#fic: stealing her patriot heart

[arrthurpendragon]

[kushielsmercy]

Happy Thursday folks, we've almost made it. Have a small stand-alone snippit from a fic I started this summer and finally admitted I'm never coming back to. Sorry Joe, you're staying kidnapped.

***

“Enough, enough!” Nile laughingly pounds on Nicky’s back, dizzy. “Put me down!” 

Nicky tightens his grip and spins them around twice more, faster, before giving in to her pleas and depositing her back onto the ground. Nile groans and falls onto her back, the Oregon sky spinning above her. 

“Gotta work on your sea legs, kid,” Andy calls from across the fire, cackling. 

Nicky turns on her, eyes twinkling. “Bella.’ 

“Don’t you dare,” Andy warns, holding her bottle of whiskey up in defense. She’s too late. Nicky swoops in, stooping to grab her thighs and lift her straight up, twirling in a circle. Andy does her best to look dignified, resting the whiskey on top of Nicky's head, waiting him out. He tilts his head back and she breaks, laughing as she pours liquor into his open mouth. 

Joe appears above Nile, blocking out the night’s sky. He grins down at her, glitter raining down from his hair. “You can’t be done already, this is your holiday.” She refuses to sit up just yet, but makes a grabby motion upwards to appease him. He obligingly passes a half-burnt sparkler over and then taps his against hers in a mock toast. 

“I still feel kind of weird celebrating,” she admits as Joe sits down beside her, watching Andy try to kick Nicky’s feet out from under him to steal back her cigarette. 

He hums, tilting his head in acknowledgement. “You’ll have many years to contemplate. But who knows when you’ll see that again,” he nods to where Nicky and Andy have come to a compromise, Andy riding piggyback while she holds the cigarette to his lips.

Nile snorts, sitting up and motioning for the last sparkler. Nicky had shot off the last real firework hours earlier with childlike glee.

“I guess it is July 16th anyway,” she says, “we could be celebrating anything. Fuck it. I’m celebrating electricity.” 

They’ve spent the last three months infiltrating a cult with known ties to a particularly nasty trafficking ring. Nicky and Andy were on the inside, trying to figure out where the money was coming from, while Joe and Nile had camped out in a shack a few miles away, listening to the others spit some particularly inventive slurs over the comms while they worked out the supply lines. 

Point being, Nile’s not feeling real patriotic. But they passed a run-down stand a few miles back advertising 75% O f all Fire orks!, the f and w lost to time, and Nicky had insisted they stop - the man’s never met an explosive he didn’t like. It’s close enough to the solstice that Andy had her annual itch to get blacked out next to a dangerously high fire, so, here they are. Celebrating something that isn’t quite the Fourth of July, but isn’t exactly not the Fourth of July either, existing in a liminal space between Nile’s waning national allegiances and a desperate homesickness ten years hasn’t been enough to shake. 

Joe, ever good at reading a room, lets the moment pass unremarked. He’s the best at that. Nicky gets caught off-guard by his own introspection, going suddenly quiet for days at a time. Andy doesn’t have much patience for the whole thing, she figures if she doesn’t know herself at this point then it’s all a lost cause anyway. Joe, on the other hand, thinks clearly, deeply, and at his own pace. Meaning he’ll probably have a lot to say on the complexities of celebrating problematic holidays a month from now, but that’s not going to stop him from making heart eyes at Nicky tonight. 

Nicky makes a grab for the last of the whiskey and Andy dodges, yanking all of her weight to the left so that they collapse to the ground together, rolling out of the fall. She springs up and gets a foot on Nicky’s chest, hamming it up as she downs the last of the bottle in victory. 

“My love, avenge me!” Nicky mimes dying, doing an appallingly poor job despite all his experience.

“Ah, but then who would carry on your memory?” Joe laments. 

Nile knocks her shoulder against his. “Looks like we’ve found the limits of your love at last,” she tells Nicky. “It was that gas station coffee.” 

Joe nods solemnly. “I can still feel its poison in my veins.” He lifts a hand shakily. “Even now, I’m too frail to walk.” 

Nicky bats Andy’s leg away, moving to stand up with the single-minded focus of the very drunk. “Good. Then it will be less work for me to get you on your back.” He struggles to get himself upright, which doesn’t bode well for his luck standing up anything else. 

Nile gags out of principle. By this point she’s all but immune to finding the two of them on any surface, at any time of the day, but she tries to remember she’s supposed to be offended at least once a week. 

Nicky collapses onto the ground beside them, rolling over to put his head on Joe’s lap. “I’ve missed you,” he says. 

Joe runs his fingers through Nicky’s hair. “And I, you.” 

These days, Nile knows that if she wakes first up and tastes rain, she should make sure Nicky has lemongrass tea. She knows Joe has never kept a pair of matching socks for more than a week but hates when one gets a hole in its heel, and that Andy loves cosmopolitans more than she will ever admit. She knows these people inside and out, but then occasionally they’ll do the most mundane shit and it’ll sneak up and hit her all again how long nine-hundred years really is. 

“Don’t you ever worry you’ll get tired of each other?” Nile asks absently, mostly joking. 

Nicky squints up at her, blinking through the alcohol. He pokes Joe in the chest. “She’s not making any sense.” 

Joe flicks his ear in admonishment. “Stop teasing her.” 

“No no, I’m serious,” Nile says, realizing as she says it that she is. Also possibly more drunk than she thought. “Like, what happens if you break up one day. How would that even work? I know you guys have the most epic romance in all of history, or whatever, but what happens if that ends? Am I going to have to swap weekends?”

“What’s romance have to do with it?” Nicky asks, propping himself up onto one elbow. 

Joe groans. “See what you’ve done?” 

Nicky hushes him. “I do not - choose - Joe. Choice is irrelevant.” 

Nile looks to Joe, who shrugs. “The last time I tried to remember my wife, some years ago, she ended up having Nicky eyes, his face,” he reaches down playfully, “his cock.” 

Nicky grinds up into his touch, relaxed and unashamed. 

“I am right here.” Nile pretends to shield her eyes.

Nicky makes a dismissive noise. “I would burn the world to the ground for Joe, and it would be an act of self-defense.” 

Joe makes a wounded noise then ducks down, pulling Nicky’s up to meet him halfway. Nile’s seen this show before, too much of this show before, and knows that’s her cue to leave. Or, in this case, wander the twenty feet away to where Andy’s set herself up with ‘smores. 

“They’ll fall asleep soon.” Andy passes her a sharpened stick with a marshmallow already speared. 

Nile shrugs. “It’s sweet, in a very X-rated kind of way.” She watches the marshmallow slowly brown, keeping her eyes carefully on the fire. “I just, I sometimes wonder if I’ll ever get something like that, you know?” 

“I don’t have a damn clue,” Andy says, reassuring as always. “But the world’s probably safer if you don’t.” 

[ivybucky]

dog tags and photographs - s.r. x fem!reader

Request from @moonstuffsteve : OK OK BUT CAN I REQUEST A STEVE FIC WHERE READER IS LIKE WASHING HIS UNIFORM AND FINDS A PICTURE OF HER IN THE SUIT AND GETS ALL HAPPY AND LIKE STEALS HIS DOGTAGS AND STEVE THINKS ITS THE CUTEST THING EVER THANK YOU

a/n: this was adorable and just so domestic so thank you Al! I’ve fallen into a nice little writing routine recently and ive been cranking these requests out like they’re NOTHING. as always, thanks for supporting my writing and fics i put out- i really want this blog to turn into something great, but i need to work on it a little bit more. 

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author: abby<3

words: 1385

cw: mention of stress, rough mission, domesticity, worry

Y/N smiled to herself as she listened to her boyfriend’s snores echoing through the apartment, something he swore he didn’t do. She had half a mind to record it, but the win wasn’t worth the fight.

She picked his uniform off the ground of the bedroom, shaking off whatever dust she could. His undershirt was thrown across the room next to the bed. She gathered it in her arms before looking towards his sleeping face. His hair had stuck to his forehead, sweat and dirt acting as an adhesive. Her nails picked at it, brushing it away from his face, before laying a sweet kiss to his forehead where his brows were drawn up with whatever dream he was having.

It wasn’t uncommon for her to wash Steve’s uniform. While he was definitely a gentleman, who would never make her do his laundry, Y/N took pride in doing this for him whenever he had a rough mission. He could sleep off the stress while you made sure he woke up to a stress and responsibility-free environment.

She huffed, walking towards the washer, making a mental reminder to set his combat boots out to dry the mud he tried to avoid tracking in. How many pockets does a combat suit need? You don’t see Nat with this many pockets. She knew how Steve was, how he had his own knives, and tools scattered between the fabric of his uniform. Opening every pocket was more of a chore than actually doing the washing, but it was part of the process.

Her hands brushed over soft paper, different from the usual metals that she found from extra bullets to blades. No, this was soft, pliable to her working fingers. She tugged the gently folded piece from his chest pocket. Curiosity grabbed a hold of her, urging her to unfold it and inspect it carefully. It was a photo of the two of them, when they had gone out for her birthday in the last month. He had pulled them to the park, stopping by her favorite store, and then taking a stroll. Y/N had convinced him to take pictures with the self timer on her polaroid, leading to him keeping the photo.

She hadn’t expected him to hold to it like this, folded neatly into the pocket of what he wore whenever he was away from her. She smiled, remembering how he had wrapped his arms around her that day, resting his chin at the juncture of her neck. Happy looked good on him.

She set the photo down in the basket she used to keep his things together, reminding herself to ask about it later. The washer rumbled slightly as the heavy fabric sloshed in the water.

“Sweetheart?” He called through the apartment, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“Hi sleepyhead,” she wrapped her arms around his middle. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Yeah, I think so. Where’s my-”

“In the wash, don’t worry about it.”

“Wait,” his back stiffened in panic. “Is it already running?”

“Baby, I said don’t worry I got everything out of the pockets.”

He paused again, cheeks going a little bit redder. “Everything?”

Y/N only smiled knowingly, reaching up to press a smile to his cheek. “Everything. Now what do you want for dinner?”

He smiled sheepishly, following her into the kitchen.

----

A couple of weeks had gone by and all Y/N felt was guilt. While she knew that she was caring enough in her relationship with Steve, she had sort of underestimated her importance to him. Important enough to carry a physical photograph in his uniform.

And while he obviously had held onto something of her while he was away, Y/N had yet to find something to bring her own self any kind of comfort. Most days spent alone while Steve was on a mission were spent trying to stay busy, to keep her mind off worrying. The missions where he couldn’t communicate were the worst. The only thing to keep her feet on the ground was their apartment. The way his scent lingers on the sheets, the small stack of drawing journals in the corner of their room, the record player sitting in the living room. While they were all things uniquely him, they weren’t close enough, needing to hold more meaning.

He was gone now, hundreds of miles away, doing what he did best - be a hero. Y/N’s knee bounced as she sat back on the couch, waiting for her boyfriend to return. He had sent a message hours ago, saying he was on his way back, saying not to wait up. She knew she would stay away as long as she could though, just to see him when he returned.

She tried to relax, wearing one of his large t-shirts and listening to a soft record as she waited. Time, however, was not kind and only continued to move slowly. With a sigh, she decided to do some chores, any chores that were left, to pass the time. That is when she saw them.

While Steve had amazing leadership skills, he was, in reality, quite forgetful when he wasn’t focused on doing his patriotic deeds. That’s why when Y/N moved to the bathroom to change out the towels and saw Steve’s dog tags on the counter, she paused. Thin metal was smooth through fingers, save for the imprints of his name and service numbers that her thumb ran over gently.

It was bittersweet, honestly - holding the thing that began Steve’s entire career, and not having him there to bring any kind of comfort. She pushed away whatever sadness remained, clutching the chain to her chest as she walked back to the living room. Without thinking too much about it, she slipped the necklace over her head, letting the tags hang just under her sternum.

Suddenly, she had something. Something with much more meaning than a scent, something tangible, something close enough. Her worried adrenaline left her body, and as she settled into the couch, she was able to fall asleep with ease for the first time since he had left.

--

Steve was almost worried when he entered the quiet apartment. His return was usually met with some kind of fanfare - a tight hug around his neck, a body scan for any injuries, an interrogation of his mental well-being. Tonight though, the apartment remained quiet as he shuffled through the threshold of the front door. His eyes swept over what he could see, finding nothing too out of place. Of course she cleaned. His ears, those genetically modified ears, however, picking up the slight snore, something she swore she didn’t do, of her sleeping form.

His feet carried him to the living room where she laid against the cushions, wrapped in his shirt, clutching his military tags in her hand. His shoulders dropped as he took in the sight, a new kind of relief hitting his body.

He crouched down, a dirty hand gently brushing the hair away from her forehead. “Y/N?”

“Mmm?” she mumbled, brows scrunching at the vibration of his voice. “Steve? You’re home.”

“Yeah, baby,” he smiled. “Want me to carry you to bed?”

Y/N rubbed her eyes as she nodded, tags falling from her fingers. He swept her up in his arms, thanking a god he had strength in his body. Her head rested against his chest, hand trailing over his heart. His mouth pressed a kiss to her forehead, adoring the sight before him.

“You wearing my tags?” he asked softly, not wanting to disturb whatever peace she still held onto.

“‘M sorry. Was missing you.”

“Shh, baby, don’t apologize.” He set her body down in the bed, pulling the sheets up over body. “You look better in them than I do.”

He left her to take a shower, but not before she called out for him, grabby hands sent in his direction. “Steve?”

“I’m coming right back, I just gotta wash off. I’m covered in sweat.”

“Don’t care. C’mere.”

He chuckled, slipping out of his uniform and saddling up next to her under the sheets. He kissed her head again, whispering words of love and comfort as she fell back into her slumber.

He had never been happier to fall asleep in his life.

forever tags: @avengers-do-it-better @maisondumepris​ @hamiltonwrite12​

steve and bucky tags: @fab-notfat​ @mcueveryday​ @nanners-the-great​ @mcubuckyandsteve @captainfile​ @moonstuffsteve​

steve only tags: @patzammit​

[sisterspooky1013]

Only One Choice, Part 2, Chapter 21

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

“Hi,” she greets him as he walks in the door, “I have something for you.”

She’s perched in the armchair, a smile that’s coy and playful curling the corners of her mouth. He gives her a curious smirk as he slips off his shoes and overcoat.

“Okay, like a gift?” he asks, crossing the room to plant a kiss on her lips, stealing another to enjoy the warm feeling of her mouth against his, which is chilled from the wintery air outside.

She shakes her head as he goes into the bedroom, changing into sweats and a T-shirt.

“You’re going to have to find it,” she calls from the other room, and he smiles to himself.

This is his favorite version of her; playful and flirtatious, quick to smile and laugh. He loves all aspects of her personality, but the rarity of this one makes it feel special. She almost never acts this way in front of anyone else, even her family; it feels like it’s just for him. He moves to stand at the threshold of the living room, leaning against the wall.

“Are you going to give me a hint?” he asks, and she considers the question with a thinking man pose.

“Well, I will tell you that right now you are very, very, cold,” she finally says.

His eyebrows lift in understanding and he walks back into the bedroom.

“Colder!” she calls, and he moves to the kitchen.

“Still cold.”

He walks to her desk.

“Mmm, slightly warmer.”

Next he steps close to the fireplace.

“A little warmer.”

He turns to look at her and narrows his eyes. He takes a step towards her.

“Oh, warmer.”

He stands directly in front of her chair.

“Getting hot,” she says with a playful lilt to her voice.

He drops to his knees between her legs.

“Very, very hot.”

He slips his fingers into the waistband of her pants.

“On fire,” She says with a smile.

He moves to pull her pants down and the tips of his fingers meet with something foreign near the top of her thigh. He quirks his head quizzically, fitting his whole hand into her pant leg and pulling out two long strips of cardstock. Airline tickets.

“How do you feel about a California Christmas?” she asks hopefully, and he looks at the tickets to see that the destination is San Diego, December 22nd.

He knew that she and her mother had been talking about flying out to see Bill for the holiday, but he’d assumed that he’d be left at home.

“What about Priscilla?” he asks, both touched that she wants to include him in her family’s celebration and nervous about meeting her older brother, who he understands will hate him by default.

“We can ask the Gunmen to look after her,” she offers. “Unless you don’t want to come with me?”

He can tell by her tone that it’s not meant to be a way for him to opt out, but a test of his willingness to go. She clearly wants him to.

“Of course I want to go with you,” he replies, moving close and wrapping his arms around her waist. “I will admit to being a little worried about meeting your brother, and in his home, on his turf.”

She gives him a sympathetic smile. “Don’t worry too much about Bill. Missy and Charlie are going, and Mom of course, and they love you. I know Tara will too. So even if he does pull the big brother card and give you a hard time, we have strength in numbers.”

“Is Byers going?” he asks hopefully, and she shakes her head. “Missy only just barely told Mom about him. It’s too soon for them.”

“But not for us?” he asks with the smile he reserves for the times when she alludes to the seriousness of their commitment.

She shakes her head slowly. “Not for us,” she says.

———

“Oh my god, I’m going to lose my mind, Mulder.”

She’s pacing around the apartment, putting things into different piles and open suitcases, her level of stress palpable in the air.

“Honey, stop for a second,” he says, grabbing her by the shoulders and dipping his head to meet her eye. “Take a deep breath,” he instructs, waiting as she does so. “We don’t need to leave for the airport for another twelve hours,” he says, keeping his own tone calm and level to counter hers, “we have plenty of time to pack.”

“It’s not just the packing, Mulder, this entire week was a nightmare. Everything I was hoping to accomplish before this trip was waylaid in one way or another; I missed my doctor’s appointment because of an emergency autopsy and forgot to reschedule it before they closed on Friday, Trudy was out sick half the week so I had to absorb her workload, the dry cleaners lost the dress I was going to bring for Christmas Eve mass, Priscilla is out of food AND litter, and I can’t find my earplugs for the plane,” she rattles off.

He pulls her into a hug, feeling her relax a bit with the contact.

“I will go pick up cat food, litter and earplugs,” he says, pulling away to look at her again, “and I’ll remind you to call the doctor tomorrow and reschedule. Wear that blue dress with the little flowers on it to mass, it looks beautiful on you. And try to breathe,” he finishes, giving her a sympathetic smile.

She forces a small smile onto her mouth and takes another deep breath. “Thank you,” she says quietly.

He pours her a big glass of wine before bundling himself up against the cold and venturing out into the December night.

———

She glances at Mulder intermittently, watching for signs of overwhelm. She knows that coming from a small, dysfunctional family means that he’s not accustomed to the type of gathering they are currently entrenched in; the entire Scully clan plus Tara’s parents and brother, and several members of their church. He seems to be faring okay, sipping a beer while talking sports with Charlie and a few others.

As nervous as he’d been about meeting Bill, he was well prepared. Scully directed him to speak highly of the Chargers while eviscerating the Patriots, and to go easy on the PDA. While they aren’t exactly best friends, Bill doesn’t seem to actively dislike him, and they are calling that a win.

She’d fully expected them to be set up in separate rooms given Bill’s traditional family values, but the number of people who needed to be housed made that impractical. They ended up relegated to the guest room and a single twin bed, though the enormous stack of pillows and blankets arranged on it suggest that one of them is expected to make a bed on the floor. They don’t do that, of course, instead sleeping nested together like spoons, Mulder continuously making half-hearted attempts at getting frisky while she laughs and slaps his hand away.

They are dressed for midnight mass on Christmas Eve, Scully in her flowered blue dress and Mulder in one of his typical weekday suits. They sit in the pew between Mom and Charlie, hands clasped chastely on the bench between them, suppressing giggles as he leans over to warn her that he is at risk of bursting into flame. He traces patterns on her palm with his index finger and she realizes at some point that they are letters. She concentrates, trying to understand his message, expecting it to be ‘I love you’ or something similarly sweet. When she puts together that he is spelling out ‘sex tonight?’ she looks over at him with wide eyes and then purses her lips together tightly to keep from laughing, doing her best to glare at him.

They file sleepily through the door at nearly 2am, quietly going off into their respective bedrooms and pull-out couches, hoping to get some rest before Christmas festivities in the morning. Scully quickly brushes her teeth and washes her face before darting to the bedroom, wriggling under the covers and pressing her back against Mulder, her cold toes brushing against his shins.

“Hm, you’re cold,” he says softly, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her closer.

“Thanks for going to mass,” she whispers back, “it meant a lot to my mom to have all of us there.”

“Thanks for inviting me,” he answers, his breath hot on her neck, “it’s nice to feel like a part of a real family.”

She threads her fingers through his where they rest on her belly, squeezing his hand. She tries to go to sleep, but his chest rising and falling against her back and the heat of his groin tucked against her backside are distracting. She wiggles a little bit against him.

“Hmmm,” he responds, thrusting his hips against her gently.

She swore that she was not going to have sex at her brother’s house. She knows that they can go without for the week they are here. But as she feels him grow hard against her ass, the throbbing between her legs suggests otherwise. No doubt it’s exacerbated by the forbidden nature of the situation; the door doesn’t have a lock and the house is quiet and still, though packed with enough ears that the risk of being heard is high. When his lips press against the back of her neck, she knows she’s done for.

She reaches behind herself to slip her hand into his pajama pants, stroking him firmly as he breathes hard into her ear, suppressing the groan that she knows would normally result from her touch. He pushes his pants down to his knees with one hand, then hurriedly brings hers down as well. She emits a small gasp when he slips inside her, simultaneously pushing his hand under her pajama top to squeeze her breast.

“Jesus fuck, you’re wet,” he whispers harshly in her ear, and she wants to make a joke about not taking the lord’s name in vain on his birthday but when he starts pumping in and out deliciously slowly, the thought slips from her mind.

If he moves too quickly the bed squeaks, so he keeps a languid pace as he pinches her nipples and kisses her neck, then slides his hand down to play with her clit in the tight space between her legs, which are still pinned together by the pajama pants around her knees. It feels incredible, and yet the necessary slowness and need to stay quiet make her wonder if she will be able to come. As if intuiting this, Mulder withdraws momentarily, sitting up and freeing her top leg from her pants, then lies back down and hitches her ankle behind his knee; her favorite position. He pulls the blanket back over them for warmth and modesty, though if anyone were to walk in now they’d have no chance of plausible deniability. With more room to move, he resumes his slow strokes and pairs them with hard and fast circles around her clit, murmuring little affirmations into her ear so softly she can barely hear them, much less anyone else. The vibration of his voice, the slip of his cock, the rough brush of his fingers, all come together in crescendo as she stiffens in his arms, turning to muffle her cries against his mouth as she comes. Now able to focus on his own release, he continues to pump slowly, pressing his face into her neck and letting out a low growl as she feels him throbbing inside her.

He slips quietly out of the bed, retrieving one of his dirty T shirts and swiping it between her legs before he pulls her pajama pants back into place. They get comfortable again, the sexual tension that had prevented them from relaxing before now dissipated.

He kisses her cheek softly, murmuring “Merry Christmas, Scully,” into her ear just before she drifts off to sleep.

In the morning, they sit around the lit tree, drinking coffee and eating pastries as they shake off sleep.

“Is your house haunted, Bill?” Charlie asks, and Bill gives him a doubtful look. “I swear I heard some weird noises, like creaking and whispering, I felt like I was in a horror movie,” Charlie defends.

Scully hides her face behind her coffee cup, glancing over to see Missy giving her a pointed look.

“I’m sure it was just the Christmas spirit,” Maggie says jovially. “Who wants to open presents?!”

[silverdragonoid]

Strength & Vision [Swain x Darius OS]

A/N: I’m posting this fic here for now because it’s short and I plan to write more little things like these for LoL in the fututre, and put them in a collection when there’s more. Starting with a Swain fic because I’m brainrotting and this scene is haunting me. He’s so hard but so fun to write. I hope you enjoy this take on their dynamic. This story is full of tenderness but still here are the

Warnings: Spoilers for ‘Blood of Noxus’ comic, grief, mild manipulation

Lenght: 947 words

“Darius! Are you paying attention?”

“Hm?”

Darius’s mind returns to where he’s sitting on a chair in the Grand General’s dark bedroom. His gaze snaps back to the figure standing in front of him which is poorly lit by the moon. Swain’s red eyes pierce through the darkness, but Darius has known him for too long to feel unsettled. He simply says nothing and drops his gaze.

More often than not, the Hand of Noxus is where the battle calls him to, wherever that might be, which leaves little time for rest or togetherness. Swain mostly stays in the capital, wherefore he was about to update his partner on every change he should be aware of, until said partner stopped listening. It’s not like him to lose focus.

“What is it?” Swain asks in a soft tone and cups Darius’s cheek with his right hand.

Darius relaxes his shoulders. "Quill…"

Swain knows what happened, has seen it within Darius when he has used his demon on him to secure their trust. So he knows how hurt the strong man really is by that betrayal.

"I know you miss her. The old Quill," Swain empathizes. Darius loved the strong and patriotic warrior who fought alongside him, not a broken fool. She is no more, both of them. And Darius has yet to learn to move on. But Swain will be patient with him - with the only man he can trust.

The younger man speaks up: "I'm trying to understand how it could come to this."

Swain tenses up and answers in an austere tone: "Our vision requires sacrifices. She forgot that and became one.”

Now, that worked Darius up. His features twist in frustration and he shakes his head. She grew up knowing the meaning of war. “But it makes no sense. She was the one who taught these lessons to children and soldiers. She encouraged others to send our sons and daughters to fight and spill their blood for Noxus. But when her own son fell in battle she switched sides!”

The Grand General takes Darius’s face in both hands - the warm energy from the demon a familiar feeling to his skin - and forces him to look him in the face. Wild eyes meet determined ones.

When Swain speaks, he doesn’t sound aggressive or taunting, just serious: “Sometimes, humans don’t make sense. Sometimes, humans are selfish. Quilletta had flaws - don’t let her become yours.”

Darius feels ashamed by the way his emotions got the better of him for a minute. That’s not like him. He regains his hardened composure and says: “I’m sorry, Jericho. This was a moment of weakness.”

The human hand on his face slides up to stroke his hair before soft lips touch his forehead. “Don’t be,” Swain whispers, “I know no greater man than you.”

The taller man smiles. “I know one,” he says, “I’m looking up to him right now.”

Even someone cold-blooded as Swain can’t help his fluttering heart.

They are equals - Swain ensured that - yet they have this game going on between them where they like to put the other on a pedestal. And to hear such things from a man like Darius means more to the mage than most things in his life. Because in Darius he sees the embodiment of Noxus, the essence of their vision. The vision of a strong, unified world in which everyone gets what they’ve worked for and everyone can achieve anything on their own - if they have the guts for it.

Finally, Swain allows his features to soften as well. “Be careful with your words, Darius, or you might steal an old fool's heart.”

And it’s the fact that only they have the privilege to see one another like this that makes them hold on onto each other.

Darius rises from his seat and wraps his hands around Swain's waist before leaning in for a kiss. Swain reciprocates tenderly. Fortunately, Swain is a tall man, yet they have to strain their necks because of Darius's height.

After they pull away, Darius takes a step backwards to properly look at him, keeping his grip tight. Swain can tell that he's still troubled.

"Jericho…" he makes a pause but Swain doesn’t rush him, "Who did you have to sacrifice for this?"

"I killed my parents."

The answer came with no hesitation. He looks at Darius with emotionless eyes. Personally, Swain doesn't consider them as sacrifices, but he doesn't say that.

Darius is silent for a moment. He didn't expect this answer although he's heard of the executions.

He proceeds: “Was it hard to do it?”

It wasn’t.

“I don’t remember,” Swain opts to say instead.

“Do you regret it?”

Of course not.

“Not for a second,” came the reply instantly. Then, the visionary fills his voice and his eyes with conviction, leaving no room for doubt, as he adds: “It was a necessity that proved itself worthy; only on that account are we here now. Every drop of spilled blood will be worth it when our dream of Noxus comes true.”

“I know it will!” Darius, infected by Swain’s spirit, drops his hands to his sides and clenches his fists. A fire blazing beneath his surface makes him nearly tremble. “And I won’t disappoint you.”

Swain strokes his face and whispers, almost reverently: “You could never.” His gaze is the closest to loving it can get - this time sincere.

Darius smiles briefly, grateful for the faith of his companion.

“I am aware of that, right now, we are paving the way for the future,” he speaks, “and that we won’t live to the day when our efforts will come to fruition, but I know it’s fine because I’ll die with the satisfaction that the nation from your vision will be established.”

In response, Swain grabs Darius’s hands. “Our vision, Darius. Our all.”

~~~

A/N: this is by far not my best work but I guess I’ll need these sorts of outlets often when I focus on one long project in the future. next time will be a different ship tho. if you wanna chat about these brainwashed dudes or anything else, you can always dm me :3 and pls read the wild rift comic ‘Noxian Brotherhood’ if you haven’t yet because it’s precious for no reason. thanks to @jacepens for beta’ing this<3

[elionwriter]

PROMPT / DRAPLE OF A POSSIBLE FUTURE FIC (PART 2):

"I need your help, Mando" says Greef Karga in his holo-message one day. "I know how busy you are lately, I wouldn't ask if it wasn't so important and I didn't need someone I trust on this". When Din answers the call he learns the details of the mission: Greef had taken so much at heart the renovation and improvement of Nevarro that he had made contact and tried to help cells of patriots of other planets that wanted to attempt the same. One of said groups, on a backwashed planet of the Rim, was having some troubles with a Crime syndicate that thought their efforts would do bad for business. Din's mission was to meet these people and help them plan a strike against the criminal organisation.

Upon reaching the planet and looking around, Din sighs, thinking that it would take a miracle to rehabilitate the place. Everything and everyone is so dirty that he wonders how an epidemic hasn't broken out, the people looks like little, feral animals rather than sentients and he's pretty sure there are some commercial traffics going on that had been banned long before the Empire. Then again, he isn't really surprised, the laws and enforcements of the New Republic don't reach this part of the Galaxy, these planets don't even have representatives in the Senate to speak up for them. They're on their own.

It's as Din is waiting in a crowded square for his contact to arrive that he catches a set of eyes fixed on him. He had felt someone following him from the moment he had left his ship but they hadn't come out yet. He looks down at the creature staring at him with hudge magenta eyes, three of them, and quickly realises it's a child, a girl. She's of a species he has never seen before, with bright yellow skin and feathers covering her head (the yellow and fluff or her feathers is dampered by the grease and dirt), she has four feathery arms and bony legs. She smiles brightly at him and waves. "Need anything, kid?" He asks. "You're sooooo shiny and cool! Can I be your friend?" She asks, voice full of awe. There is no deception in that statement and Din chuckles at it. Patiently he tries to shoo away the child telling her that he is waiting for someone and that things are about to get dangerous.

She's completely undeterred by his words, smile still plastered on her face. So he follows a different line: "Shouldn't you go back to your parents?" " No." "Are they around here?" "No" "Aren't they worried you're out here on your own?" "No" He considers it a moment then asks "Do you...have parents?" "No" she answers with the same airly smile of before. "Anyone that takes care of you?" "No" "A home to go back to?" "No" "Friends...?" "Everyone is my friend. Do you also want to be my friend?" Din sighs, starting to loose patients, wondering what the hell is his contact waiting for to show up. Before he can say anything else the kid points at his blaster "Did you kill anyone with that?" "Yes, I did." "Cooool! Was it a really bad guy? Did a lot of blood come out?" As a last resort Din pulls out a handful of credits and proposes "If I buy you something to eat, will you leave?" She thinks it over a second and asks "can I have caramelled Meiloorun?" Din nods "Even the big one?" Din gets her the treat and watches her skip away happily. It's not long after that he is approached by the right hand man of the organisation he's supposed to aid.

He is brought back to their headquarters and they discuss matters out. Din is surprised to find that they are a group of very level minded and shrewd kids with very good projects for the future and feels more prompted to help them out. They study a plan to strike against the criminal organisation and call it a night. Din is welcomed to stay at their place. As he steps out of the run down building to catch a breather and take a look around he finds the same kid from before waiting for him outside. He asks how long she has been standing there and finds she had been standing there for almost the entirety of his stay. "Hadn't we agreed that you would leave?" He asks "I did leave. Then I came back!" Din sighs. She asks for his name but luckily doesn't really wait for an answer before giving her own. "My name is Ky'lla. Are we friends now?" Din tries very hard to mentally create an interference over the name. Learning her name is definitely not wise and he wonders why she is so stubborn on the idea of befriending him of all people. But as he notices the way she studies with shiny eyes his armour he thinks he starts to understand. "Are you following me because you like my armour?" "Yes! I like shiny things and this is the shiniest thing I've ever seen! Also, you're big and buff and you're really nice too! You bought me candy! Nobody ever buys me candy!" She says excitedly. Din known he shouldn't ask but the question is out before he can stop himself. "Where do you come from? What happened to your family?" She thinks it over a moment then points her finger towards the sky "My homeworld is in that direction. I came here with mom, but mom died a long time ago'. It's sad but I have a lot of friends now." Something tells Din that all the "friends" she talks about are just a bunch of random strangers and passer bye; that befriending everyone she meets is the kid's subconscious response to her loss. "Don't you remember the name of your planet? Or of any planet nearby?" "No. But I am pretty sure it's in that direction" she says pointing in a different position of the sky altogether. "And...were the people of your planet all of your same species?" "Yes, they were." Great, Din thinks, there's really nothing he can do for Ky'l..THE KID considering he has no idea where "there" in space is and has never seen anyone of her likes before. He sees her yawning. Well, there is one thing he can do. "Do you have anywhere to sleep?" "There's the back alley a few streets over with comphy sacks..." She answers and Din pushes her inside the building "tonight you're sleeping in here" he says directing her towards the room meant for him. She flops over on the bed and asks "can you tell me a story?" "Go to sleep" "But if you killed people you must know stories of battles and duels! Can you tell me the most scary one you know?" Din sighs but for some reason finds himself flopping on the floor, near the bed and telling her what they told him, the first nights he was brought into the covert, of the Mythosaurs and how the Mandalorians learned to tame and fly them. He falls asleep as the words and memories cling to him, as he envisions the pendant with the Mythosaur skull he had given Grogu. The pain for loss of him spreads through his tired body like a fresh wound. Ky'lla falls asleep whispering with awe the word "Mandalorian".

In the morning, he wakes her up, gives her a few ration packs and tells her that she really must stop following him now. For the first time she looks actually sad, but doesn't protest as she goes.

Din catches up with the rest of the group and together they prepare the assault to the criminal syndacate's main objective. At first everything goes as planned but quickly things get messy. Din realizes he has to expose himself more than he intended. Firing up the jetpack, he flies up to the targeted power generator and places a frag mine over it. He fires at will at all the enemies that try to approach but one expecially sneaky killer works his way behind him and, preparing his sniper rifle, aims at a junction in between Din's armour. Din notices him a moment too late as the trigger snaps. He braces for an impact that doesn't come. He looks at the man with surprise and finds terror and bewildermente on the other's face as well as he tries to fire over and over. The rifle is insistently empty. Din takes the moment and turns it to his advantage firing his own blaster which knocks the assassin down cold. "I was the one to steal the rifle's charges. Was I good or what!?" Chirpes in a familiar voice. Din is only partially surprised to find Ky'lla popping out of nowhere, proudly waving the rifle's cartridge around. He wants to thank her, ask her how in kriffin hell she managed that and scold her for putting herself in danger's way for him but his pragmatic mind refrained from that. He quickly pulls the child in his arms and flies them both away from there moments before the charge on the power generator goes off in a hudge explosion. "Whoaaa" Ky'lla exclaimes over his shoulder as flames and electric shocks destroy the surrounding space. The patriots cheer happily below as the last standing members of the criminal syndacate run away.

Din is celebrated like a hero but he pays the compliments no mind. One of the young women of the group cuts off a ringed finger from one of their victims and tosses it to Din "there's a hudge bounty on this one! You should collect it, it's the least we can do to thank you." Din accepts the prize and parts ways with the group, Ky'lla following him around like a shadow. When he reaches his new ship and opens the ramp to it Ky'lla takes a shy step backwards and says "I guess it's goodbye, then. It was nice being your friend..." Din smirks at her from behind the helmet and says "Do you really think I don't know you're just going to sneak into the ship somehow? Let's save time and come in." Ky'lla looks at him in disbelief "you really mean it?!" Din signals her to follow and with a high pitched squeel she goes to hug his legs. "I've got some friends, I'm sure one of them will accept to take care of you" he says, even as part of him already knows that the kid will stick to his side.

Din prepares the launch sequence and soon they are travelling in hyper space. He sends Ky'lla to immediately take a shower in the 'fresher and in the meantime he sends a message to Karga to report on the end of the mission and to prepare the money for the bounty he collected.

Ky'lla comes back to the cockpit looking ten times brighter and fluffier than she did before. "Since I'm staying with you for a while, can you teach me to fight like you do?!" Asks the child. "I could be very good! With four arms I could grab the bad guys from the scruff and tickle them to death!" She says stating her case. "Do you really want that? It's a difficult and intense training..." "Sure! And can I have an armour like yours too?!" "You must become a Mandalorian and earn each piece of it to have one." He says carefully testing the ground. "Then that's what I want to be: a Mandalorian! Can I?" "Well, technically everyone can become a Mandalorian..." "THAT'S AWESOME! Till yesterday I was no one and now I'm gonna become a Mandalorian!!! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" The child starts running around bursting at the seams with happiness. Din laughs. "I want to learn everything there is to know about Mandalorians!" She exclaims and Din sighs out a "Yeah, so do I" "Why, don't you know everything about them already? You are one" He explains that there are very few Mandalorians left, that a lot of their history and culture has been wiped out and that he had very limited access to what was left growing up.

Eventually, the kid tires out and falls asleep in her seat. Din looks back at her and replays all the recent events in his mind, trying to figure out just how he found himself with a new kid under his responsibility. This had been a wrong move. The last time he did so broke his heart and even if it was the right thing to do, he doesn't know if he can get over that same loss again. His latest adventure however lights up a sudden and inspired idea in his mind. He reaches for the console and sends out two holo messages. One to Luke Skywalker and the other to Bo-katan Kryze asking her where to meet up and stating with confidence that he has a proposition for her.

[storiesandgarbage]

Ticket Holders Only

Pairings: Steve Rodgers x reader

Style: One-shot

Warnings: None really

Word Count: 2k

Summary: The morale tour had special backstage passes and you managed to win one. Meeting first a boy named Dakota and then the Avengers leads to Steve Rodgers failing desperately at trying to flirt with you. Until he gets a second chance that is...

A/N: Hi! I am working on building my blog up some so here’s another one shot to enjoy! As a tease I just want to inform that I am working on a multi-chapter fic that I will be posting once I make a bit of headway into the story line! Thanks so much for reading lovelies <3

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Steven Rogers, Mister Patriot, Captain America himself. You were finally going to meet him and you were absolutely stoked. You waited in line, clutching the ticket that was the key to this moment. When it was announced in February that the Avengers were doing a morale tour you honestly didn’t get why it was necessary. So much of the country was angry after the events of New York and Sokovia, blaming the Avengers when there were greater powers that caused the havoc, they just put a stop to it. Regardless, the morale tour seemed to be an attempt at gaining the trust of the citizens again and while they already had your trust and more, you weren’t going to miss the chance to be persuaded again.

Admission was free, and there was an opportunity for loads of free stuff, lots of it printed with large STARK logos, but the tickets you had, they were definitely not free. You managed to get yours through a local radio contest, when the morale tour was announced everyone wanted in on it one way or another. The tickets at regular price went to a national charity, but it was clear that not everyone could afford them so there were a very limited number, about 50 tickets in total that were sent out and radio stations had silly contests in order to give them away. You had won yours purely out of luck, you hadn’t even known the station you were listening to was one who had tickets to give, it must’ve been fate that you had been driving that day when the contest happened. Though it did make you nearly wreck your car when you heard it was time to give one away.

 After the admittedly silly stage show you followed the instructions to gather in an area of the lobby. There were about 100 other people around you, most of whom it seemed, based on your overhearing had purchased their tickets. They all gossiped about who they had decided to meet. That was the deal, one ticket, one Avenger. Your choice had been a no brainer, though it seemed not everyone else had the same ease.

While you were waiting what seemed to be an incredibly long time you noticed a boy, sitting in a wheelchair and the blue colored t-shirt he wore bore the words, “Make a Wish”. Your heart immediately hurt. More so than anything because it seemed that the boy was being deliberately avoided by everyone gathered there. Every time someone would stand nearby he would attempt to talk to them but they only politely responded before turning away. His face was beginning to fall but you would be damned if that were going to happen to anyone. You walked over and stuck your hand out.

“Hi, I’m Y/N, what’s your name?” The boy hesitated before reaching out and shaking your hand.

 “I’m Dakota,” he smiled shyly.

“Who are you going to be meeting today?” You asked him, genuinely curious who someone in his position would use their wish on.

“Oh,” he paused, blushing, “I’m meeting all of them.” Your mouth dropped open involuntarily. You were pretty impressed, that was a wish well spent.

“No way!” You exclaimed. “That is so cool!”

 “Yeah, that’s kind of what’s taking so long, the wish people are in there talking to them right now, before they let me in, then I guess they’ll split up like they’re supposed to for everyone else.” He seemed embarrassed, mostly that he was making other people wait to meet the Avengers, as if they would suddenly disappear an hour from now.

“Hey man, don’t worry about it. Patience is a virtue and trust me, everyone here wouldn’t care if they had to wait ten minutes or ten years, they’re just excited for the opportunity at all. Dakota smiled at you then, grateful for your kind words. You chatted a bit about who was your favorite Avenger and who his truly was. You both agreed that the Winter Soldier was pretty cool and while Iron Man was his guy, he respected the admiration of good ole Cap. You silently hoped that this group of people lived up to his expectations. You could sense that he was a good person. After fifteen or so minutes the Wish people and Dakota’s family came out to retrieve him. You smiled at him and gave a small wave.

“Have a great time my dude, don’t forget to show them your drawings!” You were sad to see your new friend go so quickly but you knew he was about to have the time of his life.

“Wait, Y/N” Dakota called out before you could walk away, “why don’t you come with me?” You were stunned, he wanted to share his wish moment with you?

“Are, are you sure?” You asked and looked to the group surrounding Dakota.

“Of course I’m sure! You’re the first person to treat me like an actual human being, not just some sick kid in a long time. I’d be honored if you joined.” The wish people behind Dakota nodded at you, letting you know that you had their permission to join him.

“Well if you insist! Now I can see you tell them that joke you mentioned!” You followed alongside Dakota into the next room over, a conference room and along the far wall the Avengers all stood, waiting for him. He wheeled right up to them and they all began talking and fighting for his attention, the young boy absolutely beamed at their attention. After a few moments he looked back to you, you stood in the corner not wanting to steal his moment. He motioned for you to come over and you did.

“Avengers, this is my friend, Y/N,” He beamed up at you. You looked to the group of frankly intimidating people in front of you and just smiled meekly. The next thirty minutes were one of wonder for you. Each of the members talked to you and to Dakota and you laughed with them, they felt strangely like home. It didn’t hurt that the entire time a certain Captain couldn’t keep his eyes off of you.

“Hi, Y/N, Steve Rodgers,” He stuck his hand out to you and you nearly fainted as you reached out to shake it. You smiled and spoke to him about silly little things, revealing the act that had led you to being able to come in with Dakota. Steve expressed his admiration of your act, he was absolutely smitten with the fact that you went out of your way to make a stranger feel better, not at all knowing his story. You blushed when he complimented you, your heart absolutely melting. Too soon though Dakota grew tired, it was evident and his parents told him it was time to go. He rolled over to your side and told you he was leaving.

“I’ll come with ya bud,” you told him, “I’ll have to get your phone number on the way!” You started to leave and Steve called after you.

“Y/N!” You stopped and turned around, “it was uh, it was really great meeting you, and you too Dakota.” He said lamely hand gripping the back of his neck, obviously flustered. You smiled and waved at him before turning around and walking out the door. You heart was racing, did that really just happen?

As the door closed behind you Bucky turned to Steve, “Well way to go Captain Dumbass” he laughed at his friend who blushed immediately. “Did you even try to ask for her number?” Steve shook his head and looked to Bucky.

“How is it that even after being on earth for 95 years I’m still absolutely horrible at talking to women?” Steve groaned, Bucky just laughed and patted him on the back, leading him to his designated area to meet the rest of the ticket holders.

You parted ways with Dakota, your phone number programmed into his phone and a promise from you to come visit him sealed your friendship. It was only a few seconds after he was out of sight that your heart dropped. You reached into your purse.

“Noooooo,” you groaned, pulling out your vintage Captain America trading card, “I’m such an idiot!” You had wanted Steve to sign it, it was a prized possession of yours and among the excitement you had forgotten. But, you realized you still had that precious ticket in your purse as well.

You ran back to the lines, each group separated by which Avenger they were to meet. You jumped in at the end of Captain’s line and peeked around, there were only about 15 people in front of you, and the lines were moving pretty quickly. You looked down at the card in your hand, smiling because you were going to get to see him again.

When you entered the room there were only a few stragglers left with you trying to get their time with their designated Avenger. You stepped up to the rope which signified you were next to meet Captain America and waited while he talked to another girl and took a selfie with her. You smiled at the way he tried to work the smart phone she owned. He was obviously not very good with technology but he was trying so hard to get a good picture for the girl. She thanked him profusely after she was done and walked away. When he turned to look at you he stopped dead in his tracks.

“Y/N,” he said in disbelief, “how did you?”

“Well, I still hadn’t used my ticket, and I forgot something very important the last time we met.” You explained and he smiled, coming over to you. You held out the card and a sharpie to him.

“I know it’s lame but I’ve had this since I was a little girl, I always looked up to the great Captain America,” you were teasing him and he blushed at your comments. “Please sign it?” You asked him and he immediately obliged, signing the card and handing it back to you.

“Did you, um want a picture as well? Lots of people wanted pictures.” His eyes met yours and your heart skipped a beat.

“Um yeah sure, that would be great!” You reached into your purse and pulled out your phone. He took it from you almost instantly and opened the camera app.

“Now I’m not great at this, but I’m trying to learn,” he offered and you just smiled, coming to his side, he positioned the camera and wrapped a hand around your waist. He took the picture just as you had looked over to him in utter shock. Then another when you looked back to the camera and smiled.

When he was done he opened up the photos, “just want to be sure they look okay” and smiled at your phone. When he handed it back to you he was grinning.

“They’re good pictures,” he decided, you went to open them yourself and take a peak.

“Thank you, so much,” you said, gazing at the photo where you were looking at him. “These are great!”

“And I uh, I put my number in there too.” He said, shy again, “You know, in case you ever wanted to call me.” You looked up into his eyes and dug your fingernail into your palm to make sure you weren’t dreaming. It hurt. Definitely not a dream.

You opened the contacts and saw “Steve Rodgers” on your screen you immediately hit dial and brought the phone to your ear. A few feet away a table held Steve’s phone which immediately starting ringing. Bucky who had been watching the entire exchange picked up the phone and tossed it to Steve who answered.

“I just wanted to check and make sure it was right,” you stated, eyes still locked with his, heart racing.

“And are you satisfied with the outcome?” He asked, hopeful.

“I think I just might be.” You smiled at him and hung up the phone call. “Well thanks again, Captain, it was really wonderful meeting you.” Your tone was teasing, he could tell you were making fun of his earlier statement and just smiled and waved before you turned to walk out the door. As you went you passed Bucky who was holding in a laugh and shaking his head at the two of you. He was glad to see his friend had successfully flirted, and it had only taken two attempts and a trading card to get there.

[qm-vox]

Sigilverse Fanfic - What You Think of Death

Author’s Note: This is my first commissioned work, where I got paid money like some kind of fucking adult or something. The talented @periakman performed the secret and forbidden rite of Throwing Money At Authors to acquire a fic set in her Sigilverse, placed well away from the events and characters of her ongoing novel series.

(I still haven’t had the chance to read Heroes of the Sigil yet so don’t fucking spoil me on it)

The following needs content warnings for violence, mentions of suicide, and child abuse.

Westkill Academy, Westkill. Spring Apprentice Exams

Something was wrong. How Monika knew this when she couldn’t tell you what ‘right’ was supposed to look like at knife-point was a bit beyond her, but she knew something was wrong the same way she knew her dreads were in her eyes or the ball of energy in front of her wouldn’t stop twitching and whipping around her.

The pale warlock had something to do with it.

If someone told Monika that the pale warlock had been pulled from a novel cover and brought to life, she might just believe it. She’d been introduced as Deirdre of Shorne, the Silencer, and amidst the rainbow of color and smiles around her she stood out like a jagged knife in a toybox, with her cloak of iron ringlets (dully grey-black, going to rust red at the edges in a way that almost seemed deliberate), her heavy metal boots and gloves - gauntlets? - and that belt, a steel mesh affair festooned with vials, syringes, and strange rods tipped in some kind of bulb. Monika thought they looked like the budding flowers on the school grounds, complete with thorns.

The other professional warlocks, all of them here to potentially select an apprentice, had been asking questions of the other students, observing them with some interest, fidgeting in their seats, and generally being living people with their asses in chairs not quite made for living people. Not Deirdre though. She’d been staring at Monika ever since the testing had started, with an uncomfortable intensity. Monika just knew she was going to have nightmares about it later. Something about that stare wasn’t right.

“How far does the ball usually move for you?” one of the other professionals asked, jolting Monika out of her reverie. She brushed her hair out of her face and straightened up.

“Far, sir,” Monika answered. “I can keep it going in a room for a long time, usually. I had it going for more than an hour once, until…”

“Until?”

Behind Monika, her friend Kip spoke up: “I opened the window to let some air in.”

Everyone had a small laugh, the kids nervously, the adults with a certain warmth.

But not the pale warlock. Monika met her stare, just trying to get her to stop, and was surprised to see Deirdre raise her eyebrows. There was a clinking and rustling, metal-on-metal, that came from Deirdre standing up.

“Tell me what you think of death,” Deirdre asked. Her voice was light, but oddly rough, like the scrape of a boot against fine gravel.

“I hardly think -” Head Raul, master of the Academy and minister of the test, began, only to immediately stop. Monika and her peers stared in shock; there were tears in Raul’s eyes, and his throat worked furiously as he choked back sudden sobs.

Deirdre turned her head ever-so-slightly. “If I want your opinions on my work, or what I need in an apprentice, I will give them to you. Interrupt me again and I will mop this floor with your sanity, pencil-pusher. Now,” here she turned those dead green eyes back to Monika, “tell me what you think of death.”

Monika swallowed. The other adults were looking between Deirdre and Raul, some angry, others with wide eyes and shaking hands, but none of them made a move to interrupt them. Monika opened her mouth, but no words came out.

The student warlock took a deep breath to compose herself. “Death is bad, ma’am.”

“Interesting sentiment from someone who seems hard-up to go to war,” Deirdre commented, gesturing with the packet of student information in her hand. “Or someone who’s been in as many fights as you.”

“That’s not - soldiers protect people!”

“With what, harsh language?” Deirdre’s eyebrows raised again, lending an air of life to her dead eyes. “Or is it that death is a buyer’s market for you and you figure you can get it cheap on the front.”

“Deirdre -” Another professional began, this one at the edge of their group.

“How badly do you want my attention?” the pale warlock asked without turning her head. The man who’d spoken sagged in his seat and didn’t answer.

“I don’t want to die, ma’am,” Monika replied into the silence that followed. “I just want to make a difference.”

Deirdre scoffed and sat back down. No one else seemed inclined to move or speak, but there was still testing to get on with. After a few long, agonizing minutes, Head Raul managed to pull himself together enough to thank Monika for her time and invite her to sit back down. She felt like her heart was going to hammer its way out of her chest and go whipping around the room the way the energy ball always did when she got near it.

Those dead green eyes only stopped staring at Monika after the professional warlocks adjourned to the next room.

“Tell me what you think of death,” Monika repeated to herself under her breath. She went to ask Kip about it, but then some of her other friends gave her playful punches on the arm and started to talk about how they thought the tests went, and she let it go. How bad could it be?

*

“What was the meaning of that display? We are meant to be preparing these children for their futures.”

Deirdre shrugged. “Death is a future. A remarkably popular one; I’m told everyone ends up having it.”

“You are a disgrace to our proud institutions,” Raul snapped in reply. “I and these teachers did not spend all of this time raising these students only to watch some wretch like you ruin them. There are consequences for your actions.”

Deirdre’s soft, bitter laugh was almost swallowed up by the jingling of her cloak. “No, there aren’t,” she said in a soft voice. “And you know exactly why. Take it up with him if you have a problem with me, do us both a favor. If you do drop by, tell me what he thought of death.”

The pale warlock took a knife from her belt, a thin stiletto that could almost be mistaken for a letter opener, and dropped it in the envelope she was preparing, next to her letter of introduction to her prospective student.

“What are you doing now?” Head Raul asked, exhaustion stealing the fury from his voice. “What mad whim is this?”

“I need to see how she reacts. Do cheer up, pencil-pusher. I may yet not want her.”

*

Some part of Monika was surprised when she received the oddly heavy packet. After that display with the Silencer she’d thought for sure that she was in for another six months, and maybe a more normal, or at least less threatening, test. Instead she got the same sort of thick envelope that everyone else did, this one weighted down with something dense. Monika flipped it over and found a message on the back: “Watch Your Fingers”. Fascinated, Monika slowly opened the envelope.

There was a knife inside, a thin-bladed stiletto sitting point-up in the envelope against a sheaf of papers.

Tell me what you think about death.

Gingerly, Monika removed the blade from the envelope and laid it across her lap so that she could shake the papers loose and look at them. The form at the front was pretty standard, though as she read Monika felt that strange sense of something being wrong come back to twist her guts.

NAME: Deirdre of Shorne

AGE: 27 (Deceased)

GENDER: Female

FEATS: Ruin, sorrow, espionage

Deceased? Monkia frowned and looked up, and was shocked to see Deirdre standing in the corner of the room, arms folded across her chest, dead green eyes resting on Monika. The pale warlock’s gaze drifted meaningfully down at the papers in Monika’s hands. Monika startled and looked back down; she put the first page at the back of the pile and blinked at the second.

“Dear Monika of Westkill,

Do something.”

Pages upon pages were behind it, a dozen or more, all covered in names in tiny handwriting. Monika looked from the brief letter and the near-black pages of names, then back up to Deirdre.

She stood up all at once, scattering the papers but catching the stiletto by its hilt in one hand. Her fellow students pulled back from the noise and then gasped in surprise when they saw her friend striding towards Deirdre with a fierce expression on her face.

“You got somethin’ to say to me, girl?” Deirdre asked in a light voice, curiosity bringing a shadow of life to her green eyes.

Monika bit her lip in indecision, and then held up the knife with its tip pointing up between the two of them. “Tell me what you think of death.”

Deirdre laughed, and gave Monika a grin. “I think being dead and being alive aren’t exclusive. I think a lot of people die a long time before they’re buried, and I think I’m one of ‘em. You wanna sign up with that, girl?”

“They’re all afraid of you,” Monika said. “Is it because you’re a great soldier?”

The pale warlock shook her head. “But I am a pretty solid warrior. If you want to learn the arts of murder, you won’t find a better teacher in this pack of jackals. Even the military types want good girls to put in boots, not patriots.”

Monika looked back at her friends, and then at Deirdre again. “You’re saying I could say no?”

“I could say no.”

“Well…” Monika stood up straight. “Don’t. Take me for your apprentice.”

That wide grin again. “We’ll get along just fine. Go say your goodbyes now. Once the ceremony is over, we’ve got places to be.”

“Places -”

“I know that wasn’t a request, stripling.”

Deirdre slipped back into the other room with the rest of the professionals before Monika could decide if she wanted to argue further. She looked down at the knife still in her hand, and then went to scoop up her papers.

*

Deirdre hadn’t been kidding. The moment the ceremony was done she gave Monika just enough time to pack her meager possessions and then the two of them got into a coach waiting at the front of the school grounds. The coach driver, dressed so much like a butler that Monika had to look at him three times just to be sure, introduced himself as Lee Shen of Javier, “factotum.”

(“Man of all work,” Deirdre explained later. “A sort of professional traveling friend, servant, accountant, and protector.”)

Lee had a travel meal and a bag of candied fruits for Monika, which he gave her with a smile before helping her into the coach. Deirdre seemed content to eat some kind of travel bread that, from the sound of her trying to chew it, may have been some kind of igneous rock.

“We’ve got some decisions to make,” Deirdre told her. “First things first. There’s an island off the shore, just between Vellstride, Westkill, and the Badlands. None of the city-states technically own it, but it’s kept free and clear because Grevelt still does. That’s where we’re heading, to get you supplied, dig deep on your training, see some people. My employer lives there.”

Monika hesitated, one of her fruits in her fingers. “Isn’t the government your employer?”

“Governments are made of people.” Deirdre took a rock-grinding bite of her bread and took her time chewing it to look Monika over. Sometime after the heat death of the universe, she finally swallowed. “So, while we’re en route you can learn to fight, or we can work on unlocking your magic. We’ll need to do both, but not at the same time.”

The pale warlock’s new apprentice blinked. “Why not?”

Deirdre looked out the window. “My master used to beat me until I blacked out - no, don’t say anything, I’m not fucking done - and push me until I collapsed. Now, pretend for a moment that you’re a teacher. What’s the flaw in this technique?”

“It’s sick!”

“True, but no. Try again.” Another gravelly bite of bread.

“I -” Monika shut her mouth. “He...you needed medical treatment?”

“Warmer,” Deirdre agreed. “Think of it as a teacher.”

“...You can’t learn anything while you’re unconscious?”

The pale warlock looked back at her student with a wide grin that had no friendliness in it. “There’s the money. I’m not gonna beat you to instruct you, Monika. That’s stupid. But, when it’s time to learn to fight, I am very definitely gonna beat your ass, not because I want to or even because you do or don’t deserve it, but because that’s by way of being the side effect. Combat training is exhausting, draining, and leaves you black and blue. Magical training is also exhausting and draining, and emotionally taxing besides. So while we’re in Lee’s carriage, it’s one or the other. If I wanted you dead I’d’ve killed you in the street.”

“You can’t do that,” Monika asserted.

“How much you wanna bet me?”

Monika set her food aside and stared her new master down. “So why don’t you?”

Deirdre snorted. “You really are a little patriot, aren’t you? There’s a difference between being a bitch and being a sadist, kid. Evil’s a tool in a box that you bring out for the jobs it’s good for, not a toy you wave around whenever you’re bored. Why would I bother killing you, or even hurting you? What do I gain from it?”

“I - you’d - fun?”

“You ever find someone who hurts people for fun, you tell me,” Deirdre said in a low voice. “I make a habit of meeting those people. I like to learn what they think of death.”

The two of them looked out their respective windows for awhile. Monika read the signs they passed, most of them official - Westkill’s status on the border and next to an ocean meant it had a high military presence - and listened to Deirdre wage war on the travel bread she was eating. She glanced over, once, when a new scent caught her nose and blinked when she saw her new master eating tough jerky.

“Why are you -”

“I’d really rather not say,” Deirdre interrupted. “Ask Lee, he deserves to crow about it anyway. You made a decision yet?”

Monika hummed in thought. “Why does combat training involve beating me, if you don’t approve of beating your students?”

“Good question.” Deirdre gestured with her jerky. “First, it’s not beating in the sense of beating your ass black and blue or slapping you around. It’s beating in the sense that to learn how to fight, you have to fight. That means you’re gonna get hit. If you want to fight well, you’re gonna get hit a lot; you have to drill the motions in day after day until they become a reflex, something you can do without thinking. It sucks, but it’s better than looking down and having your insides on the outside because you didn’t put in the work. Too many warlocks never learn how to fight and end up hanging from something’s claws like idiots. I don’t train idiots. But, there’s an upside.”

Monika made the universal ‘oh?’ expression.

“The secondary skills,” the pale warlock elaborated. “Medicine, for instance. How to be aware of and care for your body, how to maintain your weapons. It’s all related, and it’s all good stuff to know. Tell you what: take your time. Think about it. I’m gonna take a nap and get your answer when I wake up.”

Monika blinked. “Just like that? You can just...go to sleep?”

“It’s not magic, kid. It’s a skill you learn when your life is shit and you don’t get to sleep all that often.” Deirdre leaned back, closed her eyes, and just like that she was out like a light.

*

“Master?”

“Mmmf?”

“I’d like to learn how to fight.”

“Remind me when we stop.”

*

Monika took a hit across her jaw that sent her reeling out of the circle of firelight, with stars bursting in her eyes. She brought her fists up to block her face and was rewarded with the impact of a fist against her forearms, and then another one right into her vulnerable gut. The teenager doubled over and hit the dirt with the breath whooshing out of her lungs.

“You’ve got good instincts,” Deirdre said. She wiped a line of blood from her nose and upper lip with the back of her hand. “But you’re reckless. You need patience.”

Monika coughed and spat into the dirt. “You hit pretty hard for someone who said she wasn’t gonna beat me.”

“I did warn you.” Deirdre offered a hand to her student, who took it and stood with some difficulty. “Take a few minutes, sip some water. If you chug it you’ll just throw it up and end up worse than you are now.”

Monika spat again - blood, mainly - and did as she was told, sitting down on a log near the carriage with a heavy groan. Lee passed her a canteen with an encouraging smile, and the teen took a small sip.

“She does mean it,” Lee said to Monika. “Ms. Deirdre trains with me in normal circumstances. It is harsh because she has high standards.”

“What’s the benefit of lower standards?” Monika asked weakly; she touched her ribs and winced.

“Death, usually.” Came her master’s answer. Deirdre sat down herself and opened her own canteen to rehydrate with. “Tell me what you think of death.”

“It’s bad, but some people deserve it,” Monika answered. “People like your master, or invaders.”

The pale warlock laughed into her canteen until she interrupted herself by drinking from it. “Look who found her teeth. Less nervous about impressing me now that we’re bonded, are you? Some people deserve it...who decides, that, exactly? Do I get to decide that? You?”

Monika looked askance at her master. “The government, the, the law, decides that. They have to.”

“Ms. Monika,” Lee began slowly.

“I don’t remember inviting you to my teaching session here Lee,” Deirdre interrupted. “You know I love you, but I will lay your ass out.”

“Of course,” Lee said.

“You don’t agree,” Monika said, feeling her way through the idea. “You don’t think the law should decide. But then who?”

Deirdre shrugged. “I asked you that, stripling. You’re the one eager to fight. You’re the one with the record of brawling at your Academy, a record that’s payin’ off here but is still shadier than a strip of Void in a basement. So if you’re all wet in your nethers to fight people, you tell me who deserves to get fought.”

Monika felt her face get hot, though between the flickering firelight and her dark complexion no one could see the difference. “You can’t just talk to me like that!”

“Or you’ll do what?” Deirdre asked. “Fight me? Let’s entertain that for a minute; what do you get out of throwing hands with me over my choice of language?”

Monika stood. “You can’t,” she repeated. “What do I get - you can’t just - people have to stand up for themselves!”

“That’s stupid, and your teachers are stupid if you got out the other side of the Academy thinking like that.”

Monika lunged, and it was on. The two went sprawling into the dirt, fists flying. The teen took a shot to her bruised ribs but sheer outrage carried her through while she grappled with her master. She bit and tasted blood, and then took one hit, two, on the right side of her face. A flurry of blows hammered into both sides of her ribs, driving the air from her lungs, making her cough and splutter.

“I give! I give!”

Deirdre stopped mid-punch and settled back, having ended up on top of her student during the brawl. “You get what you wanted?” she asked.

“No,” Monika muttered, through a tight throat.

“Violence is a tool too, kid. You use it for the jobs it’s good for.” Deirdre leaned over to look at the damage. “C’mon, let’s get on those first aid lessons. For what it’s worth, I apologize for talking to you that way. You’re just a kid, goading you like that is cruel.”

“It’s cruel no matter who it is,” Monika whispered.

“Yeah,” Deirdre agreed. “But an adult would have had a chance at finding out what I think of death, wouldn’t they?”

*

They settled into a routine. Every morning they got up, tended to the horses, ate a light breakfast, and then jogged alongside the carriage for miles, with Lee yelling encouragement to Monika. At night they practiced, with fists, with wooden knives and wooden practice blades, with half-staves and a crossbow kept in a trunk built into one of the carriage seats. And at the end of it there was always that same question. No, not a question, an order.

Tell me what you think of death.

Monika grew to hate that demand as she’d hated nothing else in her life. No answer she gave seemed to satisfy Deirdre or earn anything but leading questions and accusations. That brawl they had the first night was just the first of several, none of which Monika won.

“You know, this stops whenever you’re ready to make it stop,” Deirdre commented the third night, sitting on top of her student’s abused ribs. “If you didn’t want your belief systems challenged you shoulda washed out and become a farmer.”

Monika had spat into the dust of the road. “You could make it stop. You could order me to stop.”

“I need a partner, not a slave. I could have picked one of those other idiots for that.”

They’d had a second fight about that one. Monika lost a tooth over it.

The hard living changed the girl, callusing her knuckles and palms, giving her hard muscle, changing her idea of hardship. When they’d first set out, Monika struggled to train for long periods; now she worked with weights inside of the carriage while she read her books or learned about tactics, magical theory, or even local history from Deirdre and Lee. One wild day, filled with energy and excited at the sharp scent of the distant sea on the wind, Deirdre had even agreed to show her how a human can outrun a horse over a short distance. The sheer joy of getting to the marker ahead of her mounted master was exhilarating, as was Deirdre’s whooped praise.

“Alright,” Deirdre said when they got back to the carriage to rest the horse and make an early fire. “I’m gonna kill both of you and then myself if I have to eat jerky again.”

“I did tell you we were out of decent rations,” Lee said with an air of serenity.

“Rub it in. Kid, you want to take a crack at hunting small game with that crossbow?” Deirdre raised her eyebrows at her student, who practically bounced in excitement.

And then immediately came down, with a suspicious look on her face. “What’s the catch?”

“You like cute animals?” Deirdre asked.

“I - yes?”

“I’m literally asking you point-blank if you’d like to kill one.” Deirdre watched as Monika frowned in realization and then looked away, staring out across the road. “I realize it’s a bit of an ask. It’s not an order, I can kill my own game. But this might be something you end up doing down the line, to survive or for the taste or even to help folks cull the population. It might be best to see how it sits with you now.”

“Cull...when there’s too many of them, and they’re damaging things?” Monika hazarded. “We learned about that in the biology courses.”

The pale warlock nodded. “Prey animals get too populous and they end up hurting themselves too. Predators like humans step in to correct that problem so we can all move on with our lives. So, I’ll ask you again: you in?”

Deirdre waited for an answer, and when she didn’t get one she went to the carriage to get the crossbow and its bolts. The pale warlock busied herself checking it over and getting the quarrel situated at her hip, where it stuck out against the tools and vials there.

“Is - is it okay if I just watch?” Monika asked, from where she was standing. Deirdre looked back at her, and for just a moment Monika could have sworn her hard master’s face was almost sad.

“Yeah,” Deirdre agreed. “Just stay quiet, and stick near me. Alright?”

“Alright.”

The two of them set out from the road into the short grasses that surrounded it, Deirdre ahead and Monika trailing close behind. The pale warlock had been pleasantly surprised to learn that her apprentice needed no lessons in walking silently - sneaking up on her fellows and surprising them had been one of Monika’s favorite pastimes - but Monika watched Deirdre carefully even for all of that. Someone able to move in all that iron mail without making a noise seemed superhuman to the girl. Monika kept her eyes down, on the grass, until she noticed that her master’s gaze seemed to move - never much, but her head went up and down, left and right, in regular patterns.

“Animals, including people, know when they’re being watched,” Deirdre murmured, barely audible over the sea-scented wind. “Monsters and demons don’t necessarily. It’s more than what we hear, what we smell, what we see. We sense it, we feel it. Best theory I’ve ever heard is that it’s a kind of latent empathy. A good hunter, a good assassin, has to learn to work around it.”

Monika let ‘assassin’ go for the time being. “Not beat it?” she asked, in an equally low voice.

Deirdre shrugged. “Sometimes it just can’t be beat, but you can work in a way that makes it easier to avoid. Look at animals and people through your peripheral. Don’t stare at them, and don’t focus; try to just take the whole world in. I don’t expect you to be good at it on your first try, but you’re about to have plenty of time to practice. Boat rides get...interesting.”

There seemed to be so much to see! Even as short as it was (and what cut it this short? Did Westkill send someone to tend to miles of grassland?) the grass rippled in the wind, cut through with splashes of color where wildflowers grew. Something fluffy - seeds? Hair? Spiderlings? - drifted past on the breeze, vanishing against white clouds only to appear again when it crossed the blue spring sky. Monika thought she’d get vertigo from trying to keep track of it all, but she did her best to follow Deirdre’s advice (don’t focus) and just take things in.

Something was moving against the ripples of the grass. Monika pointed, and her master took aim. The hare that emerged from a break in the grass took the bolt at chest height and went down with a wet sound, blood seeping from the wound. Deirdre moved immediately; she set down the crossbow and crossed the distance to the hare while Monika held her hand to her mouth and watched with wide eyes.

A cut to the throat from a double-edged dagger finished what the bolt had started. The hare bled out in seconds.

Deirdre looked back at the horror etched on Monika’s face, her expression just as dead as her green eyes. She sighed, and looked back down at the hare. “Tell me what you think of death.”

“What I -” the shake in Monika’s voice became an explosion of anger. “Fuck you! And fuck death! He -”

“She,” Deirdre interrupted sharply, surprising Monika just as the apprentice was building up her rage. “...All hares are she. Even if they’re not.” Deirdre yanked the bolt from the animal’s corpse. “She didn’t suffer, Monika. It’s a better end than she could have expected.”

“She didn’t have to die.”

“That’s the thing though, isn’t it?” The pale warlock began to skin the hare, dressing her kill in quick, professional motions. “Everything has to die. If it doesn’t die, it never lived. Everyone pays to play, kid. One of these days I’m gonna get got, and so will you. I can hope it’s as clean as this.”

Monika looked at the hare, and then her master. “It won’t be,” she said, and then she turned and ran back to the carriage and Lee.

“Yeah,” Deirdre agreed to herself. “Probably not.”

*

There were monsters swarming over the pier. A ship, presumably the one they were to board, was anchored off-shore and well out of reach of the chalk-white creatures, each looking like a child’s stick figure with claws and only enough flesh to make the claws work. Deirdre had Lee stop the carriage well out of immediate sight of the things, and then got out to assess the situation.

“There’s so many of them,” Monika said. “How are we supposed to get through?”

“I can take them,” Deirdre answered. “I’m just...going to be out of action for a little while after. Lee.”

“Ma’am,” Lee said.

Deirdre nodded her head at Monika. “You’ll continue her combat training while I’m down for the count. Answer her questions as best you can, and take care of her. It goes without saying that I’d like her in as many pieces as I got her in.”

Monika looked away. “No mention of emotional damage - hey!”

Deirdre had a grip on the girl’s shoulder, iron-hard; her dead green eyes came alive with wrath. “Don’t you ever say shit to me about emotional damage, kid. Stand here and watch that fucking hare get her revenge. I’ll quiz you on it later.”

Lee put his hand on Deirdre’s wrist. “You’re hurting her.”

A second. Two. The quiet sea breeze was cut by the snarl of the aimless monsters as they milled and lashed at one another and howled at the ship anchored off the shore.

Deirdre let go. “Don’t move.”

Monika and Lee watched the pale warlock go down the hill towards the pier, taking a vial from her belt as she went. The apprentice rubbed her shoulder and did her best to glare. Worry and anger were having a competition for control of the tightness in her chest, and worry seemed to be winning.

Lee sighed. “She did not want you to have to see her like this.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Monika said. “She’s done a pretty good job being a weird bitch this entire time.” The apprentice looked incredulously at Lee when he just gave her a grunt and a nod. “Don’t be so quick to agree with me, damn. Isn’t she your friend?”

“And this means I’m supposed to lie about her to others?” Lee asked. “She is a weird bitch. But she is also more and, sometimes, less.”

“...Which is she now?”

“Less,” Lee answered. “And about to be lesser still.”

Monika looked back at her master just in time to see Deirdre finish filling a tiny syringe from the contents of her vial. The pale warlock carefully, oh-so-very-carefully, slid the needle into her eye (back uphill, Monika gagged and tasted vomit at the back of her throat) and emptied the syringe into her veins. Monika’s master took the needle back out with equal care, wiped it down with a cloth, and put it back in its holster at her belt, along with the vial.

Before Monika’s eyes, Deirdre staggered, and bent over almost double, clasping her knees for support. The apprentice heard her master let out a miserable sound, something choked and awful, before forcing herself upright to walk towards the knot of monsters. They’d finally noticed her, and came bounding forward in a pack, only to stop as they crossed near Deirdre. The clawed monstrosities slowed, staggered, and hit the ground in heaps as they passed into range of the pale warlock’s affinity. Soon the sound of their miserable sobs drowned out even the swell of the sea.

One after another, Deirdre cut their throats and left them to water the road with blood, and not one lifted a finger to stop her.

“Drugs,” Lee said, without looking away. “It took most of her apprenticeship to get them right, and they are not always easy to make. Your master can override the emotions of others with her own, making them feel as she feels in place of their own emotions. In normal circumstances she can evoke anger, or sorrow, without assistance.”

Monika thought back to her testing, on her last day at the Academy. “Works really well on people,” she said around a tight throat.

“Yes. But in extraordinary circumstances, or against things which are not people, or…” Lee hesitated, “if she needs a more positive emotion, she uses the drugs. She forces herself to have the required feelings.”

Deirdre staggered to the end of the pier, covered in blood, sobbing with every breath. She sank to her knees before forming the energy ball that Monika had come to know so well in her schooling and throwing it high in the air, where it burst like a firework. The apprentice could see the tiny figures of the ship’s crew begin to scurry to their stations.

“That can’t be good for her,” Monika said at last.

Lee gave the girl a rueful smile. “To quote the woman herself: no shit.”

*

The sea voyage was everything Deirdre had promised. Lookout duty, in case of aquatic monsters or demons, gave her plenty of opportunity to practice looking without focusing, and hours of idle time meant lessons with Lee in the crafts of combat, survival, ropes and knots, and orienteering. Monika even found time for her books.

Monika’s master stayed locked in a cabin. She took no meals and no visitors, and gave only choked sobs or wild, furious screams to any disturbance at her door. Monika tried to talk to her only once, and turned away at the answer she got.

“What did she say?” Lee asked, in his softest voice, while Monika stripped down to a light shirt for combat drills.

“Tell me what you think of death,” the apprentice said. She threw her cloak down on the deck and raised her fists in a defensive stance. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Two days later, they arrived.

*

Vellkill Island, Grevelt. Waning Spring

Deirdre staggered off of the ship last, after Monika and Lee, after the crew, after even the captain, looking more than ever like a living corpse. Her pale skin had a sickly pallor, and her dead gaze was bloodshot and red-rimmed, from crying and from screaming. The way she slouched reminded Monika of a puppet, dragged by some child across the docks.

“My master had those made,” Deirdre said once she reached her apprentice. “The drugs I use. They were his idea first, and I perfected them. But he made me do it, yanked me about by my tattoo, and then made me feel however he needed to, whenever he needed to.”

“What happened?” Monika asked. “To him, that is. To your master.”

Deirdre let out a short breath through her nose. “We took a job, after he turned me loose, up north in Osklo. We got stupid, almost got caught. I took a hit of what you saw me take earlier, when the patrols were closing in. Monsters, they don’t know what to do with despair. They just go down and go...almost to sleep. People, though, people are pretty good at it. Whole patrol killed themselves, my master along with them. I still remember his last words. Woulda killed him for them myself if I’d been thinking straight, trying to tell me he was sorry, like he got to be sorry. No.”

Monika took a shuddering breath and fought the urge to look away. “What’s going to happen to me?”

Deirdre did look away, to the port fortress of Vellkill with its high walls and shipyard, dominated by a central keep of thick stone that mounted trebuchet for the island’s defense. “How honest do you want me to be, kid?”

“Don’t lie to me. Not...not after all this. Just don’t.”

The pale warlock nodded. Her body shook, tiny tremors all over that made her breathing shudder and shake. “I picked you out because I need a partner. A working partner, for higher risk jobs, with a better payout. There’s someone else I need to help. Someone...close to me. With more money, I can pay off her debts, and get going while the getting is good. She volunteered to help but I...I can’t, I can’t let her do that.”

Realization dawned, cold and cruel, in Monika’s mind. “You picked me to die in her place.”

“It’s not the first plan, but...yes. I picked you out to die, little patriot. But if you don’t, if you live, you’ll have the best training in your field that you can get. Walk from this apprenticeship with a word from me to back you up and you could see yourself in an officer’s posting, or even in the Crimson Daggers. And if you don’t like the taste of death by the time we’re done, I’ve got favors from people who wake up in a cold sweat with my face in their dreams. They’ll teach you anything you could ever want to learn.”

Monika looked out at the port at last. The two stood there on the ends of the docks, watching others go about their lives, their jobs, their duties.

“One more thing, kid.” Deirdre’s voice was barely there. “You get out the other side of this, after my girl’s free, and you’re still sore about it? You take your best shot at me. All the Prism knows I deserve to die. I fuck you up bad enough that you want me to pay that debt up, I won’t get in your way.”

As if by unspoken signal, the two - master and apprentice - looked one another in the eyes. After a moment, Monika offered her hand out. “You’ve got a deal.”

Deirdre shook her apprentice’s hand and then jerked her head towards the fortress. “Let’s get going. We’ve missed a few days of personal time, and we need to get you started on unlocking your affinity. But, first -”

“Please don’t.”

Deirdre didn’t even slow down. “Tell me what you think of death.”

[babytoro]

hey i did some more outsiders au headcanons

PEOPLE

gerard way

has dyed his hair every color of the rainbow (red, orange, blonde, green, blue, purple, black, white and pink)

usually spends at least an hour doing his hair and makeup every morning

gerard spends a lot of time picking out his outfits

gerard is the unofficial leader of the greasers

gerard is a graffiti artist, and often makes murals on abandoned buildings

has filled almost 100 sketchbooks and has kept all of them

gerard works at a comic book store

gerard is a closeted star wars and batman geek

gerard likes flirting with random guys in bars and gas stations

gerard loves david bowie, morrissey, the misfits and joan jett

gerard’s parents died when he was fourteen, so he had to step up and take care of mikey at a very young age

aspires to be an artist or a singer

is usually very kind and sweet but becomes violent and aggressive when the greasers are threatened

he treats the greasers like a second family

dropped out of school when he was fourteen so he could take care of mikey

although he dropped out of school in freshman year, he is quite smart

gerard loves going to parties

if you mess with frank, you mess with gerard. they’re best friends

gerard wears eyeliner and occasionally eyeshadow

gerard used to dress in drag when he was in middle school

gerard sees lindsey as the sister he never had

gerard and mikey have a very close relationship and are very protective of one another

gerard loves frank with all his heart and acts excessively violent and aggressive towards socs who try to hurt him

he is terrified of needles and won’t let anyone get near him with one

gerard is very flamboyant and sassy

frank iero

frank is the second smallest greaser (5’4”)

cuts his own hair like the rest of the greasers

little punk bitch who has a kink for the misfits

frank is an atheist

his parents are divorced and have gotten into very violent fights in front of him in the past

frank has 1cm ear gauges

he also has a lip ring and a nose ring, and once had an eyebrow piercing that got infected

frank gets tattoos from sketchy artists in alleyways and has to try and not get caught by the police while he gets them

he doesn’t see his mother very often because she lives across the state

his father is always working so he doesn’t see him much either

frank dropped out of catholic school in freshman year because he was tired of all the religious preaching and bullying

frank, despite his small size, has an unlimited amount of energy

frank is extremely jumpy and will sometimes tackle the other greasers or pick a fight with a soc just to get some energy out of his system

frank has four dogs

he takes his dog sweet pea with him almost everywhere. she attacks the socs when the greasers are threatened.

frank is usually the loudest of the greasers (he’s second loudest when mikey’s mad and starts yelling)

frank is very protective of gerard

frank screams a lot

frank likes to embarrass the other greasers

frank can be extremely annoying at times

frank is one of the funniest people you will ever meet, and always has a sarcastic and witty comeback ready

almost all of frank’s clothes are hand-me-downs from his father from when he was a teenager

frank is very patriotic about new jersey

mikey way

mikey has a terrifying amount of strength

mikey has been arrested so many times the police know him by name

mikey’s parents died when he was twelve, so he’s terrified of losing people he loves and is very protective of them

mikey has a nose ring

he is second in command of the greasers. if something were to happen to gerard, mikey would become the new leader

mikey has bipolar disorder and anger issues

when gerard started working so that they could keep their house, mikey would steal money to try and help his brother

mikey’s criminal record includes things such as burglary, breaking and entering, assault, assault with a deadly weapon and resisting arrest

mikey often bribes the police so they will let him or other greasers out of custody

mikey loves cats

mikey has frequent mood swings and can go from being happy to extremely angry within a 30-second time span

mikey has broken the walls in his house by punching them and throwing things at him

mikey has bleached blonde hair and he cuts it himself because he doesn’t trust barbers

mikey has a lot of hatred towards people, especially socs

frank annoys mikey to no end, but since he’s gerard’s best friend mikey tries to be nice to him

mikey is extremely protective of ray and will get aggressive towards anyone who so much as looked at him weirdly

mikey likes reading comic books and horror novels

mikey has probably done every drug known to man

mikey parties with his greaser friends every weekend and gets completely wasted

mikey and ray have known each other for more than ten years and are best friends

mikey swears a lot

mikey once had a motorcycle, but crashed it into bob’s expensive car after he betrayed the greasers and became a soc

mikey has a very unique fashion style

mikey wants to get tattoos but doesn’t have enough money to get one from a professional

gerard and ray are the two most important people in mikey’s life and he loves them more than anything

mikey has very warm hands

mikey loves heavy metal music

when he and ray argue they sound like an old married couple

ray toro

ray is small for a guy his age (5’7”)

ray wears boots that add an extra two inches to his height

ray has slightly darker skin than the rest of the greasers

ray has dark freckles all over his body and slightly chubby arms

everything ray wears is too big for him

ray’s parents are very abusive towards him, especially his father, who takes out all his anger on him

ray is a very talented singer and guitarist, but is too shy to ever perform

ray was beaten horribly by the socs four months prior to the fic’s beginning and now has a scar across his cheek

ray’s scars fade into black lines when they heal. he has a lot of them

ray has a very gentle and calming voice and almost never yells

ray is a very sweet person who loves showing affection for the other greasers. he considers them family

ray is very insecure about himself and doesn’t really like who he is

ray loves queen, david bowie, elton john, the misfits, metallica, alice cooper, the cure, joy division, and the smiths more than any other musicians

ray loves it when people hug him

ray gets cold very easily

ray hates it when people pull his hair and kicks them when they do

ray has dark circles around his eyes from lack of sleep. he has insomnia and only gets about two or three hours of sleep a night at most

ray loves tiny dogs and birds

ray is very shy and usually won’t say what he wants to

ray is usually able to calm mikey down when he’s angry by talking to him in a calm voice

ray has major anxiety and often has panic attacks

ray cares about mikey more than anything

ray is usually very quiet and reserved but can be loud and sassy if he wants to

ray didn’t have a very good childhood which is why he’s sort of fucked up now

ray often borrows / steals clothes from the other greasers because he barely has any

ray is targeted by the socs because he isn’t as strong as the other greasers, so he is often ganged up on by them

lindsey ballato

lindsey’s parents abandoned her when she was thirteen, which forced her to start fending for herself

lindsey is an artist and sells paintings for a living

lindsey also works with gerard at the comic book store

lindsey lives in an abandoned house on the outskirts of belleville so she won’t have to pay rent or bills

lindsey has long hair that reaches down to almost her waist

lindsey’s style can change three times in one week. she can be goth one day, a joan-jett look-alike the next and a punk the next

lindsey is often underestimated by the socs. she can knock one out in a single punch.

lindsey has dyed her hair every color imaginable

lindsey loves girl punk and rock bands

lindsey has a full tattoo sleeve and a wrist tattoo that was done by frank

she also has three piercings in her ear and a nose ring

lindsey loves horror movies, especially gory ones

lindsey and gerard are very close friends and do everything together

lindsey has a pet kitten named Chantal

lindsey and gerard wear each other’s clothes

people often make fun of lindsey for being a girl greaser, but she doesn’t care whatsoever

lindsey dropped out of school in eighth grade when her parents abandoned her and educated herself

lindsey drives a black car with gothic additions that she bought for $300 at an auction

lindsey often shops at thrift stores

lindsey acts as if ray is her son and is very protective of him

PLACES

belleville, new jersey

one of the most dangerous places in new jersey

there are a ton of crack houses and drug dealers around

no matter where you go, you will most likely witness a street brawl

dead bodies appeared in the lake right by the town’s entrance

you’ll be lucky if you don’t get shot there

the police are incredibly corrupt and often accept bribes

there are many criminals around that should be in jail

there are many kidnappings throughout the year

most of the town’s population is very poor, but there is a small, very wealthy population

the brick shithouse

greaser bar that is actually named “rusty’s”

made of bricks and is a pretty shitty bar, hence the nickname

usually full of druggies and angry drunks

there are always fights going on, usually with switchblades

brian is the bartender

serve drinks that aren’t legal in the united states

if a soc even looks at the brick shithouse, the greasers chase them away and throw rocks at them

the brick shithouse has a top floor where brian lives

there is usually loud heavy metal or punk music blasting through the brick shithouse’s walls

the police show up to the bar at least three times a week

cherry hill, new jersey

more wealthy than belleville

is a pretty nice area, except for the outskirts

has a lot of bars and clubs, so there are a lot of neon lights

many people there dress the same, so greasers would stand out

has a lot of pretty scenery and nature

abandoned church and field

the church was abandoned in the early 70s

nobody ever goes to the church. most people don’t even know it exists

there is a beautiful view of the sunset from the field

there are a lot of trees surrounding the church

[arrthurpendragon]

⌨ + the fic of your choice! 💜

Arthur Rokesby wasn’t quite sure how he ended up on a ship bound for America. He was certain that it had something to do with imbibing far too much alcohol and the fact that his best friend, Edmund Bridgerton had decided to settle down. The headache and throbbing head explained the first part and his wounded heart explained the second.

He was happy for Edmund. Truly, he was. Violet Ledger was the perfect choice for him. She was beautiful, intelligent, and made Edmund very happy. Theirs was a match made for love, which wasn’t always common in polite society. Arthur had always thought that he and Edmund would sow their wild oats for nearly a decade before settling down. But this wasn’t to be. His best friend was married and he was not. 

All his older siblings had married for love thus far and his twin was intent on practicing medicine.  This left Arthur quite alone in the world and somehow on a ship bound for York City.  If he had stayed home any longer, his mother would likely work on finding him a match. She was quite well-known for her matchmaking attempts.  And he had no desire to settle down yet.  So an adventure it was.

How long would he stay there? No idea. What was he going to do? Again, no idea. He couldn’t even remember his thought process that led him to board the ship in the first place. But there wasn’t much he could do about the situation in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, was there? His only choice was to embrace it, which Arthur did so willingly.

His brother Edward’s stories of America from his time in the war had always intrigued him.  It had been a dream of his to set sail for America.  Although Edmund or one of his brothers was always included in this daydream, it appeared it was a dream he would embark on alone.  He would probably never hear the end of it from his mother once he sent word of his adventure.  She was likely worried sick over his sudden disappearance. His only hope was that perhaps his mother had imbibed too much at the wedding as well and hadn’t yet noticed his absence.

Send me ⌨ + title to one of my fics and I’ll write a sentence for that fic!

[wordshappensometimes]

Ghost in the Sun Pt. 4 (final!)

(Steve Rogers x Enhanced Reader)

Summary: Just because you can make yourself invisible doesn’t mean you can keep yourself from getting a nasty sunburn, and after a grueling mission in the Moroccan desert that’s exactly what’s happened. Luckily Steve is more than willing to help you put aloe on those hard-to-reach places once you get back.

A/N: So this took longer than I expected but here it is! The last part of Ghost in the Sun! I hope you guys enjoy, this story was my first go at fic-writing, and this part is my first time writing smut so i seriously appreciate any feedback! Thanks for reading!

Words: 2,702

Warnings: swearing, smut-ish, sunburn?

Part 1  Part 2 Part 3

After dinner with the whole team, you help Wanda clean up in the kitchen. As excellent as a cook she was, she hadn’t really gotten the hang of not making a complete mess of the kitchen every time she cooked- especially when it came to her homemade sauces- so the clean up takes longer than usual. The two of you chat as Wanda washes dishes and you scrub sauce off of the stove top, catching up on everything you’d missed in the tower during your mission. Once the kitchen looks more like a human living space and less like a grocery store after an earthquake, you head out towards your room, passing the team as they relax in the common room.

Steve’s head pops up as he sees you come in and he looks to you attentively. You come to a stop, having forgotten your post-dinner plans with the supersoldier.

“Oh- right, yeah.” You motion with your head for Steve to join you; Steve smiles at you and nods, quickly pushing himself up out of his chair.

You’re not exactly excited about round two; while you’re grateful for his help, having Steve rub aloe all over you had been all sorts of uncomfortable last time (or at least that’s what you had insisted on telling yourself anyway). Hopefully it would be less weird this time around.

The two of you step into your room, and without giving it a second thought you reach down and casually pull your shirt off over your head, never missing a step as you walk towards the bathroom. Steve’s eyes go wide as you pull the fabric over your head and he can feel his heartbeat pick up a few beats. Is it suddenly warmer in here? He honestly can’t tell. Feeling his face flush, he averts his eyes to the carpet and takes a quick breath before following you into the bathroom.

Not having noticed the super soldier’s brief absence, you squirt some aloe into your hand and start to apply it to that strawberry you call your face. Steve steps in behind you and you pass him the bottle so he can get started on your back.

It’s quiet and strangely tense for a few moments, but suddenly Steve speaks up.

”So how is it that you can even get sunburnt?” His eyes flick up to meet yours in the mirror as he continues massaging the soothing gel into your shoulders. “You don’t even cast a shadow when you go ghost”

You chuckle at his question, “Well in an ironic twist of epic proportions, it turns out I can only avoid visible light rays, UV rays on the other hand, not so much, and they’re the ones that really love to burn ya.”

“Ahh, gotcha. And that’s why you’re redder than Stark’s suit?”

Your mouth drops open in mock offense “Hey! I’m the only one in this tower who’s allowed to make ridiculous comparisons about my new stop sign-ish hue!”

Steve laughs heartily as he moves his hands lower on your back, you move to support yourself on the sink yet again.

Mercifully, the conversation between you and Steve flows easily this time around, allowing you both to feel relaxed as Steve works his hands all over your burnt body. As the two of you talk, Steve massages aloe into your arms, belly, and chest (and even though he doesn’t hesitate like he did last time, a silence falls over the two of you as his hands smooth aloe onto your supple flesh). The combination of his strong hands and soothing aloe feels almost blissful, and if you didn’t know any better you would guess by his expression that Steve’s enjoying this too.

Over the next week this becomes your routine; and it gets easier and easier each time, more and more comfortable, more and more...dare you say...enjoyable?

Every night after dinner the two of you head to your room and chat while you run through copious amounts of aloe vera. This is the first time you guys have ever hung out on your own, and as it turns out, Cap’s hilarious, and not nearly as uptight as you thought him to be. To be fair, you really only knew Captain Rogers before, in all his responsible patriotic glory, but now you were getting to know Steve: the funny, kind-hearted guy from Brooklyn. The two of you seem to have a natural rhythm and chemistry, and it’s addicting for you. Sure, you’re tight with Sam and Nat, but spending time with Steve always manages to lift your spirits, and it almost makes you wish you hadn’t kept things so strictly professional between the two of you for so long--  almost.

As the week rolls along, your skin starts to look less and less like it’s on fire, and while you’re grateful to no longer look like Bob the tomato, there’s a pit in your stomach every time you think about your new routine with Steve coming to an end. You can’t shake the feeling, the little twinge of- what is it you’re feeling exactly? Sadness? Loneliness? Oh god, yearning? Whatever it is, you try to push the feeling in your gut away, besides it’s not like you’re never going to see him again- you live and work in the same building for pete’s sake. And as an added bonus, you and Steve have taken to hanging out together almost constantly when neither of you are working; how Steve always manages to find you when you’re on break is a mystery to you, but you’re certainly not about to complain.

Come Saturday night, there’s 3 empty aloe bottles stacked up in your garbage can, a fourth bottle stands half-empty on your bathroom sink. At eight o’clock on the nose, you and Steve stroll into your room, playfully arguing about Steve’s cooking abilities (or more accurately- lack thereof).

“Dude, all I’m saying is no one would complain if you decided to let someone else cook the team dinner when it’s your turn. In fact, they’d probably be grateful.” You flash a cheeky smile over your shoulder at the annoyed super soldier as you step into your room.

“Oh come on, (Y/N) I’m not that bad of a cook.” You turn towards Steve and scrunch up your face, playing up a pained, pitiful expression as he closes the door behind him.

His expression drops a little, “Is it really that bad?”

You think for a moment, “No, well, yes- but nowhere near as bad as Vision’s cooking... if you can even call it that.” Steve chuckles a little and you shrug, “You just need to learn how to season your ingredients and not, ya know, boil everything.”

Steve shakes his head and reaches his hand up behind his neck, “I’m tryin, (Y/N)”

“I could help you if you want.” Steve smiles at your proposition. You reach your hands down to the hem of your black t-shirt and pull the close-fitting fabric over your head, revealing a black push-up bra.

“That’d b-be.... Great......” Steve’s response trails off as his eyes take in the picture before him. Now that your sunburn was more or less gone, you were able to wear your regular tops and bras without feeling like your shoulders were being constantly scolded with a hot iron. And while you don’t really feel like there’s much of a difference between being seen in a sports-bra and your regular bra, the look on Steve’s face is painting a rather different picture. His eyes are glued to you as you haphazardly toss your shirt onto the bed, but you hardly notice as you start towards the bathroom.

“Ready?” You smile at Steve, and his gaze shoots back up to your face, he gives you a quick nod and bites his lip slightly.

You study your reflection in the bathroom mirror as Steve steps in behind you, you turn to the side slightly so you can admire how your ass looks in the jeans you’re wearing since you haven’t worn them for a while. You catch Steve also looking at your ass in the mirror and raise your eyebrow playfully at him- you don’t really mind, he’d been stealing glances at you all week. Boys will be boys you figure.

“Ya know, I think this may be the last time we need to do this-” 

You see Steve’s expression drop slightly and you feel that familiar twinge in your gut again. Shh, cállate (shut up). You clear your throat, and try to push away the feeling.

“I mean, my blisters are gone, I don’t feel like a human fireball, and I definitely won’t cut it as a Mr. Krab’s double anymore.”

You laugh to yourself as Steve tilts his head to the side and throws you a questioning look in the mirror. You sigh, “honestly even if you were the age you look you still probably wouldn’t have gotten that reference.”

You both laugh as Steve reaches for the bottle of aloe.

“Oh well that’s a relief then, one less thing that I have to catch up on.”

Steve squeezes some aloe into his hands and starts in on your neck and shoulders. He massages you with an intensity you haven’t felt before; it’s absolutely heavenly. You press your hands into the sink counter again. Steve’s strong hands really work into you as they move down your back, and you try to hold back the moan threatening to work its way out of your throat. 

“God, Steve that feels amazing....” you sigh out. The sentence hangs in the air around you for what feels like eternity before you realize how goddamn sexual it sounds. You clear your throat quickly and add “...Ever considered becoming a full time masseuse?” You look down, becoming suddenly interested in the marble countertop. You dare not lift your eyes up to meet Steve’s after what just came out of your mouth. You feel a heat rising in your cheeks and a tension building in your stomach, pero ¿qué demonios te pasa, (Y/N)? (what the heck is happening to you?)

Steve steps closer to you, and you can feel him press up against your butt. You bite your lip as you notice your breathing has picked up.

Steve traces his hands up your back to your shoulders. He gently places his finger under your bra strap, and slides it slowly down your shoulder. You’re expecting to feel his strong hands massaging in more aloe, but instead you feel the softest, most supple lips press into your shoulder. You inhale suddenly and look up to catch his gaze in the mirror. His bright blue eyes burn into you as he slowly kisses his way up to your neck. You bite your lip and close your eyes. His kisses grow stronger and more passionate when you tilt your head to the side to give him better access.

Steve’s massive arms close around your waist and pull you close to his chest, you reach up and card your fingers through his blonde hair as his lips reach your jawline. You let out the moan you’ve been holding in and let yourself melt into his touch.

Suddenly, Steve spins you around, you take in his features: his lips pink and swollen, his hair messy, his eyes hungry with lust-blown pupils. You look at each other for a moment, breathless. Finally you put your hands on the sides of his face to pull him down to you, and just as you do his arms around your waist pull you up towards him. Your lips meet in a passionate, almost frantic kiss as you pull yourself closer and closer to each other. His tongue slides over your bottom lip and you open your mouth and press into him to deepen the kiss. Steve moans, and the sound sends tingles through your entire being. Your hands stay on the back of Steve’s head, playing with his hair, trying to pull him even closer to you despite that being physically impossible at this point. Steve’s hands, meanwhile, run down your back and land on your plump ass. He squeezes firmly, causing you to giggle and moan into his mouth. He squeezes again and you moan on cue, causing a deep chuckle to emit from Steve’s chest. Este chico me va a volver loca (this boy’s gonna drive me crazy).

Next thing you know, Steve is pulling you up and putting you on the bathroom counter; you open your legs to let him closer to you, knocking the half-empty aloe bottle into the garbage along with the others. Your mind is a blur: lips, and hands, hands everywhere, and Steve, his lips on your lips, his lips on your jaw, his lips running down your neck. You reach out to blindly find the hem of Steve’s shirt, Steve’s lips lift from your skin just long enough for you to pull it over his head, revealing his frankly ridiculous body. In an instant he’s brought his lips to your neck again, not wanting to missing a beat. His lips work into your skin like he’s desperate for more, his hands never stop pulling you closer towards him, he pushes up against the heat building in your core and you can feel his growing hard-on. You moan at the sensation and wrap your legs around his waist, pushing your core closer to him.

Steve rolls his hips against you and an almost embarrassingly high-pitched whine leaves your mouth, but you don’t care, how could you when Steve is about to drive you absolutely mad?

Steve kisses down from your neck into the valley of your breasts, and as he does you unclasp your bra and let it slide down your arms. Steve pulls back, his eyes wide with shock and awe as your toss your bra to the side and rest your hands back up on his shoulders. He breathes heavily as he takes in the sight before him.

“You are so beautiful, (Y/N).”

You smile and bite your lip, just then Steve plunges towards you and pulls your breast into his mouth, sucking at your nipple and biting it gently. He takes your other breast into his hand and massages it roughly; you don’t know how much more you can take before you explode, the passion and ecstasy are almost too much to bare.

Between gasps for air you manage to moan, “Oh god, Steve. Steve I-I need you.”

Without skipping a beat, your legs still wrapped around him, Steve picks you up by your waist and carries you to the bed, plopping you onto it. He stands up to take off his pants and you scramble to remove yours. Now completely bare, Steve crawls over to you on the bed and hovers above you, you pull him into another passionate kiss and feel the weight of his naked body press against you.

Steve parts from the kiss and rests his forehead against yours, his lips now just ghosting above yours, he sighs and smiles,

“I’ve been dreaming of this for weeks.” You crook and eyebrow at him and drag your lower lip between your teeth.

“Just this?” You roll your hips up into his to tease him, and you could almost swear it looks like he’s about to fall apart. He whimpers at your teasing and then immediately dives back into a passionate kiss. Your lips move against each other in perfect, passionate rhythm, so much for keeping things professional.

Steve breaks away from the kiss again and you start to whine at his absence until you feel his mouth licking circle around your nipple again. You drag your hands through his hair as he continues his path downwards. Finally, after licking his way down your belly and inner thigh, he pushes his mouth against your clit and roughly sucks and licks at it.

“¡Ay! ¡Capitán!” you scream as a wave of pleasure overcomes you. You can feel Steve smile at the reaction he’s getting; he knows your Spanish is only reserved for the most intense moments, and this one was definitely a chart-topper.

You roll your hips up towards his mouth, desperate for more, but instead of giving you what you need, he pulls back and grins wickedly up at you.

“Paciencia, señorita.”

You raise an eyebrow at him and huff out a laugh. Before you have time to retort Steve’s already dived back in, and you scream out:

“¡Coño! (asshole!)”

______________________________________________________________________

~Fin!~

Please let me know what ya’ll thought! Positive or negative I’d love to know where to take my writing next <3