “I hate you” at him? For waking her up to make her go back to bed so that she doesn’t spend her whole night on the floor as miserable as him. To have something to say in the face of the scary things that happen, when he squeezes her hand too tight or when he’s that numb calm she knows is no good.

“I do hate you,” she sniffles.

He laughs. An actual laugh. “Good,” he replies, wrapping his arms around her. “Good.”

Wednesday he makes her French Toast with a black beanie pulled down over his ears, one she’d seen only in the winter to stave off the threat of the ear infections the icy fingers of the wind give him. They talk while they eat and it’s a truly monumental thing to be shared between them-- a meal.

There’s something about sitting there and watching him perfect some glorified egg bread that annoys her. Knowing that likely, tomorrow this will be like a slap to the face. A taunt to see him now and then. Today he will the Aaron that she knows. The Aaron that peers over her shoulder while she’s trying to do things, baiting her into pointless arguments with his bad French and even worse German. To the Aaron who walks soundless and who grins when he turns up silently behind her and makes her yelp with a jump.

She watches the ease in which he takes to his french toast bleed away like the color in his face until lunch brings one of those meal replacements and he can’t do it. Then she finds the french toast she thought he’d eaten in the trash where he’d purposely tried to cover it. Knows that next week they’ll find the meal replacements didn’t work and do something else to his poor body. Cut another hole, insert another tube.

She hears him fall that night.

After hearing him laugh loudly over some stupid thing she’d said.

After playfully fighting with him over stealing one of his sweaters-- he has so many it’s not going to kill him to let her borrow one.

After just sitting with him on the couch for hours listening to music and sitting in the dark.

She hears him fall and, worst of all, she hears how hard he tries to cover it up. The sound is not as distinct as it should be with no crash that rattles dishes or a harsh thud. A stumble, really, a softer thump as he leaned into the wall for support but found none.

“Aaron.”

He’s sitting up against the wall, shoulders sunk in and head hanging. When he looks up she sees the blood pouring down his face, the tears pooling at the corner of his eyes. “...can’t stop it.” He coughs, wiping at the blood across his lips. “It won’t stop, Emily.”

She runs to the bathroom, grabbing a wad of toilet paper and not thinking twice about manipulating his face in her hands. One hand holding the back of his head while the other dabs the blood up. “We’re supposed to go to the hospital when this happens,” she reminds him. He’ll need platelets or something invasive but more than likely he’ll be submitted to an hour-long wait in the E.R. to be told it was the right thing to come in but altogether unnecessary.

He groans, not in pain but in the general theme of the awfulness he knows will ensue if she makes the decision they will be going to the hospital. To the cold beds and the wheelchairs.

“Water and bed,” she says, instead of what he’d thought would be her asking where his shoes and coat are. She smirks at him, knowing what he’s thinking and seeing the surprise written across his face. “We’ll tell them Tuesday about it,” she assures him. Tuesday when they’re probably going to tell them he needs to come back in another day. When they see the supplements aren’t working and he’ll probably need something invasive and painful. Then they’ll deal with the nose bleeds popping back (and that cough she’s noticed but has let convince himself she hasn’t noticed).

“Bed,” she says again when the words seem like they haven’t processed.

“Bed,” he repeats thickly, her fingers clamped over his nose thickening the nasally quality of his voice.

They shuffle down the hall, Emily’s fingers curled around his hip and his arm over her shoulder. Heads bent in towards one another. He whispers an apology, feet hardly leaving the ground, and leaning on her a little too much. He imagines the beginning. When he’d laid on his bed, thinking about her and thinking about his father. The way the cancer had eaten his father away and he can see in the mirror, he watches closely and knows the same thing is happening to him.

His father had done what he can’t-- ended it.

It had been Aaron who found him. So strange to see such a violent man seemingly… peaceful. His memory is a patchwork of things, his childhood full of too many greys of undetermined moments, but that sight. Seeing his father’s lifeless body in the high-backed office chair he’d spent so many waking hours in has been unforgettable.

He can’t do that. He won’t make Emily see that or leave that sort of memory for Jack. It’s important to him that it be like this.

“You have to sit up.” She props him up on pillows, ignoring his complaints. The blood has slowed and there’s nearly no point in wiping it away. He just watches her, vacantly staring back as she tucks the blankets around his chest. “Sleep,” she instructs, kissing his forehead. “Do you want me to stay?” He knows she will. She’ll sleep right here beside if he asks but… no. He’ll be okay.

It snows.

He watches it from the only window in his room, she’d pulled the curtains back before she fell asleep. He sees her and her giant shadow with the yellowing light from the street pouring in, eating out the deep consuming darkness looming over him. Until today he’d only ever suspected she was dragging his office chair into his room but he’d never caught her, always waking up after she’d moved the chair back and gone back to her own room. Leaving behind only the three deep dents in the carpet where she’d sat for hours. There had been so many nights he’d spent sitting and watching Jack sleep as a baby-- some irrational fear that the baby would stop breathing in the middle of the night and so long as he was watching Jack would keep breathing. He needn’t ask silly questions, he knows she’s using the same irrational approach.

Clenching his teeth he tries to bite down against a cough breaking out, afraid to wake her some such peaceful slumber. He pulls himself upright, curling down as his temples throb, and his body shakes violently beyond his control. A goal in-sight-- the water on his nightstand and getting Emily back to bed-- he powers through it and overcoming the weakness of his body feels so satisfyingly familiar. To days when there was pain but no cancer and he loves the triumphant that washes over him.

The water is warm and stale, left there by Emily yesterday when she’d forced him to take his medicine (even though he thought he’d throw it back up and he had). It kills the ache of his throat, dry and bitter, and he clears his throat softly to take the rest away.

“Emily,” he whispers. Moving his lips cracks the dried blood on his face he grimaces as he smells the thick scent of the blood. “Emily, get up.” He won’t leave her to sleep in this chair all night. He’s made the mistake plenty of times, knows it’s no good. “Come on,” he touches her arm, palm against her bare skin. She jumps his touch is so cold. “Sorry, sorry--”

She really sees him and jumps even harder. Yelping in shock. “Oh! Oh, God!” She wraps her arms around her chest, breathing quickly, startled. “Fuck Aaron,” she shouts. “You scared the shit out of me!”

He rubs his nose, tries to dislodge the blood.

“Is-- Is something wrong?” She pushes her hair back from her face, “are you okay?”

God. He’s hurt her irreparably, hasn’t he?

“Nothing.” He offers his hand, even if the hand trembles visibly enough in the low light. “Nothing, I promise.” She takes his hand, allowing him to guide her up. “You shouldn’t sleep in that chair,” he informs her softly but still with that distinct fussiness to his voice.

She looks back to the chair and up at him, “I guess I’ve finally been caught.”

He smiles. The first time he’d put two and two together he was angry. Overly frustrated, seething over something so… sweet. She’d sat with him through the night, watching him sleep, just trying to be close and he’d been mad. Not now, though, now he can see how tired he is. He can feel her hand still clutching his. “It’s okay,” he shrugs. “It’s late, let’s go to bed.”

She frowns, brows crinkling as she looks around them in confusion. Sleep riddled brain torn between the rational thought that concludes he’s right, she should go to bed, and the worry she’d felt hours ago about leaving him in this room. She’s not sure what to do now, which thought to travel and act upon.

“Do you--” he looks down at the thrown back covers on his bed. Remembers this wouldn’t be the first time she’s slept in that bed beside him. Likely more than just the memories he can think of now, unprompted. He blushes, embarrassed he even had the thought but she looks down to and nods.

She doesn’t want to leave him alone.

He doesn’t want to be alone.

They start side by side, neither entirely comfortable. She falls back to sleep first. He can feel her breath even back out and within a few minutes she turns over towards him, her hand resting over his wrist. He looks back to his office chair, the giant back of the old thing. She’s so afraid to lose him, they all are. He can feel it in every little thing that they do. How Dave lingers a little more after each visit, hugs him a little longer. The way Derek looks at him, how close he stands. Even in Spencer and Jack who soak up his attention like flowers to the sun. Turning and facing him, finding him wherever he is to enjoy just one more moment. Hanging on to his every word.

He wakes soaked in sweat, shaking as Emily talks to someone rushed, too quickly to sound anything but frantic. Afraid.

He opens his eyes as a sea of red flushes through the room, the shrill of an ambulance breaking up the serene silence the snow has muffled the Earth with.

“Aaron?”

She’d woken to him struggling to breathe. Both had turned over in the night and while she’d turned toward him, he’d turned away from her. Her arm over his hip, her head against his back, they were nearly welded together. If not for the proximity-- his arm pulling hers closer, her leg in-between his, she likely wouldn’t have heard him at all. But she’d felt him jerk in his sleep, fighting his body for air.

And he wouldn’t wake up.

“Aaron?” she calls a second time. She should go open the front door, let the EMTs in but she’d seen a sliver of his eye. His cheek is cold against her palm but she cries, tears streaming when he opens his eyes. When he turns his face into her palm. “There you are,” she beams. His eyes slide back shut. “Stay awake,” she asks, her nerves getting the best of her and she shakes him. Pleased when his eyes open back up and find her. “Stay awake, don’t you want to see the snow?”

The stretcher is cold and he mourns the loss of his thick comforter but the drugs flooding into his blood makes him loose, pliable. He doesn’t fight being taken from his bed, even if he longingly looks back for it. Lets them strap his legs down place an oxygen mask over his face. The snow means nothing to him. He hates it, honestly, but as they step outside, Emily tossing his winter coat of him like a blanket, he looks up at it falling down on him.

Her hand slips away and he looks back for her, confused. She stands in the street, face turned to the fat snowflakes falling around her. All the light coming from street lamps high above her head. He’s reminded of a lifetime ago. When she’d gone against his orders and gone to investigate Michael’s death with a ferocity he hadn’t seen coming. When she’d avoided his eye and said she’d understand if he wanted her badge and gun after that little show. She’d forced his hand, made him call the Vatican, and consider his own allegiances. To when they were two very different people than they are now-- younger, naive… alone.

She catches up to them, slipping her hand back into his. Her fingers freezing cold as they curl around his. “Don’t you love it?” she asks. She looks back out, watching until the doors shut behind them and all she has is a tiny window.

He doesn’t but she does.

She looks young, weightless.

In a way, yes, he does love it.

@laiba-the-person, @emily-hottie-prentiss, @unionjackpillow, @clockedstar, @baumarvel, @blakeprentiss, @qvid-pro-qvo, @aaron-hotchner187, @ssalavellan, @lazyhater

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #david rossi #derek morgan #spencer reid #penelope garcia #jennifer jareau #tw cancer

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