#hearing them groan and rumble and crack you can't help but think:

[tiny-steve]

glaciers of svalbard, sept 23

[louisaskywalkerani]

Beneath Your Touch

Pairing : Anakin Skywalker x f!Reader

synopsis : Basically, its your first time. Thats all.

CW : 18+, smut! minors DNI. vaginal fingering | p in v | unprotected sex

an : So, here’s the thing—this is about two people who can't keep their hands off each other (shocking, I know). It’s messy, a little awkward, and honestly, way too intense, but hey, what else would you expect? Anyway, hope you didn’t fall asleep halfway through. Or maybe you did? Who knows. Let me know what you think, or don’t.

As you hear the door creaking open, you jolt up in bed, blinking at the sound. Your mind races—who could it be this early? Only one person comes to mind. It’s Anakin. You rub your eyes groggily, swing your feet to the cold floor, and shuffle to the door. 

You open it a crack, just enough to peek through. There he stands, his dark Jedi robes sweeping the ground, looking like something out of a dramatic holodrama. His brows are furrowed, lips set in a deep frown, and his whole posture screams exhaustion. It’s kind of unsettling, seeing him like this when he’s usually so confident, practically oozing swagger. 

"Ani..." you whisper, still half-asleep but feeling that familiar rush of affection. "You’re back."

He locks eyes with you, his gaze filled with so much emotion it makes your stomach flip. "Hey, angel," he murmurs, stepping closer. "Sorry for waking you up so early. I just... I couldn’t wait any longer."

Your heart skips a beat, and you don’t even try to hide the smile creeping up. "It’s okay, come in." You grab his hand and pull him inside, shutting the door behind him. "How was the mission?"

He lets out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his messy hair. "Intense. Lots of fighting, lots of stress." He pauses, his blue eyes finding yours again, this time burning with something deeper. "But I’m here now. And I missed you so fucking much."

Before you can even respond, he’s pulling you into a crushing hug. You melt against him, inhaling his familiar scent, that mix of something warm and earthy that’s just so him. "I missed you too," you mumble into his chest. "So much."

You stay like that, wrapped up in each other, and it feels like time stops for a moment. But then you start noticing how every inch of him feels pressed up against you, and your body reacts almost immediately. That familiar warmth starts pooling between your legs, and you find yourself pressing closer, like you can’t get enough of him.

Anakin seems to catch on quickly—of course, he does. His hands start roaming over your body, squeezing and caressing like he’s memorizing every curve all over again. "Fuck, I want you so bad," he groans, his lips finding your neck and nipping at your skin. You can’t help but shiver because damn, he knows exactly what he’s doing.

"I want to make you feel good, baby. Let me worship this beautiful body of yours," he whispers, his voice low and breathy, and you have to bite back a sarcastic Oh, please do, because really, you’re not about to ruin the moment.

He trails soft, teasing kisses along your jaw and down your neck, making you shudder. His large hands slide under your thin nightgown, palming your breasts and brushing his thumbs over your nipples. They harden instantly, and you gasp as he tweaks them gently, sending a shockwave straight to your core.

"Ani..." you whimper, your voice coming out breathy as you arch into his touch. "Please..."

He chuckles against your skin, the sound rumbling through you and making you shiver even more. "Please what, angel? Tell me what you want," he teases, like he doesn’t already know exactly what you’re craving.

You flush a little, suddenly feeling shy despite how desperately you’ve been wanting this. "I... I want you to touch me more. Everywhere," you whisper, meeting his eyes with a half-pleading, half-smoldering look. "I’ve been thinking about your hands on me the whole time you were gone."

Anakin’s grin widens, turning wicked. "Oh, have you now?" he purrs, giving your nipples a firmer pinch that has you gasping. "Don’t worry, I’m going to touch you so good." 

He doesn’t waste any more time, pushing your nightgown up and over your head, tossing it aside without a second thought. You shiver under his heated gaze, feeling exposed but *so* aroused it doesn’t even matter. His eyes rake over your body like he’s savoring every inch.

"Fucking perfect," he growls, his hands gliding down your sides to your hips. He hooks his fingers into your panties, dragging them down your legs agonizingly slowly, his mouth following the path. It’s the kind of thing that would make you roll your eyes if it weren’t so hot.

He settles between your thighs, parting your folds with his fingers, and you’re already squirming, hips lifting in anticipation. "Ani, please..." you beg, rocking your hips as if that’ll make him move faster. "I need it. I need you."

He just grins like the smug bastard he can be and swipes his tongue over your clit, making you cry out and fist his hair. "Shh, just relax, baby," he coos, circling the sensitive bud with the tip of his tongue like he’s got all the time in the world. "Let me take care of you."

And as much as you want to retort with something sarcastic, you’re too busy being completely undone by the way his mouth feels on you, the pleasure building higher with every flick of his tongue.

He works you open with long, slow licks, occasionally dipping his tongue inside your tight entrance. And wow, the taste of you seems to explode on his tongue because he groans like he’s just tasted the best dessert ever. It’s almost embarrassing how good he is at this—like, did he take a course or something? He grips your thighs, spreading you wider as he delves deeper, gently tongue fucking you, and you can’t help but think, Of course, he’s amazing at this too. Typical.

"That's it, angel," he murmurs against your slick folds. "Let me in. Gonna make you feel so good." His voice is all low and raspy, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. 

You writhe beneath him, hands fisting the sheets because you genuinely can't handle this. Your brain is short-circuiting, and it's like you’re experiencing this for the first time (well, okay, you kind of are, but still). The intense sensations are so overwhelming it almost feels unfair. Anakin's down there like he’s got nowhere else to be, licking and sucking until you're a complete mess, your hips practically bucking against his face on their own. 

"Ani, I... I'm gonna-“ you gasp out, that familiar tingling deep in your core making itself known. And, of course, he just doubles down, sucking on your clit like he’s trying to win some kind of award. 

Two fingers slip inside your tight heat, curling just right to stroke your g-spot, and that’s it—you’re done. You come with a sharp cry, your back arching off the bed as your walls clench around his fingers. It’s intense and overwhelming, like he just flipped a switch inside you. 

He doesn’t even stop—no, he keeps going, licking at you through your orgasm like he’s trying to make you see stars. By the time he’s done, you’re trembling all over, the overstimulation making you so sensitive you could scream. He presses these soft, tender kisses to your inner thighs before crawling up your body with this stupidly proud grin on his face.

"You did so well, baby," he says, capturing your lips in a deep kiss. You can taste yourself on his tongue, and it’s kind of hot but also kind of mortifying. "Now I’m going to make you come on my cock," he adds, like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

He positions himself at your entrance, the thick head nudging against your slick folds, and you suddenly freeze up, feeling a wave of nerves. "Wait, Ani-“

He stops immediately, looking down at you with genuine concern. It’s almost sweet, really. "What’s wrong, angel?"

"I just… It’s my first time..." you admit softly, feeling a little vulnerable and pretty much embarrassed.

His eyes widen, and you can see the realization dawn on his face. “Fuck baby, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize..." He cups your cheek, stroking your skin with his thumb. "We don’t have to do this if you’re not ready. I would never hurt you." 

And for a moment, it’s almost enough to make you forget he was just eating you out like he was starving a second ago.

"No, I want to," you assure him, reaching down to stroke his length. The nerves are there, sure, but the trust is too. "I trust you, Ani. I want my first time to be with you." And there it is—you said it out loud, hoping it doesn’t sound as awkward as it feels in your head.

He looks relieved, like he was holding his breath. "Okay, we'll go slow. If anything hurts, we stop, alright?" He’s all serious, like this is a contract negotiation, but honestly, it’s kind of sweet.

You nod, heart pounding in your chest, a mix of anticipation and nerves making your skin tingle. Anakin kisses you deeply, like he’s trying to pour every ounce of love and devotion he has into it. It’s a little overwhelming, but in a good way. Then he starts to push inside, slow and careful, and you kind of appreciate that he’s taking his time. 

You tense up as he breaches your entrance, a sharp sting making you gasp. It’s not unbearable, but it definitely doesn’t feel amazing either. Anakin immediately stops, his forehead pressed to yours, whispering, "Breathe, baby. You're doing so good." 

You take a deep breath, trying to relax. It’s almost funny how you’re practically giving yourself a pep talk in your head, like Come on, body, get it together. He resumes his slow advance, inch by inch sliding deeper inside you, and when he finally bottoms out, he stays still. It’s like he’s letting you take your time to adjust, which is nice, but also, who knew this would be so... full?

"How do you feel, angel?" he asks softly, brushing a stray piece of hair off your face. You can tell he’s genuinely concerned, and it’s oddly comforting.

"Full," you whisper, marveling at the sensation. It’s not something you can easily describe, but it’s a lot. "You’re... really big." The words slip out before you can stop them, and you can’t help but cringe a little at how cliché it sounds. 

He chuckles against your neck, clearly amused. "You’re taking me so well. So tight and perfect." His voice is low and husky, and you can’t decide if you want to roll your eyes or melt into him.

He starts to move, pulling out slowly before easing back in, setting a gentle rhythm. It’s almost annoyingly sweet how careful he’s being. Like, I get it—you’re trying to be nice. But as the slow, steady thrusts start to build up, the sparks of pleasure begin to spread through your body, and okay, maybe the slow pace is a good thing after all.

You cling to him, your nails digging into his back as you instinctively rock your hips to meet his. The feelings are overwhelming, so much more intense than you expected. You’re teetering right on the edge, and you can barely think straight. 

"Ani, I think... I think I’m gonna..." you pant, your walls starting to flutter around him. It’s kind of hilarious how fast this is happening, but also, it’s not like you’re going to stop it.

"That’s it, baby. Come for me. I’ve got you," he encourages, and you can hear the strain in his voice, like he’s barely holding on himself.

With a final, deep thrust, you shatter, your vision going white as ecstasy crashes over you. You feel like you’re floating for a second, everything going hazy. Anakin follows right after, spilling himself deep inside you with a guttural moan that’s almost enough to send you over the edge again.

And just like that, it's over. You're both a sweaty, panting mess, tangled up together, and you can’t help but think, Well, that was definitely worth the hype.

[stardustdreams-andcaffeine]

Rain Therapy | Bucky Barnes

bucky barnes x fem!reader ✧ oneshot

Summary: The line between friends and lovers is impossibly thin, yet somehow the hardest line to cross. It's a line that you and Bucky just can't seem to break, but it's nothing one of Tony's infamous parties can't fix.

A/N: Another fluffy one for me, which is still something I'm growing used to writing. I'm getting anxious for some angst, so ask me for some and I'll see what I can do!

Warnings: two idiots in love, slight angst, tooth-rotting fluff, language, allusions to smutty content, jealous Bucky

Word Count: 7,206

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦

The whisper of lightning, the promise of thunder, the answer of rain. The sky darkens and the sun is forgotten, casting a gloomy light on the earth below.

And yet, in the midst of all that chaos, I find it to be a chemical mixture for peace.

“Y/N, Y/N what the hell are you doing out there?”

That illusion of peace shatters, and I let out low groan, keeping my eyes shut as the raindrops fall down on my form outstretched on the pavement.

“I was having a peaceful moment of bliss until someone decided now was an opportune time to bother me,” I call back.

“An opportune time to-” I hear him cut off incredulously, muttering something to himself as heavy, booted feet slosh through the rain to reach me, “Get off the damn driveway, doll. You’re gonna get sick.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s a myth,” I respond, staying pleasantly where I lay right in front of the Avengers Compound.

“Myth my ass, now get up and inside before I throw you over my shoulder and do it for you.”

I click my tongue, not having to open my eyes to know my best friend is standing right beside me, “So much violence, so much language. You should join me, some inner peace would do you good.”

Thunder cracks above, rumbling through the earth and into my bones. Even though I don’t hear his steps moving away, Bucky goes silent beside me. I begin to think he’s taking me up on my offer of a little rain therapy.

“See,” I sigh into the cacophony of nature, “Isn’t that peaceful? Maybe-”

I don’t even have time to react when a pair of strong arms, one of them freezing cold due to the metal in the rain, grab my waist and lift me clear off the floor. My eyes snap open with a jolt as I see myself being thrown over Bucky’s shoulder just like he promised.

“What the-” I stop myself as he secures me with his arm dangerously near my ass and slap his broad, muscular back, “You little bitch!”

“A little bitch who’s gonna keep you from getting a cold,” Bucky responds, and I can hear the smugness in his tone from back here, “Is the rain still peaceful?”

“No, there’s a jackass who got in the way.”

I feel his body rumble with laughter, feel the noise pass through my body and make my heart tumble in its cage. With that, his arm edging near a zone that’s clearly more than friends, and the sight of his wet t-shirt stuck to his back, I feel the anger flood from my body. Instead, I find myself thinking about what his abs look like with his rain-soaked shirt pressed against them.

Damn it, I’ve really got it bad.

I try my hardest to shove the image from my mind, but it only sticks harder and makes the spot where Bucky’s hand rests burn. I notice his metal hand on the other side, rain dripping off of it, and I can’t help but let my mind trace to-

I halt my thinking abruptly. He’s your best friend, he’s your best friend, he’s your best friend.

He’s my unfairly hot, broody, and annoyingly heart-fluttering best friend

With his free hand, Bucky shoves open the front doors to the Avenger’s Compound, walking a few steps until we enter one of the large, high-ceiling living areas where a television blasts a movie.

“I told you,” Tony announces after the group of my friends and teammates sees Bucky walking in with me on his shoulder, “Sam, you owe me five bucks.”

“Put me down, terminator,” I grunt, to which Bucky finally sets me on my feet.

Immediately I go to hit him, but the sudden change in my body’s gravity sends me off balance slightly. I stumble back slightly, trying to make the blood rush from my head so I can balance again.

“Woah, careful there, Bambi,” Bucky laughs, gripping onto my waist to help steady me.

Where his hands touch, metal and skin alike, my skin sets on fire. The radiating electricity from his touch only annoys me further and I shove out of his hands, swatting his chest.

“I’m fine,” I grumble, tilting my chin up to meet his gaze and holding a finger in his face like a scolding parent, “Next time you manhandle me, I’m going to remove your arm like Ayo showed me.”

Bucky smirks at me coolly and says something, but I miss it because my eyes drop down to where his t-shirt sticks to his abs from the rain. Just like I imagined it would, it makes my mouth go dry and my heartbeat miss a step.

“See something you like?” Bucky taunts.

Cheeks flushed, I look up at him calmly and smile, “Just thinking about what a shame a body like that is wasted on the grumpiest man alive.”

The group of Avengers lounging around the various chairs and couches in the living room snicker, their attention drawn from the television. He lifts an eyebrow at me and those infuriating steel blue eyes ricochet my pulse.

“Sure you were.”

“Whatever,” I mumble, turning and looking at team, “Who bet against me?”

Tony, Bruce, Wanda, and Nat lifts their hands and I gasp, pressing a hand to my chest in feigned hurt.

“Traitors,” I grumble, not being able to stop the smile that wants to twitch onto my lips as Bucky walks up beside me and rests his arm on my shoulder.

“They bet right, didn’t they?”

I look up at him with the half-smile I wasn’t able to stop, “Screw you,”

I turn around and leave the living room, making my way towards my room so I can shower and change. From behind me, I hear Bucky’s laugh that sears itself into my memory.

“Love you too, doll!” He calls out, and my heart launches into my throat.

He doesn’t mean it like I want him to, not like how I mean it. Not like how I've meant it for months.

As I finally get to the confines of my bedroom, I shut to the door and let out a trembling breath. I keep my back pressed to the door for a moment, leaning my head against it and forcing myself to forget the way his hands felt, to strike from my memory the beauty of his laugh. When I finally peel off my wet clothes and step into a scalding hot shower, I let the water and steam surround me long after I'm already clean.

I'm a coward, a coward and a fool for falling for my best friend and not being able to say a word to him about it.

Long after I'm out of the shower and cuddled up with a book on my bed, a knock sounds on my door. I've barely glanced up at it in confusion when Natasha's voice calls out, "I know you're probably reading a book but put it down and let me in unless you want me to break down the door."

A half-smile tugs onto my lips and I set my book aside, untangling myself from my covers and opening the door for my friend. She gives me a smug smile and waltzes in, plopping down on my bed. I can't help but shake my head at her as she makes herself at home.

"Why are all of my friends so violent?" I taunt, sitting down next to her.

"Most of us are trained assassins." Nat gives me a playful nudge, already lifting my spirits from the gloom and doom they were resting in. Her knowing gaze immediately notifies me that I can't escape the conversation to come, so I don't even bother to skirt around it.

"Why does my life suck?" I groan, dropping down onto my back dramatically. Nat laughs beside me, shaking her head down at me.

"So many questions tonight," She remarks, following the words with a tired sigh and laying down beside me. As we both stare up at my ceiling, my mind is held captive by one person. Both it and my heart have been held hostage and I'm starting to understand the truth in Stockholm Syndrome.

"You know, and brace yourself because this is gonna blow your mind, you could just tell him how you feel," Nat advises.

"And risk ruining everything that we already have?" I reply, my brows creased in an ever-present state of worry, "I could live with being friends with him forever as long as it meant I still had him in my life. But if I tell him how I feel and it changes everything to the point where he can't even be around me?"

I take a charged pause, startled by the sudden rise of emotion. I swallow down the burning pain, but ultimately I decide to go easy on my breaking heart. The poor thing doesn't know any better. All it knows is that it wants Bucky Barnes and I keep locking it and its desires into a cage of bones in my chest.

"A life without him...I couldn't live like that."

Nat sits up beside me, catching my attention in time to see the sympathy flashing across her features, "Y/N, I know it's scary but if you'd just trust me I think the outcome would surprise you."

She can tell that I'm still not convinced, so in a last ditch effort to rally me from my slumber of inaction, she reaches across me and grabs the book I was reading. I sit up, a protest just starting on my tongue as I reach for it. She pulls it out of my reach and holds it in front of her chest, displaying the cover for me to see.

"Do any of the characters in these books ever fare well from denying their passions?" Nat asks, and I find that she has me in a figurative corner, "Do their stories end well when they decide, 'Nah, I'm too scared to tell him I love him'?"

"I don't love him," I protest, but the lie is sour on my tongue and allergic to my soul. It gets rejected so quickly by everything within me that I almost think I'll have a physical reaction to it.

"Bullshit." Nat challenges, setting the book aside and grabbing my hands. I shake my head, trying to escape her arguments that my heart jumps in agreement with.

It's a brutal thing, to have your heart yearn for one thing and your mind so resolutely against it. I've always thought it strange how the dichotomy of desires could root in a person, but it makes sense in a way. The heart is led by our passions, our intuitive cravings. The mind is hardwired by nature and instinct to protect us, to propel our survivals.

Even if that means our passions must be slaughtered.

I'm keeping my mind in charge by sheer will that's hanging precariously over the edge of a cliff. My will only has a few fingers left to hold with, and I can feel it slipping every day Bucky's near me, every time his skin brushes mine, every time he simply is.

“I need to move on,” I almost desperately announce, gripping handfuls of my sweatshirt to keep from crying, “I need a way to move or this is going to kill me. He’s going to kill me.”

Sympathetic to my distress, Natasha lays a reassuring hand on my shoulder, “You know, with Tony’s Semi-Annual Charity Gala coming up this weekend it’s the perfect time to move on.”

I perk up slightly, the thought breaking a sliver of hope in the pit of despair and self-pity I allow to well up. For an Avenger, I sure know how to wallow in pain.

“…or make a move on a certain super soldier.” Nat continues.

“Don’t be silly, I’d never steal Steve away from you,” I jest, my tone wavering but stronger than before. Nat rolls her eyes from beside me before shoving my shoulder. With a sigh, I finally meet my friend’s gaze, “One last chance. One chance and then I’m putting myself out of my misery”

That’s so easily said. The unspoken truth is that my poor heart doesn’t stand a chance. It hasn’t for a long time.

“Great!” Nat smiles, squeezing me into a side hug on the bed, “I’ll start planning your outfit now!”

And with that, she’s off my bed and into my closet. As we spend the better part of the night deciding on what to wear to the upcoming gala, I can’t help but let my mind stray to its usual focus. With a groan of exhaustion, I drop my head into my hands and tell myself that same lie.

“He’s my best friend. That’s all.”

It’s getting harder and harder to believe.

|||

A few days later

It's been a few days since the rain incident, and I've finally managed to garner a moment alone from everyone. It's not that I don't love being around them, but it taxes me more than I care to admit to be around him.

A forlorn sigh brushes past my lips, but as I nestle down on the floor in the library Tony had put into the Compound, I find my worries drifting away. Instead, they're replaced with the story in the pages, rapturing my attention and distracting my mind.

That is, until the door opens and I feel his presence before I see or hear him.

"There you are, doll. I've been looking for you all day," Bucky calls, his deep, smooth voice cascading into my very soul. I shut my eyes for a moment, trying desperately to not let it show on my face how jarring it was to be snapped from the book to the person I've been trying to avoid.

"You've been looking for me?" I ask, managing to make my voice seem calm and pleasant. He approaches where I'm sitting on the floor, a breath-stealing smile tugging at his lips.

"Course I have, I haven't seen you in days," He replies, his face the picture of relaxed calm, drawing a fierce dichotomy to the barely-veiled confliction on my own. Bucky takes a moment, surveying me sitting on the floor amidst all of the chairs and couches available. He lifts an amused brow at me.

"Why are you on the floor?"

I can't stop myself from smiling up at him and all control I had in keeping myself away from him disintegrates, "It's more comfortable to me. Are you judging me Barnes?"

His laugh bursts light into the depths of me, and as I watch his face relax I can't help but look on in awe at how far he's come. When he first joined the team, he was withdrawn and quiet and even grumpier than he is now. He never smiled, never laughed, and barely spoke. Now, of course he's adorably grumpy most of the time, but he smiles and laughs. He enjoys life, and he more than anyone else in this world deserves to enjoy life.

"What're you reading?" Bucky asks, and I try to ignore the way my pulse rockets up when he settles down beside me on the floor.

He stretches out his long legs, keeping the one furthest from me bent and resting his arm on top it. His other leg is stretched out and nearly touching my own. To help balance his weight, he settles the hand closest to me, his metal hand, onto a spot on the floor behind my back. The position makes his chest brush against my shoulder ever so slightly and all I can feel is the burning of his presence and the searing of his gaze.

"Just some fantasy book," I reply, not wanting to bore him.

I look over at him to see his eyes already on my face, his own radiating a serene peace. He furrows his brows at my prolonged examination of his features and the ghost of a smile twitches at the corner of his lips, "What is it?"

"Nothing, it's just," My mouth has gone dry again, and I can't seem to clear the haze on my mind, "You look at peace."

"Well someone pretty incredible suggested rain therapy, which works like a charm for my grumpiness."

A laugh bubbles out of me, only widening the smile on his face. I find myself subconsciously leaning into his presence and bringing our faces closer.

"Seriously," Bucky continues, making me realize our proximity and pull back to a normal distance, "I'm always at peace around you."

My heart doesn't just miss a step, it stumbles and falls and nearly gives out in my chest. His words affect every part of me and it's a feat of pure resilience that I don't reach over and press my lips to his.

"Unless you're doing something stupid and testing my nerves," He adds on, lightening the air and making me giggle. He nods towards the almost forgotten book in my hands.

"You were going to tell me about your new read," Bucky reminds, and I smile.

I spend the next ten minutes detailing what's happening in the book, my excitement about it taking over and making me ramble on without barely taking any breaths. I occasionally look between the book and Bucky, sometimes gesturing with my hands to establish my enthusiasm.

Even when I'm not looking at him, Bucky's gaze never leaves my face.

So much for giving myself space to try and move on from him. That thought is far from my mind, though. The longer I’m near him, the closer he is, the harder it is to remember to forget him. And now, with Tony’s Gala tomorrow night, I don’t know how I’m going to move on.

Maybe I really can give this one last shot. It could break me if it goes wrong, but I have a feeling I’ll break a little regardless.

|||

The next night

Not even the pounding of the music and the chatter and clatter of hundreds of guests can drown out my racing mind.

“Stop tugging at your dress, you look great,” Natasha chides from beside me.

With a huff of anxiety, I heed her words and stop fiddling with the snug material of the one-sleeved dress. It hugs my curves down to my waist before draping elegantly to the floor, broken only by the high slit up the thigh.

“I know,” I reply, downing my second drink of the night and setting down the empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter with a brief smile, “I just haven’t seen him yet. He’s coming right? Tony told us all to be here, so he wouldn’t just-”

“Why does there have to be so many people here?”

My words die out at the distant but unmissable rumble of words behind me. I turn around, and my entire world seems to focus on the epicenter that is Bucky Barnes as he walks in beside Sam Wilson.

“It’s a party man, I thought you loved parties back in the day,” Sam replies, smiling at a few people as he walks in.

“Yeah well I don’t like people like I did then,” Bucky grumbles back, messing with the edges of his all-black suit that is tailored so perfectly that it hones every inch of his body.

His broad shoulders, his muscular form, his piercing blue eyes in a fierce dichotomy with the darkness of the getup…I almost trip in my heels.

“You don’t like any people? That breaks my heart, Barnes,” I manage out coolly, walking up to the pair with a half-smile tugging on my lips and my heart dancing with the butterflies within.

Bucky’s gaze turns from the party goers to where I walk up to them, and a part of me melts at the way a light filters into his features. His dashing smile makes my own grow before I can stop it. The way he simply stops for a moment and stares at me, as if the throngs of people around us don’t exist…

It’s more than an effort to shove my poor heart into its shackles.

“I guess you’re an exception, doll,” He amends, and Sam rolls his eyes beside Bucky as they stop before me.

“It’s not like I’m right here,” Sam announces, making me giggle slightly and look to him.

“Hey Sam, good to see you,” I greet, walking over and hugging the man. He hugs me back, smiling brightly.

“Good to see you too,” Sam responds, his eyes catching on something over my shoulder, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I believe there are some fans who need me.”

I laugh as I watch him walk over and greet a group of women by the bar. When I turn back to Bucky, I shove down my nerves and shake my head as I pull him into a hug.

“You look incredible, Buck,” I announce, trying to ignore the rightness of his body against mine as he pulls me into a hug that lasts a moment more than I should have let it.

“Y/N,” he deadpans, pulling back but leaving his arms on my waist to admire me. His eyes sparkle with something akin to awe that makes hope rise in my chest, “You put me and everyone else in this room to shame.”

“You obviously haven’t looked in a mirror,” I remark, desperately trying to not show all over my face how beautiful he is.

Bucky just smiles. He looks at me and he smiles and I am undone.

My eyes catch on Natasha over Bucky’s shoulder as she mingles in the background of the party. When our gazes meet she gestures to Bucky with a hand, mounting the words ‘Come on’ as she does. Nodding back to her, I remember the conversation we had a few days ago and right before we joined the gala. I have to be bold and make a move, take a chance before I lose the ability to do so.

“So,” I turn back to Bucky, smiling knowingly up at him, “How’re you doing with the whole party thing?”

Bucky takes in a breath, nodding his head slightly as he surveys the party scene around us. Drinks are flowing, laughs rising, and music is permeating through every sector of the Avengers Compound. The floor shakes with the base and the clattering of shoes as he looks back to me, “Oh you know, just fantastic.”

“Is that so?” I taunt, almost laughing at the dripping sarcasm in his voice. He shoots me a grumpy glare that finally unleashes my laugh. At the sound, Bucky’s features soften and a smile touches his lips. I notice this and furrow my brows up at him.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Bucky whispers, just holding that’s soft smile in his eyes that makes me almost forget the track of the conversation. When I snap myself from my daze, I gasp.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” I exclaim, holding my clutch up and opening it to find what I stashed earlier, “I know how you are with parties like this and all so I thought that this might help make it a better memory.”

“You got me a gift?” Bucky asks, shaking his head at me with furrowed brows, “You should have told me, I would’ve gotten you something too!”

I shake my head, finally finding what I’m looking for and glancing up at Bucky, “Then it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?”

With a bright smile to cover my pounding, anxious heart, I hold out the small book in my hands. Bucky glances down at the gift I hold out, and I watch his body go still. Anticipation dances in my belly as he ever so gently reaches out and takes the old, fading The Hobbit novel into his hands.

“It’s a first edition, don’t ask me how I found it,” I inform, playing with the fabric of my dress to give my now empty hands something to do, “I know how much you loved it and now when you’re watching me read in the library, you can read too.”

My words ring out between us, and yet Bucky barely moves. Just when I’m beginning to grow nervous, my heart melts into a puddle in my chest when he lifts his steel-eyed gaze to me. I’ve never seen him cry before, but here and now I can see the lining of unshed tears in his gaze.

“Buck-"

He closes the distance between us, pulling me so close to him that there’s no room for separation. I melt into the hug, becoming nothing more than an extension of his body. There’s no him. There’s no me. There’s only us as we’re suspended in time, caught in this moment.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he mumbles, not moving back an inch and letting his voice cascade over my neck and down my spine, “You don’t know what this means to me.”

Reluctantly, I pull back. Every part of me shouts in protest, but I know we have to separate as some point. I give him a soft smile, trying to ignore the noose that’s slowly tightening around my heart. I’m a goner. I have no chance of recovery.

“Don’t mention it,”

Bucky stares at me for another moment, the charged silence soon taking on an anticipated feel. We’re both waiting for the other to make the first move, I can sense it. I see Nat nudge me from afar again and decide to finally muster up my courage and stop waiting. I notice Bucky shakes his head at something, mumbling something to himself, but I press on.

“Hey, do you wanna da-”

“I’m gonna go get a drink,” Bucky bursts out at almost the same instant, making me cut off my sentence quickly.

A drink? He’s going to get a drink right now, as soon as I was about to ask him to dance? I know he didn’t mean it as a rejection, but it still stings like one.

“Oh, uh yeah sure. That’s-”

Before I can even finish speaking, Bucky has darted away desperately towards the bar at the North side of the room near Sam. I stand dumbfounded, my heart slowly sinking. This is going to be much harder than I thought.

|||

It's been nearly an hour and a half and Bucky is still managing to be everywhere that I am not.

I can take a hint. Even if that hint shatters my soul a little.

As I watch the super soldier mingle with some of the guests, a polite and slightly annoyed smile on his face, I feel something snap within my chest. Here I am, lounging pathetically at the bar all alone, and there he is, my best friend who I can't seem to fall out of love with. His strong jaw and steel eyes don't dare to turn in my direction, and I feel my fracturing soul crack even more.

I have to let it go. I have to let it go. I have to let him go.

With a long sigh, I pick up the drink before me and down its contents, letting the burn soothe away the edge of the crawling pain in my chest. Once the glass is slammed back down on the bar counter, I steel my nerves and stand.

It's time I stop feeling sorry for myself and move on.

My eyes scan the thick crowd scattered throughout every inch of Tony's gala. Music radiates through every molecule of air, and just one glance at the dance floor has my feet moving before my brain is. As I walk over to the dance floor, I see a random guy standing with a few others. He's cute enough with a charming smile, so I grab his arm as I walk past, making him glance over at me. I flash him my best smile and tug him towards the dance floor.

"Dance with me?" I ask boldly, and his smile widens.

"I'd be honored," He replies, letting me pull him onto the dance floor.

I should let myself be whisked away into the music and the movements and the feel of his hands on my hips as we dance. I should let the base and the crowd and the charming man before me wipe away every thought, but I just...can't. All I can think about when his hands slide gently on my waist is how different it feels when those hands are Bucky's. My heart is crushing slowly, and so I do everything I can to forget it.

It's actually beginning to work until the music abruptly cuts out.

Groans and boo's arise from the crowd with me on the dance floor as we all look around, trying to figure out why the music's stopped. "That's so weird," The nice guy I'm dancing with mumbles. I mention my agreement, my eyes sweeping the edges of the party before I catch a glint of dark metal. My eyes fly back to the metal only to see Bucky storming away from the sound booth, his metal fist clenched so hard that I'm surprised it doesn't malfunction. In his metal grasp is a hunk of wires, and my stomach drops.

He did not.

"Don't worry folks! I'll have the music back up in no time," Tony announces, flashing his winning smile to the crowd as he jogs to the sound booth, "There was a slight malfunction"

I see him shoot Bucky a glare, but true to his words the music is back up in a matter of minutes. I feel anger begin to make my blood boil and I pull away from the guy I was dancing with. I see a frown pull onto his face as he lets me go but follows me a few steps.

"Are you okay?" He calls after me, and my heart twists in sympathy. I must look absolutely furious and he probably thinks it's pointed at him. So, I do my best to give him a sympathetic smile.

"I'm alright, thanks for the dance. I needed it," I comment, before turning and continuing my beeline for the brooding super soldier in the corner. He's standing with Sam, muttering something that I can't hear as I finally break through the crowd and walk up to them.

"Here we go," Sam mumbles, slowly backing away as I come to a stop in front of Bucky.

"What the hell, James?" I grit out.

"Oh she used the first name," Sam comments, his eyes widening, "I'm going to go check on Steve."

Then he leaves, and it's just Bucky and I. Bucky just shrugs, not meeting my furious gaze.

"I don't know what you're so mad about but-"

"Oh really? So you didn't just rip out the sound system?" I accuse, crossing my arms over my chest. He finally turns and meets my gaze, and damn it all I can't stop the swooning of my heart at the dark, rugged look on his face.

I'm angry, I remind myself. I'm angry with him.

"What does that have to do with you, sweetheart?"

I scoff, shaking my head at him, "You are unbelievable! I was finally starting to have a good night and-"

"Dancing with that handsy prick makes your night a good night then?" He interrupts, and I have to fight to keep the smug look off of my face at catching him.

"What were you saying about this having nothing to do with me?" I fire back, lifting an eyebrow. Bucky clenches his jaw and takes a step closer to me, probably expecting me to back off. I don't. Instead, I tilt my head up to meet his gaze, trying and failing to seem taller than him.

"I don't like you dancing with other men like that," Bucky informs, his voice dark. He's so close to me that his whiskey and pine scent invades my senses, threatening to empty my head of the argument at hand.

"I can dance with whoever the hell I want, Barnes. And since certain people made it very clear they didn't want to dance with me, then certain people should have no say in who I dance with"

"I don't dance, Y/N." His eyes are cool fire and they sear right through me. Even in this heated argument, all I can seem to think about is how badly I want him, body and soul. My thoughts are banished when he spits his next words out, "Not with you, not with anyone."

It shouldn't hurt. It shouldn't. So why do I have to fight to keep the hurt off of my face?

Just like that, the fire in my argument is gone. I nod, taking a few steps back, "Okay, that's all you had to say."

And then I turn around and leave before he can see the tears welling in my gaze.

I force myself into the crowd, making sure I move quickly and weave myself between those around me to get away as fast as possible. Then, with my heart in my throat, I finally make it to the outskirts of the party where a glass sliding door leads out into a training field. Through the glass, I can see rain pouring down into the dark, almost moonless night.

Seeing it unravels a bit of the pain within my chest, and I don't even think as I slip off my heels and walk outside. I shut the door behind me, muting the sounds of the party and leaving the downpour of rain and the distant rumble of thunder to take over my senses. I set my heels down carefully and walk out into the field, barely jumping when the cool, refreshing droplets begin to pound into my skin. It's not long before I'm soaked and my entire outfit is ruined. I don't mind, though. I'm not planning on going back there anyways.

I sit down in the grass, not even minding how it dirties my dress, and hug my knees close. When I slip my eyes shut, I'm reminded why I love the rain so much.

In moments like this, I can't distinguish my tears from the rain

I don't know how long I sit like this, my eyes shut and the rain drenching me. Eventually, my body stops shaking from the sobs that have now subsided and any evidence of my breakdown has been washed away. I'm almost at peace when I hear that voice, that stupid, addicting voice, ring out behind me through the storm.

"I'd say you'll catch a cold, but I don't think you'd care much"

I swallow hard, cursing my heart for the way it jumps. I open my eyes, but keep my gaze firmly forward across the training field.

"Especially since it's coming from you," I add on, grateful for the lack of tremor in my words.

"I guess I deserved that one," Bucky concedes softly, his voice getting closer. My body begins to shiver with the anticipation of him being close, the response purely visceral and out of my control. I just hope he thinks it's from the rain.

"You think?" I scoff lightly, not having the strength to be angry anymore.

It's silent for a long while, and I almost begin to think that he's left and gone back inside. I'm proven otherwise when I see Bucky walk out from behind me, standing right in front of where I sit with my knees drawn to my chest. Against my better judgement, I look up.

And there he is, drenched like I am and an unreadable look upon his stupidly handsome face.

"Bucky-"

He extends out his human hand, and my words die, "Dance with me."

Every part of my heart beams, and it’s an effort to keep the fluttering of my heart out of my body language. I pause for a moment, almost as if to give him time to retract his hand. When he doesn’t, I hesitantly meet his gaze.

“I thought you didn’t dance,” I whisper. His half-smile grows as he looks down at me with what almost looks like…adoration.

“I don’t,” Bucky confirms, his voice like sugar and pine, “But for you I’d do anything”

I can’t even try to hide the visceral effect his words have on me. With a thousand butterflies batting in my stomach and my heart beating viscously out of rhythm, I allow a small smile to grow on my lips. A new excitement in my chest, I reach up and slip my hand into his large, rough one calloused with work and time. It fits mine perfectly, as always, and his touch muddles my senses and wakes me up all at once, as always.

As he helps me stand, the rain still pouring down on us, he tugs me close to him so suddenly that I stumble right into his chest. A small laugh escapes my lips as I catch myself on his broad chest. Bucky’s so close, so warm, so intoxicating to me that every fiber of my being yearns for his proximity. I’m nothing but a firing hum of nerves and sparks being this close to him, with a hand on his chest and his arm secured around my waist.

And we dance.

There’s no music, there’s no reason. We just dance. Bucky’s magnificent at it, every step dripping in ease and cool confidence that only makes me love him more. I’m so caught in the moment that every thought of a reciprocated or unrequited love has been banished from my mind. All that exists is here and now, underneath the downpour of the heavens with the cacophony of nature as our song.

He twirls me around, making water splash up and a giggle bubble out of me when I slip and fall directly into him. His body rumbles with low laughter when he catches me stopping my fall. Bucky doesn’t even have to say a word for me to know he’s making fun of me, so I slap his chest with a huff of laughter.

“What?” Bucky’s amused voice is the harmony to the melody of the rain.

“I can feel your judgement from here,” I point out, but before I can raise my lightened gaze to meet his on my own, a metal hand hooks under my chin and gently turns my face up until our eyes clash.

Suddenly, I’m not so humored anymore.

Neither is he, I can tell. The air is different—still light with joy but now corded with something deep, rich, and intangible. His piercing blue eyes seem to be burdened with a million different thoughts, but I can barely bring myself to breathe let alone ask him what is going through his beautiful mind.

Bucky doesn’t say a single word, though. He doesn’t have to. My eyes glance down to his lips for no more than one half of a second, and by the time I’ve returned my gaze to his, he’s closing to distance between us and connecting his lips to mine.

I’ve never understood what is so special about kissing in the rain. I get it now. There’s something so dichotomously beautiful in this moment, in the cold, relentless rain and the desperate, burning heat of Bucky’s lips moving against my own.

Again, no words are needed for us both to understand. This kiss is everything that has been bottling up over our friendship. It’s every quiet moment in the library and loud moment in our arguments. As his hands tug me closer and ignite my skin as if it were burning clean off, as his lips and tongue move with mine, every thought and worry and tear-filled, longing night washes away. The very thought makes me sigh into the kiss, and finally we break apart only for the need for air.

Bucky doesn’t let me pull away an inch.

His arms keep my locked close, his forehead against mine as we both catch our breath. He nudged my nose with his before pulling away only enough to meet my gaze. One hand of his cradles my jaw, his thumb running lazy circles on my cheek.

“Does this mean you like me?” I whisper, a humored glint already lighting my gaze. Bucky laughs roughly, his voice sending shivers down my spine that don't go unnoticed. Rather, the other hand he keeps on my waist lifts to absently trace the path of the shiver, almost making my knees go weak.

“I more than like you,” Bucky quips, a content smile taking over his features. My heart misses a step and I don’t dare to dream.

“You really like me?” I taunt, and another heart-warming laugh pours from those perfect lips.

“You’re gonna make me say it, doll?”

I swallow thickly, my eyes not leaving his. I don’t dare to say another word, leaving the challenge up to him. Bucky sighs, moving the hand he keeps on my spine to cradle the other side of my face, now cupping it in his full grasp. He presses a long, gentle kiss to my lips before pulling back enough to where his lips still graze mine as he speaks.

“I love you, Y/N. Always have. Always will.”

My knees nearly go weak, and suddenly I'm so very grateful for the rain's ability to hide what is a drop and what is a tear. I'd never hear the end of it from him if he knew that's what his confession brought me to. When one of thumbs catches a stray tear, though, I know he's fully aware.

"I love you too, Buck."

Bucky smirks before me, bringing his mouth close to my ear and sending another shiver racing down my spine, "I figured that much out, sweetheart"

"Oh whatever!" I announce, hitting his shoulder but leaning in closer to his mouth that now trails from my jaw back to my lips. He presses a sweet kiss to my lips before holding me close to his chest and looking up into the sky that downpours upon us.

"Rain therapy, I guess it really does work," Bucky remarks.

"I would say I told you so, but-" I'm cut off by Bucky suddenly grabbing me by the waist and throwing me over his shoulder.

"What was that?" Bucky calls up to me, spinning me slightly and only making me giggle louder.

"Bucky, I'm in a dress!" I protest. He slaps my ass smugly and begins to walk with me still over his shoulder back to the compound.

"I know, let's get you out of that"

As my laugh tumbles out of my mouth, it twirls and dances and gets lost with the pounding of the rain and the rolling of the thunder. Once again, I'm in the debt of the rain, and I can't help but smile at it gratefully as my best friend and the love of my life walks triumphantly with me over his shoulder into the midst of Tony's nice party. Neither of us care about the looks we receive, though. Neither of us even notices.

All we see is the rain and each other.

[aikuse]

-> heat wave | 1,266 words. gn!reader, penetrative sex, cunnilingus, teasing, established relationship, reader calls tsugeura “tsuge”, tsugeura calls reader “sweets, babe, baby, good girl”.

author’s notes: it's so goddamn hot here i can't even think of getting off right now, but tsuge would. because he's a nuisance. <3

"hey, babe, have you seen my—whoa."

you don't react to tsugeura entering your room, or the hitched breathe he takes when his footsteps creak next to the doorframe. it's too hot to even think about it; you're stripped down to your sports bra and underwear, laying down with a fan blowing in your face as your poor laptop whirs weakly to keep up with your tasks.

you knew he’d react like this, too; it’s in your nature to tease him, it’s the one thing you enjoy more than anything else. and it’s so easy—all you have to do is wear a low cut neckline, or show your stomach, or bottoms that are stretched a little too thin, a little too small for you, your folds straining against the cloth. it’s almost comical how hard he gets just seeing your bare skin.

"what?" you ask, nonchalantly, taking a sip of your bottle before rolling over and looking at him.

he's gobsmacked, naturally; even after years of living together, he still reacts like a kid on Christmas when he sees even a hint of what you look like under your clothes. he's insatiable as he wanders in, eyes locked onto your cleavage spilling over the top of your bra, the tightness of the clothing forcing them to bulge, as if begging to be freed.

and here you are, laid out for him like a lovely pre-workout meal.

you can't help but squeal as he leaps onto the bed, crawling up and covering your bared body in sloppy kisses, just like the puppy you tease him to be. "tsuge! stop it, oh my god."

he doesn't stop, of course. why would he? hearing you laugh, feeling your body rumble underneath him as you (weakly) attempt to push him off...it causes something to rise up in his pants, to ache in his shorts.

"can't go work out like this, yeah?" he murmurs in your ear. he's warm, too warm for the heat right now outside, but your air conditioning and fan work overtime for relief as you feel his fingers curl into the hem of your underwear. you tut at him, your hand curling into his fluffy hair.

“guess not. do you need something to hydrate?”

you can’t help but wink at him while he breathes on your folds, the shudder running through your body as he does so. he feels it too, hands on the undersides of your thighs, tongue just barely licking at your folds, giggling at how wet you already are.

“looks like i’m ‘bout to hit my goal, too.”

he dives in without warning, and the electricity that lances through your body as he sucks on your clit makes your back practically bend into itself. he’s ravenous, as he always is, throwing delicacy to the window as he licks and sucks and gnaws on you like some kind of animal. your eyes practically roll into the back of your head as a long groan spills from your lips, and you can feel his stare burning your face.

“yeah, ya dirty girl? ya like cummin’ all over my face?” his question is muffled as he slides down to tongue at your puckered hole, a gasp coming from you at the sudden contact you weren’t expecting. it only stokes the fires of your arousal as you begin to squirm, feeling the coil in your stomach tighten.

“y-yeah—”

“fuck, love it when ya admit it. can ya do it f’me righ’ now? cream all over m’ face?”

you don’t even have to think about it; in fact, you’re already gushing all over his mouth before you know it,, stars popping in and out of your vision as he mumbles good girl and so obedient against you. trails of slick attaching his lips to your groin as he pulls away.

“f-fuck,” you moan, weakly, a starstruck smile cracking your lips, and his grin only gets wider as he removes a hand to palm himself through his shorts. “ya like that, baby?” you nod, sighing, ignoring how warm you are. instead, you focus on the thin sheet of sweat that’s beginning to appear on tsugeura’s skin, glinting lightly off of the sunshine streaming in through the window.

“you’re not gonna go work out, are you?” you stammer out as he flips you over, breasts rubbing against the sheets. you remove your top as he tears off his shorts behind you, a dull thud on the floor at where they’ve landed. your nipples rub against the sheets; it’s a relief, feeling them ache so much, and one of tsugeura’s hands wraps around you to grab one, twisting it between his fingers.

he doesn’t answer, only laughs as he lines up his cock with your hole. the laugh is the answer, you deduce.

it’s a stretch, as it always is, and his hand abandons your chest to grab your hips. he sinks in easily, bottoming out with how open you are within seconds, groaning.

“fuck, god, y’re so fuckin’ hot,” he says, and you can’t help but move your hips a little against him, trying your best not to giggle. it’s so easy, it’s so fucking easy to get to him, and tsugeura is happy to play your little games. it’s endearing, seeing someone so in love with you at any and all points of the day, whose sometimes so blind that he doesn’t realize himself what he does to people.

that’s when his hips snap against your own. you yelp—he’s so deep, pressing against that little bundle of nerves that’ll have you squirting around his cock so quickly. he finds it easily, has mapped out your body (inside and outside) over the course of years, knowing exactly what points make you squeal and squirm and twist underneath him.

“yeah, this is gonna be my workout, okay, sweets?” he says. his hips snap against you again. your brain is emptying as he does so; you can’t concentrate beyond holding onto the sheets as his snapping turns into a rhythm—a breakneck rhythm, wet skin slapping against skin as he rails you into the bedspread. “c-cardio trainin’ my ass,” you hear him huff behind you as he drills into your hole, “y’re all i need. don’t even need a fuckin’ gym membership f’r this.”

your brain is mush now. you can’t think anymore. drool is pooling next to your head as he keeps up his pace, and the dam unleashes inside of you without you even noticing. all you feel is pleasure; the heat is barely noticeable with the friction between you two, burning you inside and out as you squirt all over him, essence dripping onto the sheets beneath you. you hear him suck on his teeth, as if fueled by your climax.

“yeah, baby! yeah, cum all over me. make a mess f’me, god, that’s so fucking hot, fuck—”

he stutters, and you know he’s cumming before he says it with a growl, bending over to press his entire body weight against you. you’re flat against the bed, now, as he ruts into you weakly, his sticky cum spilling into your hole, his thrusts causing it to drip onto the bed beneath you.

you both lay there for a long time, congealed liquids and sweat sticking you both together like tape. tsugeura pushes your hair to the side as he leans over to look at you, dazed smile matching your own as your eyes crinkle.

“that a good replacement?” you mumble, and he laughs, looking next to your head at his watch.

his watch blinks once, spelling out workout completed on the face.

divider credit: @/cafekitsune networks: @interstellar-inn @themovingcastlez

disclaimer: DO NOT copy or repost my works for any reason. translations are acceptable, but please ask for permission first!

© togamest 2023-2024

[emptymanuscript]

Today's waste of life seems to be some kind of article on Bluecap Poker, which is what I'm trying to now use for resolutions in Trihorn instead of dice.

I've managed to get through all the random worldbuilding surrounding bits so far this morning today. >_< definitely way more detail and time spent than I need about anything for any reason. It's so big I can't even post it because it exceeds a post's character limit. Ack >_<

I wonder if it would fit if I took out most of the Coblynau bits. Yep. Mostly under the cut for anyone who wants to waste a little of their life on a fictional article on a fictional card game, whose ruleset I haven't finished, for a fictional world, whose fiction hasn't happened yet. >_<

Bluecap Poker

Bluecap Poker (or Coblynau) is named in reference to a mythical, mischievious burrowing dinosaur. The Bluecap was about 3 feet tall at the haunch, and 5 feet long from snout to tail tip, with scales the color of common blue Apatite which is the mainstay of its diet. As a consequence, it often makes rapping, striking, knocking, chipping, digging, cracking sounds as if it is another miner working unseen.

But the sounds in the deep that miners can hear, leading them toward the richer veins of ore that the Apatite crystalizes near. But also toward lots of worthless rock. Common Miner folkwisdom is that if you start leaving out some Apatite stone and valuables in a pile for the Coblynau to eat after quitting time, you can train the Bluecap to like the other, more valuable mineral as well, so it will favor the richer veins. Unfortunately, it will also give the Bluecap a taste for raiding any mining gear left unwatched.

The Bluecap is always hungry because Apatite is very common but only in small quantities. So it is nearly always working or bemoaning its condition. if you go down into the dark and are quiet, you can often hear it at work, and even when not, you can hear it groaning or rumbling in hunger. This also means that clever miners can go beyond training and actually tame a Bluecap. If the miners constantly leave good enough eating for the Bluecap in a solitary dark corner it will start to help them by forewarning them of cave-ins and even making their work easier. Sometimes even starting new burrows that will lead the miners in better directions.

There's a popular fairytale about a group of miners that tamed their Bluecap to the point that it became like their pet T-Rex. They dressed it up in gear they made for it like their own, even with a little fitted mining cap with a lantern which had its fire turn blue from the Bluecap's magic. Thereafter they were often lead by its ghostly blue light that never needed a new candle to more riches than any other mine and, when a cart was full, it would lash itself to the front of the mine cart and help pull it out to unload, the bobbing blue light guiding the way.

But the same fairytale emphasizes that the Bluecap can be as tricksy as helpful when it isn't treated well. When the miners become too rich and greedy, abusing its friendship, It pranks and misleads them and finally steals away every valuable thing in the mine and digs out the treasure before they can get to it with the new gear they have to spend their wealth on (that it steals again) until they are reminded of what it is like to be poor and mend their ways.

The Bluecap is said to be a particularly grotesque and ugly little dinosaur. Though actual descriptions vary from tale to tale and region to region. The only constants are that it has long, strong foreclaws and is universally agreed to be constantly quite dirty. Besides for that it's just whatever the storyteller seems to think of as ugly. Another fairytale, adapted into a popular children's story is about a prissy young noble boy who finds one and keeps trying to bathe it to get the dirt and muck out of its feathers and many flaps that run through its wrinkled frills, inadvertently teaching it to sift water for its minerals so it drinks up all the water in the whole kingdom. The boy ends up King by selling the water back for the price of the country and names the Bluecap his chief adviser, turning it into the Kingdom of children where no one ever takes a bath and every day there is a contest to see who can make the ugliest face.

The largest variation in Bluecap Poker is, appropriately, that the size of the hand, draw, and deal is variable. Players can pay chips to the dealer to alter the rules of how many cards they are able to receive and lay down. This in turn leads to a more complex variation of scoring, that can sometimes lead to scores slightly different than other types of poker would award. There is also some slight variation in terminology. For instance while hidden cards are still usually referred to as in the hole, they can sometimes be referred to as in the Adit (an underground tunnel to the surface for access or drainage purposes), and shown cards are usually referred to as being in the wash. The Blinds are sometimes called drawers, hurriers, putters, screens, or waggoners depending on the region. The dealer is also often referred to as the Deputy (most common), overman, foreman, overlooker, bailiff, gaffer, manager, reckoner, senior, or even viewer or landlord. This again depends on the mine terminology used in the region and its typical position that would be in charge of reckoning a miner's wages on payday. Landlord, as a term, is almost exclusively used in countries where both the owner of the mine was the traditional recokoner of a miner's wages and where gambling houses are common, so the dealer is set instead of rotating. Bluecap poker is very played without a rotating dealer, as the dealer receives the payments for alteration of hand rules. In gambling houses, casinos, and social clubs where Bluecap poker is played, this is typically how the house earns its cut and the Deputy, in turn, does not act as a player, just the dealer. To prevent this hurting the blinds, gambling houses usually have all players put in a set smaller amount to seed the pot before the deal, this is commonly referred to as the vein.

The most important but actually least used change in terminology is Coblynau. Bluecap Poker was adapted from Coblyanu, a much older but quite similar game to poker that yields most of the changes in how the variant is played from other variants.

The history of Coblynau itself is very difficult to trace since it was a game highly influenced by its region. The historian Collerin Despurin in her book, Coblynau in the Cave, has the most detailed study of the game and uses its regional variations between the Spefreah and Ushclec mountain ranges in the Eastern Wall to propose a pattern for human migration and settlement from an original evolution in the Punisere desert, all the way north then all the west, then back in all directions to settle the Known world.

Hoyel Vodjriele's Guide to Showdowns, 39th edition suggests the most important difference in definition between Coblynau and Bluecap Poker is that Coblynau doesn't allow wildcards where Bluecap Poker does.

[late-night-cabaret]

Yancy is grinning down at them like a mad man, drinking in every sound and look that Finn gave him. They were the slightest cracks in their dominant persona, but he would gladly spend the entire morning trying to see more. Whether it was for the satisfaction of seeing them bend to his will only a little or because he legitimately wanted to hear them scream from pleasure... well, it could be somewhere in the middle.

He moans as their thigh rubs along his erection, shivers of pleasure running down his spine. Fuck, if he didn't think they would spend hours teasing him if he submitted, he'd cave right now if it meant his dick got more attention. "'Course not, darlin'... I wouldn't be fuckin' with you right now if I didn't think it would be a challenge..." Then their teeth sink into his neck and he groans loudly, somewhere between pain and pleasure. The adrenaline helped curb most of it, but the sting was enough to shoot straight to his cock, grinding against her once again.

"Fuck! Biting, huh?" He pants out as he slides her hands above her head. Switching to one hand to pin them down, almost pushing his full weight onto them. Knowing he ran the risk of them getting their hands free, he planned on making the most of his time. The moan and their thighs moving doesn’t elude him as his hand slides into the hair on the side of their head, giving the strands a sharp tug as he chuckles lowly next to her ear. "Someone likes a struggle, huh? Likin' the idea of tryna fight back?" He asks mockingly.

Yancy lets his tongue move along the shell of their ear, piercing and all, before biting down on the lobe. Not hard enough to draw blood, but hard. At the same time, he lets go of their hair and his hand quickly moves under their dress, fingers pressing against their arousal through their panties. He can't stop the pleased groan that rumbles in his chest. "Oh fuck, sweetheart, someone really likes it... already so fuckin' wet for me..."

It was about three in the morning, and the window in Yancy's room was wide open. The crisp air wafted through the bedroom and the curtain fluttered in the air, and there was a particularly energetic assassin standing at the foot of his bed with a small plastic bag in their hand. Finn was practically buzzing with energy, their slender frame barely highlighted by the dim moonlight shining through the open window.

It had been so easy to find Yancy's personal home and to break into his house... if he didn't wanna get killed, he should probably do something about that. Even just a couple of thugs posted outside his front door would be a better protection system. Of course, Finn planned on killing him anyway, but just in case someone else wanted to kill him. He was valuable goods, after all, and he couldn't be so carelessly reckless.

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty!" they shout, snatching off the blankets that covered his body and grinning like a maniac. "If you don't get up and at 'em in thirty seconds, I'm shooting your foot so the adrenaline will wake you up... the pain of having a piece of metal lodged in your flesh might help wake you up a little bit too, but you know. Details."

- @lost-in-gardener

Yancy had a couple of different places he stayed at. One was a fifteenth story penthouse apartment that he spent the majority of his time at. That's where he usually had the most security posted outside his door, and... you know, fifteenth fucking story. Anyone wanting to break in another way had to figure it out with that little detail.

His other place was more homey, more of a getaway than anything. And, up until this point, he thought it was more private. He comes to consciousness with the distinct feeling he was being watched, just before someone is yelling and yanking the blankets off his body. His hand is under the pillow in an instant before he's aiming a gun at them.

Is that... no fucking way. He recognizes the voice almost immediately, but he still doesn't lower the gun. Letting out a huff of air, he tries to calm down before the adrenaline makes his heart explode. "What... Finn?? What the fuck?!" He says quietly, voice still rough from sleep. His other hand slaps at the lamp on his bedside table as he sits up, casting a faint glow in the room. At least he wore boxers to bed because he was naked otherwise. "What the hell are you doin' here?"

[mlmvoreconfessionals]

any chance you got some more stuff for your boy Ravenclaw? He's still a total cutie from what I read

I am constantly thinking about this man, you have no idea.

The waiting room is empty other than the one man sitting in a chair. He's nervously wringing his hands as he stares at the door leading into the doctor's office. There had been a full house before, but that was two hours ago, and the place is empty but for one. But the man has started noticing that out of all those people...no one has actually walked back out this way. The last one--so fat guy complaining of a stomach ache--had gone in ten minutes ago and still wasn't back. The last man is getting increasingly nervous about the whole thing but before he can make a decision of what he's going to do, the door opens a crack and a voice comes through. "Next."

The man looks up when he hears the voice and slowly rises to his feet. He's nervous about what he's going to see but...he moves forward instead, heading to the door and stepping inside to see the doctor.

Doctor Ravenclaw has his stomach resting on the examination table in his office. It's stuffed so full that it's completely exposed from his coat and shirt, exposing the pale flesh that's bulging with so many men inside. It groans and churns heavily, the wet sounds mixing with the muffled voices of the many men inside. A thick belch rumbles out of him as his stomach lets out a rather noisy groan, mulching down one of the 'patients' inside now that he's been stewing long enough.

The man in the plague doctor's mask looks over, one gloved hand resting on top of his gut. "Oh, good, there was someone left. I was just craving a bit of dessert." The man, frozen by the sight before him, barely registered what was said to him. It's not until a hand had grabbed him by the front of the shirt and dragged him forward that he snapped out of it. But by then, it was too late. He's hoisted off the ground, staring into the open beak of the mask, down into the wide open maw just drooling for an extra piece of meat. He could smell the heavy scent of lavender and vanilla...and then he's pushed in head first like the rest.

Wet slurps and gulps ring out in the office as Doctor Ravenclaw devours his latest meal. The man went down easily, his kicking legs disappearing with a wet slurp and a final gulp. The doctor lets out a pleased groan as he felt another live meal squeeze into his already stuffed gut. "Mmm...that feels much better...and with twenty minutes still to my lunch break." He pats his gut gently, another wet belch rumbling out of him, this one sending a slimy sneaker flying from his jaws. He gently picked it up and tosses it into a biohazard bin then returns to the examination table to rest his stomach on.

The rest of the patients that day are spared from the doctor's ravenous hunger, at least. But all of them can't help but notice how heavy and round the doctor's stomach is and the wet, rumbling noises it makes as it steadily processes so much meat. One even ended up accidentally squashed under it when the doctor stumbled by mistake, leading to a very heavy belch and a lot of very embarrassed and frantic apologies.

By the end of the day, Doctor Ravenclaw is huffing to himself as he fails to stretch his shirt down over his even fatter stomach. "Guh...every day this damn thing gets bigger..." He finally gives up, letting his shirt ride halfway up his stomach again as it lets out a noisy rumble. Such a big lunch made him skip dinner and now that hunger is catching up to him. "...w-well...I suppose we can go get a bite to eat..." He flips the closed sign on the front door before leaving his office, ready to have another of his feasts.

[angstyaches]

Ooooh you have a delicious writing style- it's so descriptive! I'm afraid I'm quite new so don't know your characters much yet, but if this scenario could fit I bet you'd write it amazingly! Perhaps Character A is down on their luck, longterm or short-term wise, and is walking through town, having not eaten since the morning prior. Suddenly a store window catches their eye, displaying all sorts of amazing baked goods or meat cuts, and they can't help but stare while their hunger pains have them wincing openly. Character B notices them staring before Character A even realises what they're doing.

Agh, what a beautiful prompt. I think this is actually the first hunger fic I've written on request, so thank you, anon! I hope it’s okay that I used fancy pizza; I really wanted to use Payton for this and pizza is one of the few foods they would genuinely go weak over.

Pre-Payton and Autumn Getting Together

CW: hunger, hunger pangs, stomach noises, mentions of character unable to afford (decent) food, stress, overwork (it's Payton, what did we expect?), food mention

___

Payton sighed as they felt the drizzle start to fall around them. They stepped under a deserted bus shelter and stared out, wondering if the rain was going to get worse before it cleared up.

It was a fitting end to the day – or rather, the week – they’d been having. They couldn’t wait to get home and take off the stifling shirt they’d worn to a job interview that morning and then worn all the way through their shift at the café. They just wanted soft clothes and their bed and maybe a podcast to fall asleep to.

It all seemed so far away still, their energy sapping by the second and leaving them stranded five minutes away from the tram stop. Their feet stopped moving, rooting them to the pale grey concrete.

A gorgeous smell turned their head. Frantic interview prep, snooty employers, and stuffy clothes all faded from Payton’s mind. They were stopped across the street from the city’s most expensive food store. Built into a complex from the late 1800s, it was the kind of place where a sandwich cost €12. The kind of place that sold imported goods and “foodstuffs”.

An elaborate window was positioned behind the delicatessen section of the shop, where a chef was artfully piecing together a pizza on top of a copper paddle while another sat in a brick oven. The smell of the crisping dough must have been piped out deliberately onto the street, to entice those with money to burn, and to tease those without.

Payton fell into the latter category lately. With all the time they’d been spending on interview prep and assignments, they’d been taking shorter shifts at the café. Rent was going to clean them out this month. Today’s shift hadn’t even been long enough to warrant a full lunch break; they’d only taken fifteen minutes, and had spent thirteen of them taking a nap at the break room table.

Only now did they feel the twists of hunger in their stomach, the shakiness in their legs. Payton didn’t even realise that they had edged closer to the bus stop so they could sit down on the bench, one hand resting on their belly. Their stomach hurt, and it really was no wonder when they thought about it.

The last thing they’d eaten had been a bowl of cereal at seven a.m., the same cereal they were planning to have for dinner when they got home.

Payton’s stomach groaned unhappily at the prospect, and Payton groaned too; I’m right there with you, they thought miserably, rubbing at their stomach and continuing to watch the pizza chef through the window.

They didn’t know how long they grimaced and gazed across the street before they were interrupted.

“Payton? Hi!”

Payton jumped, head snapping up to see who’d said their name, and their heart skipped a beat.

A navy polka-dot umbrella sat over her shoulder. She was wearing tight leggings and an oversized sweater, her shoulder-length hair thrown into a lazy side-bun. She was wearing no makeup and looked a little sweaty, like she was heading home from the gym or dance practice.

She was a sight to behold, as always, even as she fumbled with her umbrella.

“H-hey,” Payton stammered, stumbling to their feet and trying to appear as though they weren’t so light-headed they were seeing stars.

Autumn glanced across the street, her eyes lingering there for a moment. “Uh, you don’t take this bus, do you?”

“I – no,” Payton admitted, glancing at the timetable and list of stops. “I was just sitting. Long day. Spaced out a bit.”

“Yeah, I could see that,” Autumn said, glancing across the street again. She let out a little laugh, though she seemed to consider holding it in for a moment. “I thought you were going to start drooling.”

“What?”

“The fancy pizzas.”

Payton’s heart dropped. Their face was feeling hot under their bangs. “Oh, I, uh, I didn’t even realise I was… staring.”

“Don’t be embarrassed! I watch them all the time when I’m waiting for the bus,” Autumn laughed.

Payton still blushed deeply, since they’d had no reason to sit down at the bus stop except to stare through the shop window. They were suddenly hyper-aware of their hand resting on their belly. They felt their stomach quiver under their palm, a low growl working its way through.

“You doing okay?” Autumn sat down on the bench, nodding for Payton to join her. She didn’t seem to hear the complaint from Payton’s belly. “Feels like forever since we last talked.”

“Y-yeah, sure does,” Payton half-laughed. Their shaky legs and dizzy head were thankful for the relief as they sank back down, leaving what they hoped was a healthy number of inches between the two of them. “I’ve been, um… I’m okay? I think. And – and you?”

“I’m actually… I’m great,” Autumn grinned, tucking some hair behind her ear. “I, um, I just found out today that I’m going to be Audrey in Little Shop of Horrors.”

“Are you serious?” Payton smiled, their mood genuinely lifting a bit at the sight of Autumn’s proud, shy little smile.

They often envied her for her absolute passion for musicals and acting, since they were failing so spectacularly at finding their place in the film world, but right then Payton was happy just knowing she was happy.

“Yeah! I still can’t really believe it.”

“I can.” Payton extended a long arm to pull Autumn towards them. “You’re brilliant.”

“Agh – ew, P, you don’t want to hug me!” she laughed, pulling her shoulders up tightly. “I’m all sweaty and damp!”

“I don’t care!” Payton wrapped their arms around her and pulled her close, so that their cheeks were just inches apart. “Your news deserves a hug.”

Autumn gave a deep, happy sigh as she leaned into the hug, probably unaware of the fact that the contact was setting Payton’s heart racing. It almost felt selfish, holding her like this when they were clearly getting more out of it than she was. They went to remove their arms from her, their chest fluttering as she buried her face deeper in their shoulder and kept her arms firmly around their waist.

It was lovely.

And yet, for the first time in a while, Payton felt a pang of loneliness, their core aching with the knowledge that they couldn’t hold her like this all the time. Deep in their bones, Payton wanted to kiss her hair, tickle her sides, and whisper happy little declarations of affection in her ear.

They didn’t whisper anything to her, though. They didn’t say anything as they held her. But their empty stomach was still twisting itself into shapes, and it clearly didn’t get the memo on holding Autumn quietly. A sharp growl had Payton wincing and trying to clear their throat (to cover up the noise) all in the same breath.

“Whoa, is that your stomach?” Autumn asked, lifting her head from Payton’s shoulder.

Payton’s body stiffened. “It… might be.”

“Are you okay? You must be starving.”

“I’m… Yeah.” Payton swallowed hard, letting a hand rest on their belly again.

Autumn moved back to give them some space. She was staring like she expected an explanation, eyes wide and eyebrows furrowed. Payton’s stomach rumbled under their hand again, bringing a twist of pain, and they didn’t know if they wanted to laugh or to cry.

“I guess I haven’t been taking care of myself too well.” They flinched again at the crack in their own voice.

Lifting her umbrella from where it had been resting against her leg, Autumn got to her feet. “Come on.”

Payton looked up at her, blinking behind their bangs. Exhaustion weighted them to the bench. “Come on where?”

A little hum escaped Autumn’s throat as she jerked her head. Her umbrella popped open and she stepped out of the bus shelter. The rain pattered against the fabric, a little heavier than it had been before.

“We’re gonna go eat pizza. Not – not there,” she clarified, gesturing towards the expensive deli. “I was thinking top floor of the Greene Centre. They sell by the slice and it’s super cheap.”

Payton swallowed again, guilt piling itself on top of the embarrassment. They felt as though they’d somehow coerced Autumn into offering to buy dinner, and the thought made them physically shudder. They got to their feet and moved a little closer to Autumn so she could hear them.

“I probably still can’t afford it,” they mumbled, staring at the ground.

“It’ll be my treat today, okay? You can pay me back by letting me ramble about my show.”

Payton gave her a shaky smile. “Are you sure?”

“Hundred percent.” That shy smile crossed Autumn’s face again. “It’s gonna sound weird, but when I found out I got the part… You were the first person I wanted to tell, Payton.”

“I... Really?” As they chewed their lip, a deep rumble came from Payton’s tummy. They frowned and folded their arms around it, noticing how Autumn's gaze drifted towards it too.

"Come on, I can't listen to your poor belly complain anymore." She lifted her umbrella a little higher with one hand – Payton was a few inches taller than her – and stuck out her elbow for Payton to link their arm through hers. “Shall we go?”

[renegadeontherunn]

hi fiona!! can't wait to see all the prompts you'll write! how about 21 for rex and ahsoka?

!!! kt!!! thank you so much for the ask!!! asjkdlkas someone tell me how to write less please AKJSDSAKK

21. "Why are you always so reckless, huh? Do you ever think about what would happen if something happened to you?" // from these prompts! // read it on ao3!

They limped—or at least, Ahsoka limped—up through the forest and eventually emerged at the edge of the hill where peach-orange grass gave way to a navy cliffside. There was a jagged path carved out, wide enough for them to get across in 2, maybe 3 lines. She could make out dark blotches a few miles away—Anakin’s ships. So they had been able to land. That made one of them.

“We should go around,” Rex’s gruff voice said as he came up behind her. Ahsoka looked over her shoulder at him. He eyed the dropoff warily. “There are rockslides this time of year and I don’t trust this cliff.”

Ahsoka turned back, head craning up to examine it. “That’ll take too long.” She nodded toward the other ships in the distance. “Anakin needs our help and this is the fastest way to the landing zone.” She stepped onto the path, one hand on the cliffside to steady herself.

Rex moved forward. “Commander—”

“It’s fine, Rex. We have to help Anakin.” She tried to ignore the scorching pain shooting up her leg. Her shoulders moved with a breath. “Trust me on this one.”

She was stopped by a warm hand on her arm. “It’s not safe. Especially with our wounded.” Ahsoka could feel his eyes on her leg. “We can’t help General Skywalker if we’re dead.”

“Rex—”

“All due respect, Commander, trust me on this one.”

Ahsoka gritted her teeth, shifting once again to face him. Her mind briefly raced through alternatives, outcomes, a headcount, and with one more twinge in her ankle, she sighed and relented. “You’re right.”

Rex gave her a nod and turned to direct the troops back around.

Her eyes found the horizon once more and Anakin’s ships that rested there. She had a bad feeling about this battle. Something was going to go—

“Commander?” came Rex’s voice at her shoulder. Ahsoka didn’t look at him, instead closing her eyes, brow furrowed as she listened, as she felt. The ground shook lightly under her feet, the faint screech of metal against metal, metal against stone. “What is it?”

Ahsoka came up from beneath the waves of the Force, eyes opening as she unhooked her lightsabers. “We’ve got company.” As soon as the words left her mouth, a battalion of black-plated droids materialized around the curve of the cliff. They stopped in what seemed like surprise, and there was a shout from Rex. Her side shot first, quick as they’ve always been, and in a breath, Ahsoka was deflecting bolts from every direction.

It was a pretty typical battle, as far as strategy goes, and Ahsoka found herself getting lost as the droids approached and withdrew in turn, her spinning lightsabers loops of light in clouding dust.

Rex appeared at her side. “What’s the plan?”

“You said there are rockslides here?” She sliced through another two droids.

He stopped shooting, incredulous gaze boring into her even through his helmet. “No.”

Ahsoka twisted in front of him, habitually falling back into their familiar sword-and-shield technique. Rex’s pistols were in the air once more, his aim deadly even as he kept his focus on their conversation.

“We wanted to go around anyway. Why not block them here?”

A shot skimmed off Rex’s shoulder. “You’re not serious. That’ll get us all killed.”

“No, it won’t,” Ahsoka insisted. “Just get all the men off the path and onto the hill. I’ll bring the cliff down in front of us.”

She risked a glance behind her and, seeing that everyone was off the cliffside already, Ahsoka pushed Rex back. She steadied herself in the Force and pulled.

The ground rumbled, there was the sound of crunching metal, and then Rex’s hand was on her arm, trying to tug her away. There was a shrill gasp in the Force and Ahsoka saw a massive column of rock headed straight for them.

“Rex!” she shouted, throwing herself into him and sending him to the ground a few feet away. She scrambled forward, and the rock collided with the spot where they had just been standing.

But Ahsoka hadn’t moved far enough.

The column had completely smashed through the path and the rest was crumbling away. She tried to run, but her broken ankle clipped the edge, her stomach dropped, and then she was falling.

She blindly reached out, scrabbling for purchase on the cliff, but gravity’s grip was not so easily curbed.

“Ahsoka!”

Rex was leaning over the side, hand out; Ahsoka’s hand brushed his, fingers slipping past each other, just too far to reach, and she plummeted. Wind rushed past, rocks cascading down alongside her. She saw Rex’s well-worn helmet grow smaller and smaller, and then something slammed into her and the world cut to black.

--

Someone was screaming. There was a ringing cutting through Ahsoka’s brain and everything was muffled as she blinked squinting eyes open, but she knew she could hear screaming. It got louder as she tried to move her legs—tried, because she couldn’t even feel her legs, couldn’t feel anything but searing, scalding pain up her spine, down every nerve—and when she gasped in a breath of dust, the screaming paused and turned to coughing. Ahsoka’s chest shuddered, her throat scraped so raw she thought she might vomit.

Then she opened her eyes fully, saw the blood pooling beneath herself, and did vomit. Pounding head, pounding heart, Ahsoka weakly tilted her gaze up. Far above her was blurred movement, a wave of white dotted with blue swirled down and around and back up again. Her neck ached so much it tingled, turning numb. Her wrist vibrated and beeped.

Wait, that wasn’t right. Wrists don’t normally do that. She slowly moved her arm up onto her stomach, saw the faint blink of green that was, she realized after a few stuttering breaths, her comm. Another second in agony and she clicked the call through, surprised it was still working at all.

“Ahsoka!”

Rex.

It was Rex. Some of the fear swelling in her throat eased at the confirmation of his presence. Rex was there. He’d know what to do.

“Ahsoka? Can you hear me?”

She licked cracking lips. “Yeah.” She hoped her broken voice would carry. Wondered if her broken body would need to be carried too. “Yeah, I’m here.”

A sigh of relief made static on the other side. “Are you alright?”

Ahsoka took stock of herself. Broken leg, obviously, maybe both. A concussion if the pain-filled sleep tugging at her was any indication. And she was pinned—half her body nearly crushed under the immense pieces of cliffside that’d fallen with her. Jagged stone cut into her shoulder.

“Ahsoka?”

She hesitated. “I could use some help.”

A muffled swear, a shouted order, the sound of a hundred quick, urgent footfalls. His voice was tight when he spoke again. “We’re coming to you now. Can you walk?”

Ahsoka shook her head before she realized that was a bad idea—her vision whited out at the corners—and that he couldn’t even see her anyway. “No.” Her head swam. When had it gotten so cold outside? “I’m pinned. I think my leg’s broken.”

“What about the Force?”

Oh. Ahsoka had forgotten about that. But when she dipped into its familiar depths, sleep, the dangerous kind, pulled at her—down, down, down—until Ahsoka gasped and ripped herself away. Adrenaline hammered her heart. “No. Don’t wanna risk it.”

Rex didn’t bother asking for further information. The footsteps got faster.

“Are you okay?” Ahsoka asked softly.

“Yes, sir,” came the rough reply.

She nodded, forgetting again that he couldn’t see. “Good.”

“Good?”

Ahsoka blinked. “Yeah. That’s kind of what I was going for.” Her chest tightened, ribs shifting; she should probably stop talking.

“You can’t just—” Static crackled over the comm. They must’ve hit a deadzone.

Ahsoka drifted her eyes along the crimson sky, sinking in and out of unconsciousness as she waited.

“—mander? Commander?”

“Here,” she said belatedly, her brain coming back to the surface. “‘m here. ‘m fine.” Trees rustled in the wind. Ahsoka thought she could hear them coming, not just over the comm, but actually hear them, in the distance. She suddenly remembered where she was. “Gonna try to get out.”

Rex’s voice bit through the air immediately. “No, don’t. You’ll hurt yourself more. Just stay awake.”

She shifted, readying herself to try pulling her leg out. “’s fine, I got it.”

“Commander, stay exactly where you are.” His voice was clipped. “Don’t try to move.”

Ahsoka groaned, lightning zipping up her leg. “I got it.” She was starting to sweat, despite the cold. It had been cold, right?

“Ahsoka, stop!”

And she did, blinking in shock.

Rex’s tinny voice continued, wired anger cutting through the comm. “Why are you always so reckless? Do you ever even think about what would happen if something—” Ahsoka couldn’t tell if he’d cut himself off or if they’d hit another deadzone, but either way her head throbbed with pain and guilt.

“Sorry,” she mumbled back. She was completely spent of energy, spent of strength, and her body ached with agony.

“—and on the cliff—” Rex’s voice suddenly cut back in.

“Wasn’t trying to be reckless,” she interrupted, voice breathy. There was a crucial piece of information he was leaving out. “Trying to save your life.” Ahsoka dropped her head onto her arm.

There was the sound of shuffling, static rocks shifting beneath far-away feet. “What about saving your own life?” Past the haze slowly encroaching on the world, Ahsoka wondered why he was so angry with her. She didn’t think she’d ever heard him so emphatic. He’d scolded her plenty of times—follow orders this, don’t run off looking for trouble that—Ahsoka should’ve been used to it. But still.

Cynicism seeped out of her exhausted mind. “Can’t save everyone.” It was something Anakin had told her, back when she’d first become a Padawan, back when she was determined to get everyone out of this alive. When she’d thought that was even an option.

“You can try.”

There was a pause, and in it, Ahsoka breathed, her eyes slipping closed.

“Ahsoka!”

Rex was shaking her shoulders, his face, bare of its helmet, twisted in worry above hers. Ahsoka’s heart shuddered, stumbled, like it’d just remembered that it had to beat. Her hand instinctively clutched his arm.

“You’re alright.” People were moving, pushing the rock off her, and Rex’s voice broke through the onslaught of pain. “We got you.” His hand was on her shoulder. “I got you.”

[lokis-army-77]

If You Please

Chapter Fifteen

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 3060

This is technically a reader insert but without the (y/n) and all that. She also has no name mentioned so feel free to imagine as you please.

Follow the reader through the events of the Captain America movies and experience her love for Bucky Barnes.

Warnings: Bucky has a nightmare and one thing blows up, that's it.

<< Previous Next>>

Masterlist

We had been flying for a while now and the sun had finally gone down. I had cleaned up the bullet graze on my side earlier with the onboard first aid kit, it had now started to heal itself seamlessly back into my skin like it was never there to begin with.

Bucky had never once taken his eyes off the sky since we took off. I had asked him a few more questions right after we started flying steady, but he just pressed his lips into a firm line. He was like an impenetrable wall and it was throwing me off. What had they done to the Bucky I grew up with, where was the bright, smiling love of my life? I sat there staring at the parts of his face that peaked through the mop of messy brown hair he had.

“Stop staring at me.” The sudden sound of his voice startled me enough that my elbow slipped from the place where it was perched on my knee. I quickly turned away from him in my chair and started to look out of the window into the dark.

“Sorry, it’s just,” I stopped short to think of what to say next. “It’s just that I thought you were gone. Steve watched you fall from the train. I mourned you, I was still mourning you. Now you’ve shown up and I barely recognize the man in front of me.”

He took his hands off the yoke and pressed some buttons to presumably turn autopilot on. “I have no memory of any of that. Flashes, yes, but never anything substantial.”

“I know and that’s okay, it’s to be expected. I followed you for a reason and help you remember is part of that.” I told him softly. I had no clue what he had been thinking for the last seventy years, but I knew it wasn’t something that could be fixed in just a couple of hours. The fact that he was talking to me with less hostility than before gave me the hope that I needed to know that I could help him.

Turning his head away he lets out a gruff sigh. “We’ll be landing in a couple of hours, get some sleep.” He gave me a soft look through the curtain of hair before going back into that stone-cold guise.

I nodded in acceptance and slowly stood and made my way to the bench that lined the side of the cabin. I laid down on the cold metal and let the sounds of the jet lull me to sleep.

When I woke up the cabin lights had been turned off and it was almost completely pitch black, save for the few flashing buttons on the control panels. I sat up and noticed that the jet was quiet. The noise from flying was long gone but the sounds of the night could be heard throughout. I looked around the cabin groggily to see that the back ramp was lowered to the ground. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and stood up. Squinting in the dark I could faintly see something standing a few feet out from the ramp in the grassy field.

I made my way down into the tall grass and stood next to Bucky's statue-like form. He was silently looking up at the sky. We stood there like that for a few minutes before he slowly bent down to reach into the duffel bag we had packed earlier. It was sitting on the ground with a few other bags from the jet. Standing back up he reached out his hand toward me and I brought my hand out to meet him, he gently placed one of the grenades into my palm.

“What’s this for?” I asked while examining the device.

“Were destroying the jet.” He said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Uh, why?”

“Unless you want HYDRA to come to find us, I suggest you pull that pin and throw.” At that, he unpinned his and tossed it into the jet cabin. It took me a second to comprehend what was happening. I was still half asleep as he snatched the grenade away from me and tossed it in as well. Just seconds later I was thrown off balance from the large explosion.

“You’re lucky none of my things were on there,” I spoke up while watching the flames encompass the dismantled jet.

“Quit talking and grab a bag, we have a long walk ahead,” he said in a scolding tone. I turned to watch him grab the large duffel bag, leaving me to carry the smaller backpack. I grabbed the strap and hoisted it up onto my back and slid my other arm through the second strap then started after him.

“Where are we exactly? I questioned as we maneuvered around a giant hole in the field.

“Maybe a three-hour walkout of Bucharest.” He stated. I groaned after hearing that. I just woke up, walking for three hours to get to the Romanian capital in the middle of the night wasn’t entirely my idea of fun. But I put up with it, barely entertaining myself by picking flowers growing along our path and then plucking off their petals like I used to do as a child. That only lasted for so long before I started to get bored, the next thing I tried was to kick a rock I had found when we had made it to a paved road. I had to stop kicking it after I had accidentally hit Bucky in the back of the legs. His sharp glare stopped me in my tracks.

The sun was coming up now, as we topped a hill that looked out into the capital city. I slowed my walk to take in the awakening city, there were severely cars driving the roads, probably going off to work. I sped up my steps as soon as I realized that Bucky had just kept going and didn’t stop to take in the morning splendor with me.

I spoke as I came back up to his side, “So what do we do now?” He let out a frustrated puff of air and I could tell that he was getting annoyed at all of my questions. He never answered me, just kept walking down the street and into the heart of the city.

It must have been past lunchtime when we finally found a shabby almost decrepit-looking apartment building. I could feel and hear my stomach rumbling as we ascended the long spiraling set of stairs to one of the topmost apartments. We had no key to get in so Bucky kicked the door in and shuffled inside. I doubted that anyone would even realize that we were here, the whole thing looked almost completely vacant. I walked through the threshold and into the tiny living space. It was just one small room, just big enough for one or two people to live comfortably, and a singular closed-off bathroom right after you came through the front door.

Looking around some more, the more I realized this apartment building truly was abandoned. The sheetrock walls were chipping along with the paint. In the kitchen, the backsplash was cracked and missing in some spots, the fridge looked as if it hadn't been cleaned in thirty years, the same as everything else in the almost empty room. The only thing in the place that wasn't attached to anything was a small square dining table and two chairs with several years of dust caked onto them. The windows and the door to the back balcony had been covered up with various newspaper pages, adding to the dark and dingy aspect.

Bucky sat the duffel bag onto the table, I placed the backpack down as well. Walking over to the kitchen and flipped the light switch, amazingly the bright strip light above the sink on the far wall came buzzing to life. I gave a silent prayer in thanks for that. I was startled a bit when I heard a loud splintering noise beside me. Turning quickly I spotted Bucky ripping up the wooden floorboards in the kitchen.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Hiding the weapons, what does it look like I’m doing,” He quipped back sharply as he reached for the bags on the table just a few inches away. He shoved them into the hole he had made and then placed the broken planks back where they had been. He stood up slowly after that and began walking for the front door. “Stay here,” he gave a stern look then stepped out into the stairwell, slamming the broken door shut.

I just stared wide-eyed at the door. ‘Did he really just leave me here?’ I asked myself. I went over to the door he had left from and opened it, his footsteps were long gone. I raced to the first window in what was presumably the living room and tore a piece of newspaper from it to look and see if I could spot him but the wall of the balcony was in my way. I gave a long and exasperated huff before turning around and giving the room another once over. ‘Well, it can't hurt to clean a bit. There had to be at least something in here that I can clean with.’ And I was right, I found a stack of four washcloths along with a couple of bath towels under the bathroom sink and a very old broom sitting just outside the back door.

It took almost two hours to scrub the grime from the floors after I had swept the thick layer of dirt and dust-up, and it took even longer to scrub down the kitchen appliances. It had been nearly five hours and Bucky still wasn’t back yet, I had cleaned everything I could until it was almost spotless. It had helped me keep my mind off of where he was and what he was doing, it also helped to keep me from remembering how hungry I was. But now that everything was almost sparkling clean I had nothing to stop my mind from wandering. ‘He wouldn’t just leave, would he? No, not after hiding all the guns. What the hell is he even doing out there? I swear to God he better bring back something to eat, five hours is ridiculous, it's already dark outside.’

I reached my hand up to fiddle with my locket and ring absentmindedly. Fear started to creep into my thoughts. I paced up and down from the front door to the back over and over again until the door suddenly flew open. Swiveling around from my spot just past the bathroom I watched as a mattress made its way through the door. I hurried over to help maneuver it into the tiny hallway, it smelled horrendous like it had been outside for a while. After struggling to pull it into the living room and throwing it to the ground I looked up at Bucky who had been the one to bring it in. He was standing awkwardly at the edge of the room with a few plastic bags around his wrists. Shaking his head a little he made his way to the dining table and placed the bags down. Whatever was inside made a soft clicking sound before falling out of the top to reveal a jar of chicken soup.

I practically ran to the table and snatched the can up. “I forgive you for being gone so long since you brought back food,” I said as I made my way into the kitchen to turn the stove on. We had no pots at the moment so I cracked open the can and placed it in the middle of the eye to heat it up. As I waited I went back over to the bags he laid out and rummaged through them, taking all the cans, bagged food, and the few pieces of silverware out and placing them on the table. The last bag, closest to the wall, had a couple of items of clothes that looked to be in both of our sizes and a few toiletries. “Where did you get all of this?” I asked as he sat in one of the chairs.

“Soup kitchens and shelters,” he said pointing to the food, clothes, and toiletries, then he pointed to the mattress, “and the side of the road.” My face scrunched up at that. There was no telling what was all over that filthy thing. From where I was standing I looked like it had been dropped in the dirt a couple of times. I was going to have to find something to get that smell out of it before I even considered sleeping anywhere near it.

“Do you want some of this soup?” I turned back to the stove to check on the can.

“No,” he responded gruffly before standing to his feet, grabbing his pair of fresh clothes and the soap from the table before heading into the bathroom. I watched after him until the door completely shut behind him, by then the soup was at a nice simmer. I took it off the eye, using one of the washcloths as a potholder before it began to boil over. Grabbing one of the spoons Bucky had brought back I settled down at one of the chairs and began to eat my nice warm dinner. Halfway through scarfing down the soup, I decided to put some on for him even though he said no.

After I finished eating Bucky emerged from the bathroom with sopping wet hair in a pair of loose grey sweatpants and a red long sleeve henley. I eyed him before getting up to throw my can away and set the used spoon in the sink. I grabbed the now warmed Chicken soup from the stovetop and walked to place it in front of him without saying a word. Then I moved to grab the extra pair of clothes he had brought back and headed for the shower.

Finally being able to take off the suit was a big relief. Yes, it was made to be comfortable, but it wasn’t made to spend two days in. Turning the water on and stepping into the warm stream felt even more wonderful, the sweat and grime of the fight the day before began to rinse from my hair and off my body. I stood there, unmoving for what felt like hours before grabbing the three in one body wash from the side of the tub. I shook my head, if we were going to be living here for a while, and I had a feeling we were, I was going to have to find some real shampoo and conditioner, but hey, beggars can't be choosers when you’re on the run and in hiding.

When I felt as though I was completely and thoroughly clean, I stopped the water, rung out my hair, and grabbed one of the bath towels I spotted under the sink earlier to dry off. Then I got myself dressed in the fresh pair of underwear, which I was surprised to see, a long sleeve black t-shirt and an identical pair of gray sweatpants to Buckys, only smaller. Making my way out of the steaming bathroom I noticed Bucky wasn’t at the table anymore. I glanced around, finally landing on him lying on his back beside the mattress, looking like he was sleeping, which he most likely wasn’t. I smiled fondly, he must have wanted me to take the mattress for myself. Although I didn’t want to be rude by not sleeping on it, I chose to find a spot on the floor until the thing could be as thoroughly cleaned as I could get it.

Laying down on my side facing Bucky, I watched as his chest rose and fell with every breath he took. It was hypnotic, that with the quiet faint sound of his heartbeat, I began to fall asleep.

I awoke a couple of hours later to the sounds of small shouts and heavy, labored breathing. I snapped up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Turning my head to Bucky I took in the sight of him thrashing in his sleep before slowly crawling over to him. I tenderly placed my hand on his shoulder in hopes that maybe it would help calm him.

“Bucky,” I whispered close to his ear, “Bucky woke up. It’s just a dream.” Gently moving my right hand up to remove the sweat-dampened hair out of his face. As my hand came to rest on his clenched jaw, his metal arm came up to seize my wrist. I gasped at the force but didn’t try to snatch my hand back. His eyes were still closed, he was still asleep. He was mumbling something incoherent, I leaned in closer to see if I could hear him better but it was still unintelligible. “It’s okay Buck, I’m here, I’ll always be here. Shh.” I tried to quiet him, and it worked for a few seconds before he started to thrash his head from side to side and his grip on my wrist became stiff and unyielding. All I could do was sit there and whisper into his ear as he gripped onto me for what seemed like dear life.

Several minutes of on and off thrashing about I heard him say something that made my heart stop. He called out my name. I hadn't told him my name at any point in the past two days. The sound of it coming off of his lips sent a spark through me, my heart fluttered and my stomach tightened. He remembered, even if it was subconsciously, he still remembered. I smiled at that before going back to trying to calm his sleeping figure.

At some point, he calmed down to the point where I no longer had to kneel next to him and calm him. He never let go of my wrist throughout the whole ordeal, even now he was still gripping it like a vice. I just left it there as I laid back down on my side and let sleep consume me once more.

The next morning, he was nowhere to be found.

Tag List: @ginger-swag-rapunzel @underc0vercryptid-reads @geek-and-proud @intothesoul @leyannrae @starkleila @andy-is-gay

[cj-burke]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀Mine

⠀⠀⠀⠀Content Warning; mentions and descriptions of ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ blood, torture, and death.

A growl rumbled deep within his chest, his golden eyes glaring deep into the woman's teary, baby blues. "I have a question," he rolled his shoulders, lifting a hand to push away his hair and tuck it behind his ear," why are people so thick? Why can't they see the obvious?" A whimper left the woman, causing a frustrated sigh to erupt from the dragon. "That's not a damn answer," he hissed under his breath, stepping forward and taking hold of the woman's hair. "You have hair just like hers; short and as dark as night. Your eyes are similar too, but I'm afraid you'll never be her."

The woman's lips parted to speak, but the demon's fingers were shoved into her mouth. "Can't they see? She's mine! I am the one she's supposed to be with! She belongs to me. Mine. That blasted imp has gotten on my last nerve..." he rambled, pinching one of her teeth between his forefinger and thumb. She looked up at him wide eyed, shaking her head and thrashing her legs. Roman took hold of one of her shackled arms, pressing her back against the wall as he slowly pulled at her tooth. She screamed, leaving him to shudder and groan as the tooth fell into his palm.

"They think they can have her. Befriend a woman like her. They don't know her, the secrets she has. For god's sake, they're lucky they don't! She has a thousand years worth of knowledge no one but I could understand, I can appreciate her more than anyone! Can't she see? She needs to see!"

He pulled out another one of her teeth. "The way he touches her... the look on his face when he looks at her disgusts me. It should be me! Me, myself and I! Are they all that daft? Can't they tell that I'll do anything— anything— to get her? A death wish they must have! Oh, but that's the beauty of it," he removed his fingers from her mouth, a total of five teeth in his bloodied hand," their deaths would be so... memorable of it were done by me. She's my hound, my Blyana, my little beast. She would help me in doing it if I had her true name. If only she'd give it to me."

The demon laughed, letting his head roll back as he did, his eyes meeting the bright overhead light above. "P-please.." the woman choked, a muffled sob leaving her," please let me go..." Blood seeped down here chin and dribbled on what little she wore, fair skin and crimson such a wonderful combination.

"Ohohoho... my sweet, sweet treat... you don't want to stay for our fun? You don't want to play with me?" he leaned forward, his nose touching hers," do you not wish to hear the end of my stories? I've only just begun!" He grinned widely, his hands moving up to take hold of her shackled wrists, sliding them down her arms and sides of her ribs until they reached her waist. "She's a natural born killer, her bloodlust could even surpass mine if she just… let go. She needs to let go of it all and see. She needs to see that I am her salvation, her one and only. She's escaped me for centuries but now? Now I will have her. My little Blyana."

As he spoke, the demon had plunged his talon like nails into the woman's bare sides, his ears ringing blissfully as her screams echoed throughout the room. He dug his hands in deeper, the cracking of bones and the tearing of flesh bringing a sadistic excitement to his eyes. He beckoned for her screams, shoving his hands into her until he was wrist deep into her body. He fiddled around, commenting on how warm and wet she felt, but all she could hear were her own screams of agony.

"But now..." he leaves forward, licking some of the blood that had left her mouth," he keeps her out of my reach. I'm going to kill him slowly so he can take the time to remember my face as his life leaves him. Then she'll be mine, all mine! Finnegan will know the pleasure of having her for now, but she isn't, and never will be his. Mine.”

As he finished speaking, the woman's screams faded as well as the dimming light in her eyes. As her body went limp, he pulled his hands out of her sides and hunched forward with a defeated breath. “Awe! I wasn't even done playing with you… pathetic humans..”

[anobscurename]

ocean eyes – chris evans

previous part: PART XVII — masterlist

concept: you surprise chris for his birthday while he's shooting in italy. the slowest of slow burns. the ever anticipated part eighteen of many.

pairing: chris evans x reader

word count: 4.3k

warnings: fluff. just prepare to melt.

author's note: everyone can thank @tonystankschild for this one. she was deep in the dm's asking for fluff and i intended to deliver the fluffiest of fluffs.

You liked to consider yourself a rational person at the best of times.

That consideration, however, was entirely negated by the fact that you were now on a flight to Italy to surprise Chris for his birthday. There was nothing rational about it.

But you had saved for this trip, and Chris had done so much for you in the past year or so, that you had wanted to do something for him.

And you had decided that no one should be alone on their birthday, no matter how far away they were.

You had caught a flight from Boston after making the forty-four hour roadtrip to drive Dodger there, not having the funds to fly him to the Evans' household. The fees of bringing an animal on board were astronomical, and you were still balking from how high the number was.

Chris was a wealthy man, however, and those types of costs never quite fazed him as much as they did you.

So you had driven him to Lisa's, a thousand thank yous on your lips as she delivered you to the airport to minimize on the extra cost of leaving your car at the airport parking lots.

Scott – who had still been there from the Patriot's game, "tryin' to get as much family lovin' as he could" as he put it – smiled knowingly at you when you had brought Dodger in.

"You go, baby vamp," he'd whispered to you. It was an outdated saying, but you knew it anyways, and laughed him off.

"We're just friends, Scott."

"Yeah, just like these highlights are from the sun."

He had given you a tight hug, wished you luck on your trip, and – like Lisa would later do at the drop off – made you promise to wish Chris a happy birthday from them.

When you touched down in Italy, it was early morning, that hovering between night and dawn.

You had once again called Chris' agent – Mark – to get details on the shoot, ones which he reluctantly handed over.

You thought that perhaps he was trying to save Chris the PR scandal of being seen with another woman while publicly in a relationship with Lily, but you had pointed out that you had been clearly established as friend of the couple with your global third wheel memes. It didn't take much pressing, because Mark knew how much you both cared about each other and how happy you being there for Chris' birthday would make the actor. So he emailed you the shooting location, with a schedule and call sheet. The tagline was very quick: "Don't interrupt shooting :)"

After a quick shower at the affordable three star you'd rented for the weekend, you got ready in spite of the weariness the plane left you with. Hot water did wonders to waken you, and a touch of makeup never hurt.

You stepped out in the warm breeze, the wind toying softly with the skirt of the summer dress you wore. You easily hailed a cab, and, after failing at the pronunciation of where you were headed, let the cabbie read the location off your phone.

The first person you saw when you got out of the car was Chris.

He was stood off to the side by the craft table, a crewmate quickly doing a last minute adjustment to his hair as he went over his lines. Dressed in an Italian pinstripe suit, you remembered what the film was about.

The indie flick told the tale of an arranged marriage between the son of an Irish mob boss and the daughter of a New York mafia don. Most of the film, however, was set in Italy, where the son, Mickey, had to travel to win the favour of the extended mafia family for the blessing on the union. Briefly, the scene with the strawberries popped into your mind.

You were stopped by security, but Mark – who had been waiting for you – vouched for your admittance.

You stood a little ways away from Chris, within eyesight, but not obvious. It was a surprise, after all.

You called him, watching from where you leaned against his trailer wall. Chris, ringtone blaring for his attention, quickly patted down his suit pockets before finding the device. His glance at the caller I.D. was followed by his whole face lighting up, soft smile on his lips.

"Hey there, Sleeping Beauty," he said into the receiver. "Isn't it a little late in L.A.?"

"It is," you replied. "But it's your birthday tomorrow, and I couldn't resist."

"You know, I've been told I'm irresistible before," he chuckled. "Just never thought I'd hear you say it."

"Well, what can I say? Suits do it for me," you smirked, dropping your first hint.

Scott was right. Chris really could be clueless. "You'd love the one they just put me in then," he murmured, distracted by the food on display at the craft table as he perused the options. "A real classy number."

"What are your plans for the rest of the weekend?"

"They gave me the weekend off to celebrate, but you know me... Probably will go wine tasting by myself and look at some art or something. Oh, man, read a book. Yeah, haven't done that in a while."

You watched as he plucked a strawberry from the table, and your stomach fluttered.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Hmm?" He hummed as he bit in to the sweet fruit.

"Aren't you sick of strawberries by now?"

Chris froze, eyes wide in shock. Running his tongue over his teeth smoothly and swallowing the bite, he began swiveling his head, trying to look out for where you may be hiding. "Where are you?" He grinned.

"Guess."

And then he saw you.

And then he had you wrapped in his arms, the force of the running tackle hug sending your back crashing into the trailer, metal creaking.

You laughed breathlessly, hanging up the call as you hugged him back.

"Chris," you strained against the bone crush of his fierceness. "Oxygen–"

He loosened his grip, but didn't take back his arms. "You have no idea how much I missed you."

His whispery breath in your hair as he deeply inhaled the apple scented shampoo clinging to you had electricity coursing through your veins. "My bones have some idea, I think you might've fractured a rib."

The rumble of the chuckle reverberated through his body and into yours, and heat dusted your ears and cheekbones. "Sorry, I just can't believe you're here. I had to make sure you were real." And then, the question you'd expected: "Where's Dodger?"

"Dodger is in Boston with your mom. And I'm here, I'm real," you reassured him, smoothing your hands over the back of the meticulously woven cotton of his suit. "But you also have a real job to get back to."

"Oh, right," he groaned sheepishly. In his joy, he'd almost forgotten where he was. "Just hang around for a bit, we're only filming a little today before we're off."

So you did. You got given a seat, just off camera, and watched Chris do his thing. His performance was breathtaking, the way he embodied such a dangerous man. It was enough to make you flushed, the square of his shoulders, the confidence in his stride – the danger lurking under Italian silk lined cotton. You'd never quite seen him like this.

And it thrilled you to see a man you usually felt so safe around look so menacing.

It was the love proclamation scene that served to be your undoing, however.

The director kept hounding Chris, demanding retake after retake. He wanted that genuine love to flow through, and it simply just wasn't.

"Think of someone you love," the director suggested. "Put them in your mind's eye. You have a girlfriend, yes? Would it help to bring a picture for you to look at off camera? Tell the picture you love her. Someone get me a picture of this man's lover, please! Imagine you've never told her how you feel. And you've been feeling it for a while, and even though it was very... what is the English word? Uncommon? It was uncommon meeting circumstances you met... You love her. Si?"

Chris grit his teeth and nodded, ready to comply. And once the picture was brought out, the call for quiet on set rang out.

But once the director called action, Chris didn't look at Lily. Your heart clenched, your breath catching in your throat.

No, his eyes found you.

"I love you," he said the words you'd never thought you'd hear him say – at least not to you – and the sincerity in his cracked voice was overwhelming. His eyes were watery, relief dropping his shoulders – as if he'd kept this inside for too long and a weight had been lifted. He sighed it again and again, as if it was the only thing that was going to save him, as if it's the only words he'd ever known.

And when the director called cut, singing Chris' praises, he was still looking at you.

———————

"I still can't believe you're wearing that," Chris chuckled.

You dipped your sunglasses lower on the bridge of your nose to observe him critically. He was leaning against a Vespa, arms folded, the sleeves of his loose white cotton button down rolled up to his elbows, barely containing the bulge of his muscles. Black trousers clad his legs, on his feet a pair of black Italian leather loafers he'd gotten as a gift from his co-star. He wore his own pair of sunglasses, hair swept back, being tousled by the passing breeze.

The statement had been made in reference to the silk scarf you wore, twisted around your neck delicately in a way that was reminiscent of Audrey Hepburn. "If I'm going to have a Roman holiday," you giggled, tripping a little on your way to the Vespa – Chris moved to catch you, but you righted yourself, "you best believe I'm going to fucking look like it."

You had gone to a wine tasting in a vineyard on the outskirts of Rome, somewhere far into the countryside. You had both goofed off the entire time, earning yourselves scolding looks from the sophisticated tourists and the locals, who had wanted a peaceful afternoon at the farm.

You sniffed the wines, obnoxiously listing all the strange terminology the haughty wine connoisseurs would throw around casually, before taking your sips.

It became somewhat of an inside joke between the two of you, finding yourselves lagging behind the group because you couldn't stop laughing. And whenever you were shot a dirty look, it would only make you laugh more.

"You're meant to taste it," he'd whispered to you.

"I am tasting it," you shot back.

"No, you're chugging it like a sixteen year old whose parent made the unwise choice of leaving unsupervised."

The tour guide had been eyeing the two of you up, waiting for your silence. The rest of the tour group turned their critical gaze too, and you gave Chris' foot a soft stomp to get his attention.

Both of you shut up, giggling under your breaths as Chris had practically bowed in his gesture for the guide to continue.

But now it was time to go back to the inner city, and Chris had waited patiently for you by the Vespa while you'd gone to freshen up a bit. The cobblestones were hell for your tipsiness, but you were wine and laugh drunk, and hadn't a care in the world.

"You know how they say there's always that one pair of annoying people on wine tastings that ruin the experience for everyone?"

"They do?" Chris' brow creased in question as he grinningly handed you your helmet.

"Of course they do. Well, I couldn't find them, so it must be us."

Chris clicked his own helmet in place as he caught sight of the hostess by the front door giving you both a dirty look. "What finally gave it away?"

He slid easily onto the Vespa seat, heeling up the kickstand and righting the orientation.

"Hop on, princess," he beckoned you with a nod. You regretted wearing a dress for this part, but you were serious about the Roman Holiday aesthetic.

Serious enough to risk flashing someone as you mounted the scooter behind Chris. But luckily you didn't.

"Hold on tight," Chris called over his shoulder. You complied, encircling your arms around his waist, pressing your bodies together.

You could feel his heart rate pick up, but before you could think too much about it, he took off – cobblestone streets and ivy climbed buildings flying past you in your bliss.

————————

Two of the three worst things that could've happened to you while riding a scooter in the countryside did.

The scooter had broken down and it had started to rain. Not only rain, but fucking pour. You were drenched through to your skin, pulled over on the side of the road, Chris trying to kickstart the machine into working again.

After his fifth attempt, he came over to you, squinting in the rain.

"It's not working," he shouted over the droning rainfall. "Let's just find some shelter and come up with a game plan!"

There were nothing but open spans of green fields and wheat as far as your eyes could see. But a little while back, just over the hill, there had been lights in the haze of rain, a little nondescript sign on the side of the road that you'd whipped past suggesting the shelter that you so desperately craved.

"I think there was a house back there," you yelled back. "Maybe they could help out."

He nodded imperceptibly in the shower of droplets, hand on the small of your back, fitting so seamlessly in the curve of your spine, and began guiding you.

You both dashed across the road, and then you were tearing through the long grass in a shortcut to the twinkling beacons of the lights in the windows, looking like eyes peering at you in the darkness.

Somewhere along the way, you'd found out that Chris was a little ticklish at his waist, and after you'd discovered it – he'd flinched away from you and begged you to stop, but you'd continued just to antagonise him – you wouldn't let it go. It took you much longer to get there than would be normal, but soon, you were both stood, shivering and drenched on the porch step.

There was a sign on the door telling you it was a little inn – an underused bed and breakfast, most likely for road weary travelers on their way to Rome.

You didn't bother knocking as you entered the lobby, spilling inside with laughter still on both your lips. Muddied shoes squelched, and your sodden clothes dripped onto the floor.

You immediately moved to the fire while Chris went to go confer with the front desk.

His two months in Rome had taught him a fair amount of Italian, but it was still quite broken, and he found himself floundering with a lot of the words.

The landlady – a portly old woman with an extraordinarily kind smile and crows footed crinkles by her eyes – understood the predicament.

She explained to him in English – loud enough in the silence so you could hear over the crackle of the fire – that the road services would probably only be available to come out so far tomorrow morning, and that it'd be best to stay the night.

She didn't seem like someone who would scam you into staying at her little roadside hostel – even going so far as to give Chris some white fluffy towels for the both of you.

He paid for the last room available with soggy money, and returned to you, fresh towels in his arms.

He draped one over your shoulders first, and when you reached out to cling it to your frame, your fingers brushed.

That same electricity jolted through you both, travelling with lightning quick velocity down both your spines to spark alive the restless butterflies you had well and truly thought you had put to rest. You were the first to withdraw, allowing Chris to put a towel over himself.

He ran it through his hair, the pieces that had been plastered to his skin with water raising into spikes.

You laughed, reaching out a tentative hand – giving him ample time to withdraw should he need to – to smooth it back and away from his face.

But your laughter died down, as it inevitably did whenever he looked down at you like that. Because how the hell were you meant to function when his eyes were on your lips the way they were now?

And you damn near choked when he started leaning down, lips pressing closer to yours...

But before they touched, he broke into a gut-wrenching smirk, moving past your tingling and awaiting mouth to whisper in your ear. "I dibs the shower."

And then he was sprinting up the stairs.

You were so in shock that for a minute you couldn't even register what had happened, and when you did, you cursed at him, following him up, swearing you'll skin him alive.

And all the while, the landlady was watching the two of you, a knowing glimmer in those kind eyes. She muttered something in Italian, one she repeated many a time during your stay, a saying you would come to know as "young love."

And she didn't even care that you had tracked mud into her hotel and soaked the carpets through from your wet clothes.

She just cared that there were still kids in love in this world.

———————

Once you had both taken a shower and were wrapped up in your complimentary hotel bathrobes, you realised that neither of you were tired.

Your clothes were laid out, sprawled over the backs of chairs, drying by a fire Chris had taken the liberty of building.

So you both decided to go downstairs, and see what activities you could engage in with the other guests. It would do well to help you forget the prospect of having to share a bed with Chris.

According to the landlady, this was the last room available. And of course, Chris had offered to sleep on the floor, as gentlemanly as ever.

But you couldn't do that to him on his birthday, so you'd told him it would be fine, as long as a pillow fort was built to prevent any unnecessary contact.

The common area was woefully empty, save for a couple of sleepy looking musicians, poised atop their makeshift stage, on the brink of passing out on their instruments.

When you and Chris entered, however, they livened up, striking up some traditional Italian melody you may have heard before in passing.

It wasn't that late, so the bar was still open, and Chris managed to purchase a bottle of wine.

Most of the seats had been stacked on the tables, and he helped you pull some down before seating yourselves.

He poured you both wine, and you sat there in your robes, listening to the music.

The landlady came by, at some point, to light the tea light candle on your table.

When you thanked her, she said the same thing she had said earlier – in Italian, so you struggled to understand.

Chris, however, who had been taking a hearty sip of wine, nearly choked. "Mille grazie," he winked.

She scoffed, patting his cheek affectionately, much like a grandmother would her grandson. You didn't catch much of what she said, aside from one word. Cacciatore, in reference to a flirtatious man.

"What did she say to you?"

"She said amore giovane. It means young love."

You turned to try and find her – wanting to correct the innocent mistake of having her assume that you and Chris were in love. Fact of the matter was, there was still with Lily, and you couldn't stand to think of the PR nightmare it would be if it were to get out that he was at an admittedly romantic bed and breakfast with you of all people. "Oh, no, we aren't..." You faded out awkwardly. "He has a girlfriend!"

"Actually," Chris said softly, as if he had been wanting to tell you this for a while. "I don't. Not anymore. Not since the last day at the Hamptons."

Relief flooded you, followed by something undetermined – hope, you would later discover – before you were floored with absolute sympathy. "Oh, Chris. Chris, I'm so sorry."

You reached over to link your fingers in a reassuring hand hold, and his focus was pulled to that singular touch, that point of joining.

"If there's anything I can do to help..."

"No, it just..." He swallowed, finally pulling those ocean eyes to you. "It just wasn't meant to be, I guess. She wasn't the one."

His eyes told a story much deeper, hinting to something that you didn't have the strength to uncover. You'd been hurt too many times by these false feelings, you really weren't sure how ready you were to face them once more.

"What happened?"

"She thinks I'm in love with someone else." When you didn't say anything again – too stunned to do so – Chris cleared his throat. "I, uh," he tried for a smile, "I believe you owe me a dance."

It took you a while to recall him asking you to save him the last dance at the charity gala, and when it registered, you grinned, questions of who dissipating. "Let's go dance."

The band saw you and Chris approach the dancefloor, and immediately switched to a slow waltz. Chris took you in his arms, and as you both swayed to the music, you could almost imagine you were back in Vegas, before Lily, before everything, when the biggest problem in your life was that you had kissed your best friend on your birthday.

His body was so warm pressed to yours, that you felt every tense muscle in your body relax. That hand – forever fitted so perfectly to the groove of the small of your back – traced delicate patterns through the flannel of the gown.

Your cheek was on his chest, and your eyes were closed, and you couldn't see the way he was looking at you.

Because in his eyes – those beautiful ocean eyes – was a love. The love that you were incapable of seeing, but one that everyone else had – including Lily.

There was worship in every sapphire fleck, and there was pure adoration in the inky depths of his pupils.

And as he held you, body nestled so perfectly against his, knew that the angels would damn themselves for you. Because he sure as hell would.

———————

When Chris had gone to get more drinks – the bottle you had shared being finished – you had gone to speak to the musicians.

And surprisingly, they had what you had requested.

Chris was uncorking the bottle when you had hopped up on stage.

There was no microphone this time, and the musicians were glad to receive a break, joining the landlady at the back for a drink – leaving you and Chris alone in the room. Their departure caught his attention, and he glanced at you, before doing a double take.

You were sat at the edge of the stage – feet dangling off to graze the floor every now and then – and in your hands was a ukelele.

The memory of the last time you played for him was chased away by the excitement of this next song.

You were tuning it when you finally noticed Chris watching you. He had that look in his eye – one you were so used to seeing, but one you never quite let yourself understand – and he slowly sank into his seat to watch you. He propped his head on a fist, candlelight flickering in his eyes.

And without much of an introduction, you plucked at the strings delicately, beginning a ukelele rendition of "La Vie En Rose."

His smile broadened into a beam when you started singing. Never had he felt absolute peace like this – at least without having you in his arms.

Hold me close and hold me fast

This magic spell you cast

This is la vie en rose

You looked up at him, your expression earnest. You always found yourself being much more capable of conveying emotion in your actions, rather than with your words. Words made things messy. Music... that was beauty incarnate.

When you kiss me, heaven sighs

And though I close my eyes

I see la vie en rose

Chris breathed in deeply, his heart stuttering, but heavy in his chest. The hold – that spell – you so flawlessly cast on him was rising again, and he knew, with all certainty, that he would not wish to break the enchantment for anything in the world. He was Icarus, and you were the sun – the magnetic pull he felt was that strong.

When you press me to your heart

I am in a world apart

A world where roses bloom

Your eyes found his and you grinned, beguiling him. As you played the interlude, you mouthed to him "happy birthday;" and it was. It was perhaps one of the happiest birthdays he'd had in a while, because it was the one he'd spent with you.

And when you speak, angels sing from above

Everyday words seem to turn into love songs

His heart was swelling, throat thick with emotion. His eyes burned, but he was almost certain the tears gathering was from a lack of blinking. He didn't want to pull his gaze away from you, not for a single second. He had told you he had loved you earlier that day – and this felt like more of a response than he'd ever receive. He knew how difficult it was for you to say those words. And he was okay with that. He'd take what you gave, and you were giving him this – a song as lovely as the woman who was currently singing it. And he thought he was going to simply die when you looked up at him with those eyes, and that smile, and that voice reaching out to him, singing that final verse.

Give your heart and soul to me

And life will always be

La vie en rose

Little did you know, you already owned those things.

You'd owned them since the night you met.

[savagetrickster]

Paper Hearts.

D.Gray-Man | Lavi x Reader (NSFW)

Okay so, I accidentally deleted the original post of the ask - basically anon requested for a soft smut for Lavi where he knew he and his s/o shouldn’t be in a r/s at all because of who he is but still did hanky panky anyway. (that’s what i recalled) 

Prompt #15 from the list of smut prompts here : “Spend the night with me?” 

I tried to make this soft smut without making it too explicit and smutty (had to refrain from vomiting my perverted thoughts while writing LOL - i tried okay -_-)

so yeah, tell me what you think <3

themes/warnings: 18+, angst,  breeding kink lol again....and hmm that’s it i guess?

.

In the still silence and darkness of the European branch, the full moon hung high in the night sky. The towering structure was quiet with sleep. 

The hallway she stood in was lingering with airy silence. The rooms around her were quiet. Most of her neighbors were already asleep. Those empty ones belonged to those who were still out there.

Her lips parted with a dreary sigh as her eyes wandered to the floors below. Her limbs were heavy with weariness from the mission she returned from this evening. 

But even as night fell and delved into the darker hours, she couldn’t sleep. Her helpless tossing and turning could be seen in the ruffled bedsheet of her bed in the room behind her.

This was nothing new. She always found herself looking down at the levels below, her hands relaxed on the railing separating her and the seemingly endless way down. 

Her thoughts ran on nothing and everything. The darkness she stood in was comforting but depressing whenever a certain redhead came into mind. And always accompanied with wistful sighs when that happened.

Lavi. 

He was her little secret. And she was his.

Their glances were always fleeting on each other as though there was a death warrant hanging over their heads if they were caught.

The brushes across each others’ hands were always light, quiet, and longing, fingers twitching with the urge to lace through each other.

And if they were standing near to the other, they couldn’t help being overly aware of each others’ presence, their skin tingling, and prickling in the warmth that seemed to radiate over them. 

These whispers of their love were something that always made her heart ache almost painfully. 

Knowing that they would be this way forever. A love always so quiet, hesitant, and afraid.

Being who they were, each had a duty bound to them for life. 

A Bookman and an Exorcist.

They were meant to look the other way.

Placed into this world to face the darkness threatening to engulf it, Exorcists and Bookmans alike were the bravest, strongest of mankind to brave the horrors hidden within.

But ironically.

Her heart. Their hearts which wanted to...love-

They were so fragile, easily torn through like paper hearts. 

Every time she managed to muster the courage to think about their future, her hands were always shaking and her parting lips trembling with a sobbing sigh.

Nothing was all she could see. Their future was-

Bleak.

Dull.

Cold.

She closed her eyes in anguish. The presence of tears she felt was threatening to fill her eyes. 

She suddenly felt cold. So...so cold.

Was it the chill in the air? Was it the dreadful tingle sinking in her?

As if someone was eavesdropping her thoughts, a sudden warmth met her lonely back. 

Strong, toned arms slipped around her waist.

Her head jerked up with a small gasp just as they pulled her back snugly against a warm breathing wall.

A slip of her eyes behind.

“…Lavi.”  

Her heart soared, then fell - the sight of him was lifting but the nasty voice that always reminded her of their reality always sank her back down.

“...Why are you still up, princess?” A light kiss pressed to her temples. 

Large hands pressed to her stomach and his lips inches above her shoulder, his green eyes were soft and gentle on hers.

“I just can’t fall asleep.” A soft smile quirked her lips but quickly fell. “But Lavi, You shouldn’t be hugging me like this.”  

Her eyes shifted around hastily, “What if someone sees-” 

“You worry too much,” His chest rumbled lightly to the chuckles tingling her skin. “Everyone’s asleep. It’s just you and me now.”

Her breath hitched.

“It’s just you and me now”- a hope tugging uselessly at her heart as her hand raised to her stomach to slide over his. 

At the squeeze she gave him, he pulled her even closer to him with a tuck of her head against his neck, his tall and broad figure hanging over her like a protective coat. 

A comforting silence sat with them as they relished the soothing heat they shared. 

There was so much to say in this rare moment together. 

Yet, because it was such a precious time for them, words seemed too cheap for this rare opportunity to just...hold each other.

Turning in his arms, she rested her head against his chest where she could hear his calm, beating heart and breathed in his warm, steady scent slowly.

“Spend the night with me?”

Her heart skipped a beat.

“You know we can’t, Lavi.” A sigh lingered behind her melancholic voice.

“Just tonight, princess,” His lips moved to press against her forehead. His warm breath brushing across her skin as he murmured, “...just tonight.”

.

In the soft glow of the moonlight cast into the room and onto the bed they shared, they talked, drifting aimlessly through topics.

Sleep was forgotten as they relished in each others’ presence. 

Eyes staring up at the ceiling from their sprawled bodies, occasionally wandering over to each other as soft peals of laughter fluttered out of their smiling mouths.

“Lavi, what do you think our life would be like if we were not who we are?”

Pushing himself off the bed to lean over her, the sheets under them ruffled to his movement as Lavi propped an elbow under his head .

Intrigue lighting the green eyes hovering over her. “What do you mean?”

“You know,” She curled into him, her eyes roaming over his handsome face, 

“If we’re ordinary people. You’re not a Bookman and I’m not an Exorcist. Like we have no obligations or duties.”

“Oh, so you mean just civilians.” 

She nodded, smiling wryly. 

“Imagine us living freely.” Her whispering voice shook out of her as her fingers splayed across his cheek, “You’d probably be a teacher and I’d probably be opening a little cafe.” 

She sighed longingly.

A warm, tender look swept over him,

“I know what I’d do if we’re that,” as his fingers gently grasped her chin and tilted her face up to him. 

Her heart gave a squeeze.

“...Wh-What?” Her eyes wavered at him.

His face drew close to hers, his lips lingering just above hers with a murmur barely above a whisper,

“I would marry you in a heartbeat.” 

His lips met hers in a chaste kiss, gently prodding her open as a breathy sigh escaped her. His tongue slipped into her as the elbow under his head lowered to the space beside her head, sinking his forearm into the soft pillow.

Their breath mingled as he pulled away slightly. 

"I'll be the happiest if you'd be willing to be my wife. And even happier if we could have some little ones."

"...Lavi," She stared with a wavering glint. The hopeful tugs in her heart made her breathless. "I'd love to be your wife and give you some. As many as you like."

A wistful hunger ignited a flame within him. "And you'd look so beautiful round with them."

His eyes danced back at hers as he leaned away to tug his shirt over his head to reveal a sculpted body rippling with his movements as he tossed the article aside.

His lips hovered over hers again.

"You'd make a wonderful mother."

There was a strain in his low, quiet voice.

“You’ve no idea how many times I saw you pregnant with my child in my head." 

A carnal thrill ran down his body, tightening him in his pants.

"And how amazing it would have felt to run my hands over that beautiful bump." A tattered groan broke into his tender voice. "The idea of you growing my baby in your womb…"

The aching need cracking through his words shook a breathy gasp of her. "...I can't take it. It's killing me."

He brought her hand to his bare chest, right on where his heart was beating powerfully with his words. “This is how much I want to spend this life with you, if we could.” 

She could feel the presence of tears lingering at the back of her throat at his words. They rang true with her own quiet ones. 

Lavi slipped a hand down to press into her stomach. “If only I could put one in you right now.”

A bitter laugh left him.

“But I won’t, of course.”

Big hands moving up to caress her face, he shifted them, enveloping her in his heat and pinning her down with a tender, burning gaze. 

“Oh, Lavi…” Her heart clenched in agony as a small sob wrecked through her words.

His lips descended on hers.

His head tilted as he pried through her, meeting her lips in a slow, deepening kiss as he pulled a hand away from her face to under her dress, deftly peeling off her panties.

Her fingers ran through his hair while her other hand found its place over his broad shoulders and onto his back, the taut muscle rippling lightly to their moving lips and his working hands.

A shuddering sigh panting out of her against his lips between the brief seconds they parted to catch their breath as his long, calloused fingers prodded and stretched inside her weeping cunt, prepping her for him.

The other hand left her face and slid down to tug his pajama pants off before slipping under her knees to push her thighs apart.

Lips leaving hers, he shifted up to press a long kiss against her forehead as he settled his knees in the space between her legs.

He knew she was ready enough for him when slippery, vulgar squelches responded to every movement his fingers made. 

The wet stain growing bigger and bigger on the white sheets under her was the dead giveaway.

“I’m coming in, princess.” His lips nibbled her ear, his warm breath brushing against her head as he pushed himself in slowly.

Breathy moan shivered out of her as he parted her dripping folds and stretched her open, prodding in until she was pressed snug against him. 

A fleeting groan escaped her, mingling with his shivering grunt at the electrifying jolt that came with their joined bodies. 

She could feel him so clearly. 

His thick girth was buried completely inside her, its whole length wedged fittingly between her throbbing walls.

Deep enough to bulge up against her stomach.

The hand clutching onto his hair throughout his careful penetration left to join her other hand on his back as fluttering blinks accompanied the sigh leaving her.

She missed this. The familiar, satisfying feeling of him snug inside her. Like the missing piece of a puzzle.

"...It's been a long time,” A satisfied wavering sigh shuddered out his lips.

His eyebrows strained on his forehead along with his voice. “...but you feel as wonderful as I remember." 

Then he moved, his lips descending onto hers again as his hip rolled against hers slowly and sensually. 

Each thrust carried gentleness and meaning, almost in sync with his pounding heart. 

His lips on hers were deep and subtly powerful with his love for her swelling in the calm heaves and falls of his chest. 

I love yous murmuring against each others’ lips, slipping out between every tilt of their heads. 

The headboard of the bed underneath them bumping the wall behind each time he pushed himself into her. 

His arms prodded at her sides shifted down to hook the crooks of his elbows under her parted thighs, spreading her until her bent knees hovered in the air. Almost close enough to touch her head caged between them.

Her whimper elicited past their moving lips at the big stretch tugging the folds of her heated core even wider apart.

The dull thuds of the headboard gradually became rattling light slams as his thrusts began to escalate to faster and curt ones. 

Along with her moaning whispers and his grunting words muffled against each other, the squelching wetness he was hammering through grew loud enough to mingle with the dense heat on the bed.

Their lips parted with a loud sigh. Her delirious moans and his growling grunts freed into the room.

Small white flashes blinked behind her fluttering dazed gaze as a sigh sifted through her needy moans at his furious ruts. 

Towering over her, his eyes were drawn to the slightly visible deep, fast prods of his thrusts pushing against her stomach.

He could feel himself growing thicker and thicker with the building pressure within his girth as the same few primal thoughts clouded his head. 

"Tha-That's my girl."

Something stirred in his chest at the mere sight. "Taking me so well."

Of how she would look so precious rounded and bulging with his child if the load threatening to burst impregnated her.

The hunger gnawing at him made him stare heatedly at where he had always imagined his baby would be growing in, marveling at the way his passionate ruts into her could be seen poking out.

The furious prods were small but provokingly powerful enough to make him murmur his desire longingly.

"I-I'd really love to put our baby," His fingers rounding over her thigh to brush over the area. "...right here."

Those words, his fingers sinking lightly in the skin and the next thrust- 

That was it. She couldn’t take it anymore.

Hand flying to her mouth, a muffled sob wreaked through her as a starburst of white pleasure blinded her as he sent her release gushing in her. 

The sharp rips of her orgasm rippling desperately around him made him shiver with a moan hoarse and ending with a tattered gasp as his hips flew at the searing intensity of his own approaching one.

His hand on her abdomen hastily returned to its spot, mirroring his other hand holding her wider apart.

His eyebrows strained on his sweaty forehead as his heated eyes bore into the way he was furiously ramming into her erratically clenching heat. 

A long hiss dragging through his gritted teeth as he relished in her greedy walls squeezing continuously around him, edging him closer and closer.

Slipping a glance up at the sound of her giddy whimpers, he instantly wished he didn’t as a strangled groan left him immediately at her helpless, flustered face blushing red at him.

The stir in his chest grew stronger with a craving ache. And his girth was becoming unbearably full with an animalistic impulse urging him to deposit every bit in her.

With a choked grunt, he mustered all his self-restrain to tug himself out of her in one hasty move, in time for white, rich load to spurt out over her.

“S-Sorry, princess…” Lavi murmured through his panting gasps as his hand gripped him in a pumping haste.

“...No, it’s okay, Lavi-” Her head shook weakly on the bed as a wavering sigh left her at the warm coat splattering over her. 

“-that...that was amazing.”

[puppy-prose]

Possible fic prompt: Jaskier at Kaer Morhen learns about axii. Whether it is just Geralt or Eskel and Lambert too is your call. He wants them to use axii to turn him into a doll, where they have total control of his body. They can move him into any position, relax or tighten his muscles, make him feel any sensation, and he can't mentally override their control. Whether he can come on his own is up to you.

Thoughts?

I decided to change it juuust a little bit, hope that’s ok!! I just tweaked it so that Geralt & Jaskier have used axii before, to make it easier on worrywart Geralt pffft but thank you for this!! I loved writing it!!

——

Geralt has only been back at the keep for two weeks and he’s entirely over the way his brothers keep making faces over his scent.

“Stop it,” he growls one day, narrowing his eyes at Lambert. “Don’t make me remind you of what happens when Aiden stays here. The both of you make the whole keep smell like sweat and sex all winter, not just yourselves.”

Predictably, the youngest cub rolls his eyes, pretending he’s not flushed at the reminder of all that, and scoffs. “At least mine was another witcher,” he retorts. “You brought a bloody bard.”

That is true, at least, the words themselves are. The tone Geralt could do without. Jaskier had grown bored of Oxenfurt, didn’t care for the Temerian court, had too many exes in Redania, threatened to gouge out Valdo Marx’s eyes if he went to Cidaris… In short, he had every excuse in the book whenever Geralt asked him where he planned to spend the winter. It had been with a begrudging sigh and a long look that he’d finally invited Jaskier to spend the time in Kaer Morhen with his family—an invitation that Jaskier had almost not waited to hear the full sentence of before he had agreed, enthusiastically.

Geralt had put on a show of how the other witchers might put his head on a spike, but he’d been pleased, really. And Jaskier, well. Jaskier had seen right past his gruff and saw the quiet hope glimmering in his lover’s eyes. So he’d simply patted Geralt’s shoulder, declared, “Then I shall charm them into taking my head from the spike and sewing it back to my body,” and went about fussing and nattering over the long journey ahead.

But Geralt wasn’t going to let Lambert get a word in edgewise. Especially when Lambert listened to Jaskier’s nightly performance just as raptly as the rest of them did.

Geralt folds his arms. “I fail to see how that’s worse than walking in on you being bent over the dining table with Aiden’s cock up your ass.”

“Oh, that’s it!” the witcher cries. He hardly gets to his feet, though, before Eskel’s hand finds the crook of his elbow, drags him back down to the bench, careful not to disturb the game of gwent they have going on. Lambert shoots him a nasty look; Eskel ignores him.

“I don’t care what you two are doing,” Eskel rumbles calmly, only taking his hand from his youngest brother when he turns to pouting and puffing instead of looking for a fight. “But I am curious how you do it. Keep quiet, I mean. Your little bird can’t keep himself from talking or whistling or making some kind of noise for five minutes. And yet I never hear him. Just you.”

Eskel knows it’s not just Geralt. Based on the facts that both of them share a room and they both smell like each other so much that he’s mistaken one for the other on entrance to a room based on scent alone, it isn’t a solitary affair. Plus, having a room only part of a hallway from Geralt’s own ensures that he can hear the two go giggling inside of it at night, hear Jaskier’s bitten off keens, his keens and sighs, just as surely as he can hear Geralt’s rough promises and pleased groans. But the mystery lies in the fact that, once the two hit the mattress, it’s almost as if…

Almost as if Jaskier disappears. Geralt continues on, he knows, but until much later on, until after Geralt comes, there’s no sound from Jaskier. And when Jaskier does eventually talk, all it is is sleepy mumblings and the type of quiet pillow talk that Eskel purposefully tunes out, giving the two lovers their privacy, even though he never can make out those soft words. He just doesn’t get it. A gag would help, certainly—but not that well. Not to the point of complete silence.

Something glitters in Geralt’s eyes, then. Eskel frowns at it. His brother doesn’t often show a mischievous side of himself anymore, but he knows it’s there. After all, Geralt had been the one, so long ago, to help him tie a string to a bee, to keep it as a pet. Vesemir had tanned their hides for it, but while the Trial of the Grasses could take away a lot, they couldn’t take away everything.

“I use axii on him.”

Something bitter and rancid curls in Eskel’s stomach. The same goes for Lambert; he can sense the witcher tense next to him, sit up straighter. But before either of them can get any further, Geralt holds up his hand, placating.

“He asks for it,” he clarified. “Or, rather, it’s a better solution to a… Proclivity of his.” Eskel only frowns harder, so Geralt continues. “Awhile ago, he asked about getting some sort of substance that would take away his abilities to do much of anything. He wanted to be fucked while drugged. But he’s a human.”

“Fucking fragile things, humans are,” Lambert says.

Geralt nods at him, assenting silently. “I didn’t want to risk it. That’s a dangerous state to put anyone in. And even if it didn’t kill him, I wasn’t going to have him addicted to some two-bit hedge witch’s concoction. So I offered axii instead.”

The explanation helped to soothe Eskel. Jaskier had already proven himself to be of eclectic sexual tastes; he was in a relationship with a witcher, for the gods’ sakes. Plus, Geralt was right. Addiction was a horrible thing. If to the wrong substance, it led to a horrible, agonizing, slow death. If to a better substance, one miscalculation was all it could take to bring things to a speedy halt. With axii…

With axii, Geralt would be able monitor Jaskier’s emotions and cause no harm to his body. He could also withdraw the effects at any time—whether that be for something going wrong during sex or something happening on the path, with all the dangers a witcher and their companions faced. Compared to the bard’s request, it was, admittedly, many degrees safer.

“And you’re sure he likes it?” he askes, just once, just to make sure. Their signs are only supposed to be used in a fight. They hurt people, primarily, besides the protective few. It’s only been two weeks, and Eskel is surprised to find himself already protective over the little bird, as strange as it sounds even to him.

“Likes it enough he requests it at least once a week.” Geralt had been more careful than the other brothers after their Trials—after Blaviken. For him to act so blasé, so unconcerned about it, must mean that he’s telling the full truth. That, as improbable as it sounds, Jaskier really does enjoy to be axii’d. It’s a strange thought, but the more Eskel considers it… Well, he’s seen just how fearless Jaskier can be, living here with four witchers, so he probably shouldn’t be all that surprised.

He and Lambert share a look. It seems Lambert is thinking the same thing. For all intents and purposes, Geralt appears to be telling the truth, and they doubt that Jaskier wouldn’t speak up if he really didn’t enjoy it. So he gives Lambert a tiny nod, and turns his gaze back to his cards.

That’s the end of it.

That should have been the end of it.

It isn’t the end of it.

It doesn’t happen that night. No, that night, all three of them get a little more than tipsy, playing their cards long into the night. Eskel retires to his room, Geralt after him, and though he can hear his brother greet Jaskier, there are no sounds after that—from either of them.

No, nothing happens that night. It’s the next night when that something does happen.

Jaskier and Geralt talking, conversing, isn’t unusual. Sure, they’re a little quieter than usual, but—well, Eskel knows that energy fluctuates. He’s even considering that this might be another quiet night when, inevitably, Jaskier’s first moan seems to sneak its way through the cracks in the walls. Eskel sighs. He scrubs his face, lighter on the side with the scars to not aggravate them, and resigns himself to a night spent listening, wondering if he’ll head the little bird sing, or if Geralt will—axii him, apparently. But just as Eskel is turning onto his side away from the closest wall to the other room, Jaskier’s voice comes, plaintive and wanting, louder than he’s been with Geralt since they arrived at the keep.

“Eskel…”

Every nerve in Eskel’s body seems to light on fire. He freezes, then turns his head back, looking towards the far wall, as if it might have an answer for him. It, predictably, says nothing. But it doesn’t take long before Jaskier keens again, sighs, and his name slips from the bard’s mouth once more.

He doesn’t understand it. It’s certainly not him with Jaskier. And Geralt is there, so in all its unlikelihood, it isn’t the bard having some alone time with a fantasy of him. No, this is—

“Eskel…!”

—this is something else.

His brother chuckles, the sound carrying over. And then it gets louder, strangely enough, and a thump, and—oh, gods. Geralt has Jaskier pushed against the closest wall to him. Fuck.

“Like that, little bird?” Geralt said, and well, he was doing this on purpose. Geralt never called Jaskier little bird. That was Eskel’s nickname for him, one not used by any of the others, seeing as they had their own for him. Jaskier’s answering moan had Eskel swallow hard enough for it to click. He didn’t know exactly what Geralt was doing but he thought he could imagine it—his brother lifting Jaskier against the wall, those long legs wrapped around Geralt’s waist, a look of awe on Jaskier’s face.

Maybe his eyes would be a little glassy, a little unfocused. If this strange scenario is anything to go off of, as well as the new information from nights past, Jaskier is under axii’s effects. The thought hits Eskel hard—Jaskier thinks he’s being fucked by him.

And he’s enjoying it.

Unbidden, Eskel’s cock gives a twitch in his trousers. He grimaces; yes, for some reason, Geralt is putting on a show for him. But does that make his interest any less appropriate?

Apparently, propriety doesn’t matter much when Jaskier gasps and whines and starts to moan in earnest, Eskel’s name on his lips, falling in broken stutters and high pitched moans. Eskel tries to resist. He does. But gods, he’s imagining the way Geralt must be filling Jaskier to the hilt, how he must be holding his hips in a bruising grasp as he fucks up into him against the wall, wonders how many marks are going to be left trailing the bard’s throat come morning with Geralt purposefully staying away from Jaskier’s mouth to let his sounds come unimpeded. And Eskel—Eskel may be a witcher, but he is just a man at his core. He can only resist for so long before his hands are pushing the blankets down from his hips and his fingers are pulling at the ties to his breeches.

His cock, swollen and red and hard as hell, comes free. There’s already a bead of precum at the slit; Eskel isn’t sure he’s ever heard anyone but his brothers moan his name like that, and certainly no one after he’d gained his scars. It sets him alight in a way he hasn’t felt in a very long time; he nearly groans as he wraps his fingers around himself, a soft sound that, judging by the barely-there pause and then the uptick in Jaskier’s noises, a sound that Geralt had picked up on.

Eskel closes his eyes. He spreads the precum down his shaft until he’s just barely slick enough to not be uncomfortable. He listens, focuses in; if he pays attention, he can tell the difference in what’s happening. He can hear the whoosh of Jaskier’s breath when Geralt pulls out—can hear the tremble in his voice when his brother slams back in. He sets his pace by that, matching it as best he can. Imagines his fist is Jaskier’s tight body; imagines he can feel Geralt watching the whole thing, pleased by his brother wrecking his lover.

He’s both surprised and not when he finally climaxes—surprised at his short stamina, not surprised by the fact the little bird can wring something so quick out of him. With a few grunts Eskel’s cock pulses, twitches, and he spills into his hand, the sticky white seed making a mess. He can’t find it in himself to care. He feels good—really fucking good—and can’t help but wonder, briefly, if Geralt’s show means that he’d be willing to share.

Jaskier cums not long after, his shouts reaching a crescendo, Eskel’s name a slurred, pleading thing in his mouth. He hears Geralt growl and imagines that, too—his brother’s seed filling his little bird, the copious amount of it, the way it surely drips from Jaskier’s hole and leaves a mess on his thighs. That—and Eskel’s sudden desire to swipe up that cum with his fingers and press them into Jaskier’s mouth—makes his cock twitch again, interested. But though witcher refractory periods rival any human man’s, this is too short a time, even for him.

Instead, Eskel listens to Geralt take Jaskier to bed, the frame squeaking just a bit as they settle in. Soon, he hears Jaskier, too low to understand the words but tired and slow and happy, rumble pleasantly alongside Geralt’s own words. He’s had a good time, then. It makes something… Warm, almost, curl in his chest, like a cat contented with their new owner.

Hmm. Maybe he’ll have to talk to Geralt about this, come the morning. For now, though, Eskel lets sleep take him, pleasant dreams of golden eyes and a sweet singer’s voice soothing him all night long.

——

For all of Eskel’s intent, however, he isn’t the second wolf of the keep to get a bite out of Jaskier. No, it’s Lambert who rises to the bait, who doesn’t wait, doesn’t ask.

Of course, that can absolutely be owed to the fact that, considering Geralt’s room isn’t close enough to Lambert’s to be heard, they have to go somewhere else for it. That somewhere else being the hot springs beneath the main castle.

Geralt and Jaskier are already in the springs when Lambert comes down, always fond of a morning soak to prepare himself for the day to come. He wakes up early for it, to keep out of trouble with Vesemir’s strict ‘chores and training first’ priorities. Winter is the only year he’ll bother to get up this early. He hates mornings otherwise.

But regardless, the two lovebirds are in the water when he comes in, Jaskier sat on Geralt’s lap with his back to the wolf’s chest, his fingers playing absently with the witcher’s hands where they are loosely wrapped around his waist. They’re talking, Jaskier’s head tilted back on his shoulder, but Lambert doesn’t bother to listen in. Instead, he scoffs, rolling his eyes as he strips out of his night clothes and steps into the water. The wolves all lost a good chunk of their sense of modesty around each other decades ago—a close childhood, a communal hot springs, and sparring, and wrestling, and skinny dipping in the cold mountain stream only about a mile from the keep doing quite well at getting rid of personal boundaries.

And that didn’t include the nights that Lambert had spent with one of his brother’s cocks in his ass or the other way around.

If Jaskier was going to stick around, he might as well get used to it—all of it.

To his credit, though, Lambert only sees a glimpse of a flush on the bard’s cheeks as he gets into the water, grunting as the heat warms him up, arms splaying out on the edge of the rocks behind him. It’s better than he was expecting. Though Jaskier had seemed to be full of surprises ever since coming to Kaer Morhen.

“What do you think, Lambert?” the bard asks then, his intelligent blue eyes striking into him, the smile on his face playful and warm. He doesn’t elaborate further though—and Lambert wonders if he should have been paying attention.

“Fuck do I think about what?” he asks. His brow arches.

“Should Geralt and I try to spice things up in the bedroom?” Jaskier asks and Lambert—Lambert isn’t expecting that. He sputters for a moment, eyes darting to Geralt’s face, but his brother seems as unfazed as ever. “Not that things are boring, per se,” Jaskier continues. “But it can be fun to change things around sometimes!”

“The fuck are you—“

Geralt’s growl interrupts Lambert’s startled demand. He bites Jaskier’s ear; Lambert is treated to the sight of the bard’s eyes fluttering, practically rolling back in his head, his throat bobbing and straining as he tries to keep a moan from escaping. “Insatiable,” Geralt says, and Lambert, shifting, internally cursing his body’s reaction to the bard’s obvious pleasure and Geralt’s low accusation, thinks he should probably leave them to it.

He doesn’t make up his mind quick enough.

Geralt’s eyes catch his across the springs. “You need more than one cock to satisfy you, don’t you?” he rumbles into Jaskier’s ear. The bard’s face flushes; he presses his lips together, shivering, and opens his mouth. Before he can get anything out, though, Lambert watches his brother raise his hand, hover it to the side of Jaskier’s head, and trace the form of axii in the air.

“Go on, then,” he says, unconcerned, still watching the other wolf. “Tell Lambert how much you need him.”

Jaskier’s features go slack. Any embarrassment he might have had slides off; his dazzling blue eyes grow glassy and smooth, his hands dropping loosely into his own lap. A shudder passes through him and his brows pinch upwards in the center, like he’s empty and wanting.

Oh, gods, that’s hot.

“Lambert,” comes Jaskier’s breathy sigh, his gaze never faltering from him. “Please. Please, I need you.” He stays loose against Geralt, though—pliant and soft. He shifts up and then makes a noise, bright and plaintive, lashes fluttering. In a startling moment of clarity, Lambert realizes it’s Geralt that moved him. That Geralt has just thrust his cock up inside Jaskier.

Has Jaskier been full this whole time?

The mild interest he had blossoms, Lambert’s prick hardening, growing. “Geralt, the fuck are you—“

Again, his brother cuts him off. “I already told you,” he says, rolling his hips up, Jaskier breathing a soft, ‘Lambert…’ It’s distracting, almost painfully so. “He likes it.” Another thrust up; another keen; another plea. “He likes the idea of sharing, too.”

He can’t fucking say no to that.

Lambert narrows his eyes. “Yeah?” he challenges, gaze flickering between Jaskier and Geralt’s faces. “Fine. Bard, come here.”

To Geralt’s credit, he doesn’t so much as flinch when Jaskier practically tumbles off of his cock. Jaskier is uncoordinated—slow. It’s almost like he’s a little drunk, and Lambert finds himself reaching for him before he’s all the way over, hands on his hips, steadying him the rest of the short journey. Jaskier drops down into his lap;his head rolls from one shoulder to the other, before he leans forward and rubs his cheek inelegantly against Lambert’s shoulder.

“Need you,” Jaskier whispers. He presses a clumsy kiss to Lambert’s shoulder; his hands stay loose at his sides, even as his hips give a short, twitchy kind of roll, his hard cock brushing against Lambert’s own. “Please. Please, Lambert.”

Jaskier is so warm in his lap. He’s decadent; Lambert knows the bard has muscles, has seen them on display the few times he’d watched Geralt train him. But like this? With the magic keeping him calm and relaxed and without tension, he’s soft. It’s intoxicating. It’s incredible.

Lambert looks up at Geralt, just to be sure. His brother had a tiny smirk on his face. More than that, his hand has moved below the water, and Lambert doesn’t need to see it to know that he’s stroking himself, enjoying the sight.

It’s permission enough. With his own grin forming, Lambert glides his hand down Jaskier’s body, over his hips and thigh and then back up again. He presses between his cheeks; the hole there is loose, open. No doubt Geralt’s cock is responsible, of course. It does make this better. Even though Jaskier might not be as tight as normal, he’s already stretched; Lambert doesn’t have to waste any time.

“Come on, bard,” he says again, this time dragging his hips forward. He waves his hand beside Jaskier’s head himself, casting the spell, feeling the tingle of the magic linking them together. It feels good to be in control. “You’re gagging for it, might as well give it to you. Gonna fuck your pretty ass ‘til you’re begging me to stop instead.” Of course he won’t—not unless they talk about it first, when Jaskier isn‘t influenced by magic. But it’s fun to threaten it, anyway.

With a wanting keen, Jaskier doesn’t fight him. His gaze is smooth and untroubled; he lets Lambert lift him, guide him. The witcher’s cock catches on his rim and he shivers; Lambert drags him down, quick and harsh. He relishes in the bright cry that comes from the bard, the shiver turning into a shudder, his fingers twitching but ultimately stilling by his sides once again.

“Gods, look at you,” Lambert crows, pulling out and slamming back in. The poor bard has no choice but to be rocked with it, his muscles loose, his body warm and slick for Lambert to ravage. “Nothing but a pretty little plaything, huh? Bet you’d do anything for us like this.” Jaskier whimpers; Lambert can’t resist the urge to bite at his throat, adding a bruise alongside the ones his brother has left the past few days. Jaskier is not his, not totally, but he’s his for the moment. His until the spell wears off, until the bruises fade. Lambert will take what he can get.

His thrusts get harder. It’s so fucking good. Jaskier lays against his chest, limp and open, taking his pounding without complaint. The pinch in his brow is from pleasure; the pleas that fall from his lips are sweet and sincere. Lambert knows he’ll have to thank Geralt somehow—something big, something precious. A new saddle for Roach, perhaps. Or something else. He doesn’t know—but it’s obvious that being given this opportunity is worth something expensive and important. And that goes for the bard, too. Lambert will have to make sure to bring something good back for him next winter.

He has no doubts that Geralt will bring him next winter.

Lambert can feel himself getting close. Geralt himself is working his cock faster, harder. Feeling a prickle of heat, he smirks. “Bard,” he says, waiting until Jaskier makes a keening sound. “You’re not allowed to cum until both Geralt and I have, understand?” It’s cruel—it’s mean. But Jaskier only sobs and slurs out an affirmative, and Geralt himself grunts in approval. “Good boy.” The title makes Jaskier’s cock twitch against Lambert’s stomach; he smirks and files that information away for later.

Then, he grabs Jaskier’s waist, and rams up into him. He sets a brutal pace, drawing choked sobs from Jaskier, the bard’s body taking the fucking without complaint. He has to help settle his head in the crook of his shoulder again at one point, Jaskier lost to the pleasure, but then he’s back at it, chasing the high, the heat, the pressure.

When Lambert comes, he does so loudly, his grunting and huffing joining the echoes of Jaskier’s moans against the rocks around them. He fills the bard, his cum coating his insides, and he can’t help but rock a few more times up into him, as if to push it all deeper inside him. But Jaskier, like the good boy he is, is still hard and aching against his belly.

“Turn around,” Lambert orders, adding an extra burst of axii for good measure, watching Jaskier’s pupils constrict and then dilate under the magic’s persuasion. The bard’s legs are shaky, weak as a fawn’s as he turns around, only successful because of Lambert’s help. He doesn’t bother pushing his cock back inside him. Instead, Lambert reaches up and pushes two fingers into his mouth, opening his jaw wide. “You’re going to let my brother use your mouth,” he rumbles against his ear, just as Geralt had at the start of this. His other hand reaches down and strokes Jaskier’s cock, slow and even, the weak writhing of the man only serving to make this all better. “And once you’ve swallowed every drop, you’ll get to cum. Got it?”

Again, Jaskier gives a mumbled, slurred agreement. Lambert looks expectantly at the other witcher—and sure enough, Geralt gets up. He comes over, his cock hard and at attention against his scarred stomach, a sight glorious enough on its own. Lambert keeps his fingers in place, holding his mouth open. Geralt takes his cock in his hand when he’s close enough; Lambert pulls his fingers away just as the other wolf presses the head inside Jaskier’s mouth.

It’s a glorious sight. Geralt rocks into Jaskier’s mouth, the sounds the man makes muffled, his glassy eyes adoring up at him. Lambert keeps stroking his cock; his newly freed hand moves to wrap loosely around Jaskier’s throat, holding him still—feeling it when Geralt works his way far enough inside for the bard’s throat to bulge, to press out against Lambert’s fingers. “Look at you,” Lambert smirked, rubbing a thumb over Jaskier’s slit and loving the sob he got in return. “You just needed your pretty little whore mouth fucked too, didn’t you? Needed cum inside you that badly, you’ll take it however you can get it. Filthy fuckin’ slut.”

Jaskier’s cock twitches again and tears well in his eyes. The tether between them from the spell is a godsend in this case; Lambert feels nothing but pleasure and want through the temporary bond. So he lets Jaskier’s tears spill over his cheeks, making the jewels of his eyes that much prettier.

Geralt’s thrusts are turning harder by then. Lambert bites his neck again, feeling the heat of the broken blood vessels bloom under his lips. “Swallow it, bard,” he says, tightening the grip on his throat just a little. “Every drop.”

When Geralt cums, Jaskier doesn’t disappoint. He swallows—and he swallows and swallows and swallows. Witchers arent exactly known for natural amounts of seed, after all. A little leaks out the corners of his mouth and drips down his chin; white tinged saliva connects his tongue in a string to Geralt’s cock when the witcher finally pulls out from his swollen, red lips. It’s a gorgeous sight, made even better by Geralt bending down and kissing him, licking away the remnants of cum, even lapping at his tears.

“Good boy,” Lambert praises. He speeds up his hand, no longer teasingly slow. “So good for us. You can cum now, bard. Good job.”

And Jaskier does. All it takes is a few more strokes before his lax body shivers and his eyes roll up in his head, before his fingers twitch and his mind goes white with pleasure and Lambert feels his cock pulsing in his hand as he spills himself into the water.

As long as Geralt will allow it, he’s going to do this again, and again, and again.

——

The next gwent game is decidedly more interesting.

The three young witchers play, Vesemir gone to bed long before. Jaskier is there, too. He doesn’t play, though. Not the cards, anyway. No, he’s laid out on the table, out of the way of the game, axii keeping him loose and relaxed and soft and slick. Or, well—not slick, perhaps. No, that comes from the witchers.

Two players go against each other. The third spends his break playing with Jaskier, however they might please. The game ends and the players rotate—and Jaskier is never bereft.

Lambert groans at his bad luck against Eskel as Geralt holds Jaskier’s knees up and open, his sounds breathy and small and cute as Geralt pounds into him. Eskel smirks at Geralt’s expense with a weather card as Lambert holds Jaskier’s head over the edge of the table, stuffs his throat full with his cock and makes him swallow just as much cum as he paints the bard’s face with. Geralt pretends to cheat to get Lambert riled up while Eskel holds Jaskier up on the pile of pillows and blankets they’ve put on the ground just for him, the bard’s face to the floor and ass in the air as Eskel lets his rougher nature take hold just for these few moments, fucking him like an animal, growling promises of breeding Jaskier full of wolf pups, their lovely personal bitch taking every drop of cum that he can hold, and more besides.

It’s one hell of a good night. By the end of it, Jaskier is struggling to keep those empty blue eyes open, his belly coated in his own release and bulging a bit from the releases of the wolves inside him, blissed out and fucked out and exhausted. Little changes when they remove the axii from him; besides holding onto Geralt as he carries him down to the hot springs to clean him, and whispers his thanks to all three of them, and eating and drinking what the wolves give to him, he’s just as tired and worn and content as his other self.

And sure, tomorrow he’s going to be sore as fuck. He’s not going to be interested in anything for a few days before giving in to the siren call of the wolves and their pleasure. But he’s also going to wake up happy, and he knows that as he snuggles in between all three of them, the mess of blankets becoming their bed for the night, a pile of witchers that keep him warm both in body and in heart. He’s going to wake up surrounded by his pack, his family, his lovers.

He’s going to wake up, and he’s going to be in his new home.

[riotwritesthings]

Whumptober 2019 Day 14

Shackled

WinterIron, M, 1.8k | AO3

That’s right Whumptober! Took a break from non-stop porn to do another collab with @gayspacesprinkles. (Thank you, I had a blast! You are my brand!)

-

“Shit,” Tony says into the comms, and then static, and then silence.

“I think the armor is down,” Hawkeye says, hard to hear over the wind rushing past him.

Bucky slams his metal fist into a Hydra goon’s face, tightens his grip on his gun and spins to face the rooftop where Clint is posted. “What’s happening?” He demands even though he knows, he knows what happens next, his heart is in his throat, racing painfully. He knows.

There’s a long pause, just the sound of fighting filtering in through everyone’s comms, the sound of Clint’s even breaths and pounding footsteps as he tries to get a better vantage point. “Shit,” he says “shit, they’ve taken Iron Man.”

Bucky’s brain fuzzes out. The Asset takes over.

-

Tony wakes up to multiple pairs of hands prying the dead armor away from him, cold air and everything aching, which is probably his least favorite way to wake up.

“Alright, but who’s buying me dinner?” Tony asks, blinking sluggishly, his arms too slow as he tries to raise them, his reflexes too slow as he’s hauled out of the remains of the suit. He forces his eyes to focus, his head spinning, the ground rumbling beneath his knees. A truck, he’s in a truck, they’re moving, they’re taking him somewhere.

“This is a terrible idea,” Tony tells them helpfully, then one of the masked goons hits him across the face and everything goes fuzzy.

-

There’s another base, not too far. Like a backup to the one the Avengers just invaded. The Asset knows. He knows how to get in. He knows how to find Tony. He knows how to burn the entire place to the ground on his way back out. The Asset is prepared.

“We’re not done with this fight, get back here!” Steve sounds tired, and frustrated and worried, and he grunts as something hits him. Bucky feels a little bad. The Asset does not.

“I know where they’re taking him,” Bucky snarls into his comm. He’s in Hydra’s garage. The Asset can drive anything. He choses a bike, kicks it into gear, and Bucky says “you can follow me if you want but I’m not slowing down to wait for you.”

He can't let them hurt Tony, he can't. They can't. This is what Bucky has been terrified of, this is what wakes him up in the dead of night in a cold sweat, has him pulling Tony into his arms while Tony mumbles out sleepy confused noises. This is what The Asset has been preparing for.

-

“You’re terrible at this, you’re not even asking any questions,” Tony points out, and then groans as Masked Goon #3 hits him across the face again. His eye is starting to swell shut, and Tony is pretty sure at least one of his shoulders has been ripped out of its socket. Hard to tell, his arms have been above his head for so long he can’t really feel them anymore, his cold toes barely touching the ground.

Masked Goon #3 hits him in the side this time, knocks him back against the wall and Tony bites down a groan.

"At least try to make me build something, this is just a waste," Tony points out, and on the next punch he feels something crack, tastes blood.

-

The Asset likes Tony. The Asset doesn't like anything, really. Just fighting. The feel of a new gun. And Tony.

Because Tony knows. Tony calls him 'Snowflake' when he's The Asset and 'Buckaroo' when he's Bucky and Tony always gets it right. He gives the Asset new guns. Always lighter. Always more powerful.

Tony always knows. Nobody else. Nobody knows about The Asset, what it means when Bucky goes still and quiet and his eyes go hard. And Bucky can't find the words, doesn’t know how to explain it. So no one knows. No one but Tony.

There's not many things Bucky and The Asset agree on. The importance of a well maintained armory. Taking down Hydra. And Tony, always Tony.

-

The goon squad leaves Tony alone, which really, people should know better than that by now.

He braces his feet on the wall, slides his bloodied hands free of the shackles with an agonizing tug that has him nearly whiting out. Tony hits the ground hard, has to lay there just panting for a second even though every breath is agonizing, and apparently he’s bleeding because his flight suit is wet and tacky against his torso.

Finally Tony pushes himself to his feet, and the cell is empty but maybe if he can get out he can find something, anything. Maybe he can get out of here.

-

The base is quiet when The Asset arrives. They’re not expecting him. No one ever does. Hydra turned him into a shadow, and now he is going to take them apart.

The Asset doesn’t like many things. Only Tony.

He moves through the compound like a ghost. He kills everyone. The blood is warm on his hands and the small bits of his exposed face. The Asset only feels cold. He has to find Tony.

Tony is never afraid, no matter who he is. Tony falls asleep on Bucky’s shoulder, and when he wakes up to The Asset he smiles. He takes The Asset’s hand, leads him away when a fight is over. Never afraid.

The Asset kills anyone who gets in his way. He has to find Tony.

-

"You should really just... let me go, pretend you never saw me," Tony says, shaking hands held out in front of him. He’s trying to look harmless, knows he probably looks pathetic more than anything with his face busted up, hunched over to protect his cracked ribs.

For just a second, it looks like Masked Goon #7 is actually considering it. Tony has been following the exit signs and he’s so close, he can just tell how close he is to freedom. There’s only the seemingly least aggressive member of goon squad between him and his goal. But Tony’s shoulders are too busted to lift the gun he found, his hands shaking too badly to aim it.

The goon hesitates, and for a second Tony dares to hope. Then a fist comes crashing into his gut and knocks Tony to the ground.

"This is a mistake," Tony coughs out as the goon drags him back to the miserable little cell, “big one. Huge mistake.”

“You will die here,” Masked Goon #7 snarls, pauses just long enough to kick Tony in the head before he resumes dragging.

"Maybe," Tony says, because he knows when to be a realist, and they won't leave him alone again. "But so will you.”

-

The Asset kicks in the cell door, but it’s Bucky who raises the gun to shoot the first guard in the back of the head. The second has barely spun around before The Asset takes out both his knees, leaves him writhing on the ground. His screams are meaningless, everyone in the base is dead. The Asset only cares about-

Tony. Tony.

The figure dangling from the ceiling, bloody arms wrapped in chains, is hardly recognizable. Too silent. Too still. Tony is neither of of those things, even in his sleep he tosses and turns and mumbles to himself. Bucky thinks it’s adorable. The Asset thinks it’s fascinating. But the figure is completely still, too still, covered in bruises and so incredibly pale. Bucky makes a hurt noise, deep in his chest.

The Asset sees red.

_

Tony wakes up because it sounds like Bucky is in pain, and Tony has to wake up, he has to help, he has to drag Bucky out of whatever nightmare he’s caught in. Except when Tony wakes up he’s the one in pain, and for a minute all he can do is gasp in agonized confusion before he remembers, braces for the next hit.

But nothing comes, and when he opens his swollen eyes Masked Goon #7 is on the ground and he’s the one bleeding, the one screaming. Tony doesn’t know what’s happening here, but he really hopes it’s some kind of rescue. He doesn’t have the energy to escape again, he really doesn’t.

He forces his head up a little more and there’s Bucky, grip white knuckled on his knife, mask and goggles in place and properly terrifying.

“Told you,” Tony says smugly, hopes he gets his point across even though his voice is weak and shredded. Masked Goon #7’s eyes go wide as Bucky stalks towards him and he’s in full Winter Soldier mode, Tony can tell by the way he moves. “Should have let me go, man,” Tony says, slurred and lazy because everything is going to be okay, he can relax, even as the goon starts screaming again, as Bucky drops a knee into the goon’s chest and slits his throat.

He can relax now.

-

“Hey snowflake,” Tony slurs out as The Asset sets him gently on the ground. His bloodied fingers reach up, tug the mask and goggles from the Asset’s face.

Bucky frowns, worried, and terrified, Tony is too pale, his fingers too cold against Bucky’s cheek. The Asset is still seeing red.

Tony just smiles, weak but real, reaches up to wipe the frown Bucky’s lips with a shaking thumb. He wipes blood and grease paint from the Asset’s eyes. Tony is mostly just smearing his own blood everywhere, making a mess. Bucky is elated, and his heart is breaking, his fingers ghosting over the bruises on Tony’s skin and he wasn’t fast enough, he wasn’t fast enough. The Asset is still angry. He’s still so angry. He’s shaking with it.

“Look at you guys, getting along,” Tony says, drags his fingers through their messy hair, pats them on the shoulder even though that has to hurt, it has to. Tony is completely unafraid.

Bucky chokes out a wet laugh and The Asset leans down to press his forehead to Tony’s. “Tony,” they say, broken open, completely in agreement. “Tony.”

“Tony,” says a voice behind them, “Bucky, are you okay?”

The Asset snarls. He spins, puts himself between Tony and the door. Between Tony and the hulking silhouette of Captain America. Stays crouched to better cover Tony’s prone form. Tightens his hold on his knife.

“Bucky,” Steve says, his hands up. The shield stays on his back. “Buck, it’s me. We followed as soon as we could, but it doesn’t look like you need any help.” Steve snorts, a little amused, a little worried. The Asset always worries him, the Captain just hasn’t figured out what he’s looking at yet. He takes a step forward.

The Asset tries to snarl again. Bucky swallows it down, clears his throat, says “get a stretcher, he’s hurt real bad.”

“I can walk,” Tony protests, still slurred, his voice weak.

The Asset whirls on him. Furious. “You will not walk,” he snaps. He feels bad afterwards. Tony is hurt. Bucky wouldn’t snap. Bucky always knows what to say, what to do, how to help, how to be good. The Asset only knows how to hurt. He wishes there were more people to hurt.

The Captain is tense in the doorway. Tony just smiles, pats the Asset’s cheek. “Yes dear,” he says. Completely unafraid.

[emo-floof-child-writes]

The Sword of the Solstice.

Chapter Thirteen: Duel of the Two Clans.

The gate looms over them. Eijiro shudders. To him, the walls surrounding Loyaci seem to be alive. Like if he wasn't careful, they'd materialize into cracked, mossy, stone hands, and squash them into jelly. The gate itself is made of a black metal, and unlike everything around them, Eijiro can't find a sign of decay on it. Certainly there was no rust. Above them, the dark clouds thicken, to the point that the reddish sky above is nearly impossible to see.

"Well, how are we going to get in?" Izuku asks, looking at Shoto. Momo lifts her fingers up, her index and middle finger touching, and makes a triangle in the air, a trick paladins use to ward off evil. Shoto proceeds to repeat the gesture, and sighs. "Well, this is a rather rash plan, I fear we will be walking into a trap. But we also do not have many options." He unsheathes his sword, and lifts it above his head. The power that you've given me, O lord of the Morning, I ask that you need your humble servant, and grant me this one request. He squeezes his eyes shut. I beg that you would send your Light, and be with me as I cleanse this great Evil from this world.

He winces, as he feels pain slip through his right hand's finger nails, like someone was peeling them off one by one, leaving his nail beds exposed. He drops his sword, and Izuku jumps out of the way, to avoid decapitation. "Shoto! What's wrong?" Izuku asks, his voice shaking. "My lord!" Momo says, as Shoto inspects his hand. He hears a bone chilling cackle. "Thought you got rid of me, did you?" Dendar's hissing, raspy voice taunts. Shoto looks down at his right hand. He sees black tendrils sliding under his nails, and covering his fingers in darkest black. "My lord?" Momo asks, her voice shaking, as she grabs hold of his hand.

Shoto grimaces. "I'm fine." He says, and Dendar's cackle returns. "You are absolutely not fine. You are turning into another of my lovely little puppets!" Her raspy voice sounds almost sweet, but it made Shoto feel woozy. He wraps his arm around his stomach, trying to alleviate the queasiness that settled in there. I will beat you. Lathander is with me. Dendar's presence giggles, which really makes Shoto shudder. "Lathander may have helped you earlier, but I'll keep coming back. I'll suck you dry and leave nothing but an empty husk to complete my true purpose." Shoto gasps. And that would be? "FOOL! You think I'm going to tell you?! I know better than that. The only way you'll know is if you join me willingly." Shoto swallows. Never.

"Oh well, can't blame a Primordial Deity for trying!" Shoto ignores her, making that gesture again over his hand, in an attempt to stop the pain, and the blackness that now covers half of his right hand. Dendar scoffs. "Give up, I'll soon have what I want." Shoto grabs his head, trying to squeeze her presence out of his skull. "Lady Momo, use your magic!" He cries, as he grits his teeth. She gasps. "And do what? The Command spell only works a short time!" She says, and he swallows. "Do you know the Geas spell, by chance?" Shoto asks, remembering that last he saw Momo, she was studying some of the more challenging spells.

She groans. "Unfortunately, that one has eluded my grasp." Izuku looks at Eijiro. "What's the Geas spell?" Izuku asks, looking down at the Solstice Sword. Shoto sighs. "Doesn't matter, we can't use it." He says, and Eijiro shakes his head. "No, what were you hoping to do with that spell?" Eijiro asks. Momo sighs. "The Geas Spell can make someone forced to do your will, or pay the price of a slow painful death." Momo explains. Izuku pulls out the Solstice Sword. Hey, Solstice? Could you cast that spell? "I could doeth that, but that spell will draineth me again." Izuku looks at Shoto. Is there no other way to fix this? "Besides to smiteth thy friend... but even if I casteth the spell, it mayhap not worketh. It is too risky, Bearer." Izuku growls. "Yeah, well, risks are a part of life, cast it." Izuku says, out loud, pointing the sword at Shoto.

The sword makes what sounds like a sigh, and golden yellow encircles the sword. "What doth thou wisheth to maketh thine friend's affliction doeth?" Izuku swallows. Make it obey Shoto for as long as it can be allowed. The sword hums in hand, and the golden light shines out like a beam towards Shoto, who is grimacing as the darkness covers the left side of his face, making his teeth look sharp and fanged. The light engulfs Shoto, and he gasps. The darkness pauses, and Shoto hears a shrill scream. "CURSE THAT SWORD!!!!" Dendar screams. Shoto takes a deep breath, as the pain subsides.

"Sir Izuku, what did you do?" Momo asks, looking at trembling Shoto. "I uh, asked Solstice to cast that spell you mentioned." He says, and Shoto chuckles. "You say that so nonchalantly. Only a select few can cast that spell effectively. It's not as rare as the Lathander's Lightning, but it isn't an easy task." Shoto turns to the gate. "Now that I can control my body again, we need to open the door." Izuku sighs, and looks down at the Solstice Sword. "Perhaps Solstice can help?" But even as he suggests it, he can tell he used all of the sword's energy. Shoto shakes his head. "No need, perhaps now that I'm back in control of my body, I can summon Lathander's power. Lady Momo? Care to join me?"

She smiles. "Indeed, my lord." They plant their feet, square their shoulders, and lift their hands in a gesture that Izuku has come to associate with paladins channeling their power. I can't do anything to end the spell on myself, or the magic barrier, but perhaps— Eijiro sighs, and pushes on the door. "No, don't!" She cries, as the black door makes a loud rumble, and black tendrils shoot out of the metal, wrapping themselves around Eijiro. Shoto lifts his sword, and slashes the restraints. The blade bounces off of them, as Eijiro starts to get pulled into the door.

He digs his heels into the dirt, while trying to squirm out of the tendrils grasp. He growls, puffs of smoke and small flames shooting out of his mouth and nose. Shoto groans, and slams his sword down on the tendrils again. Eijiro spits fire at the tendrils, but its grip on Eijiro strengthens with every attack. Izuku charges, lifting Solstice over his head. "Why did you have to touch the obviously evil door?!" He says, stabbing at the black ooze. The coil makes a squish! as the sword punctures a hole in it. Izuku pitches forward with a little too much force, making Izuku slam into the door. His blade arm, however, goes straight through the door.

Eijiro lands on the ground, with a shaky laugh. "Guess that's why no one could get in." Momo helps him stand. "What part of my story about me being the only one left alive did you not understand?! Be more careful!" Eijiro sighs. "Understood. Uh, Izuku, you good?" He asks, as Izuku stands, frozen. He takes a breath. "I'm fine, I just got a little shaken up." He slashes the door, and cuts an opening up. He walks through, and the others follow him. The city around them is obscured by purple mist, and an unearthly silence resides. "This isn't spooky at all." Eijiro comments, as he picks at his scales.

Shoto lifts his sword. "Last chance to turn back." Momo says, and the others shake their heads. "We need to keep going." Izuku says, and Eijiro bars his teeth. Momo sighs. "Very well, let's go." They trudge through the mist, until a cackle breaks through the dead silence. "Finally, the pieces are coming into place. If only the Girl could make it today." A male voice says, as a silhouette of a humanoid figure pushes its way through the mist. The figure has glowing purple eyes. Like what Tsuyu said the strange folk people had seen abroad had. Izuku remembers with a shiver. But what does he mean by "the girl"? Izuku sighs. This can't be good.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Later that night, Katsuki walks into his tent, and takes a deep breath. Tomorrow morning I'll have to duel for the honor of my clan. I can't lie, Round Face makes a point. He beat MOTHER. What if I fail, and I cause a much worse fate for our clan? He grunts, and kicks a clump of dirt. "What did that clump of dirt do to you, Son?" Masaru asks, and Katsuki turns to face him. "I challenged Neito Monoma to a duel..." Katsuki says, in a whisper. Masaru sighs. "Are you sure that is a good idea?" He asks, and Katsuki shakes his head. "He dishonored Mother. I can't let him get away with that." Masaru nods. "Just be careful, Son. Don't get reckless—" Katsuki scoffs. "Says the guy who's never had to fight a day in his life!" Masaru groans. "I may not be the true hero you wish I was, but I'm still your father. I worry about you."

"I don't need your worry, Father." He retorts. Masaru frowns. "You didn't see what happened in your mother's duel. She was in pretty bad shape." He says, and Katsuki growls. "Maybe so, but I have to beat him. This is my fault. If I hadn't been out fighting for other kingdoms and peoples, we wouldn't be in this situation." Masaru groans. "KATSUKI BAKUGO!" He scolds, which catches Katsuki off guard. He NEVER raises his voice! Katsuki thinks in amazement. "This is not your fault! The error falls on my shoulders." Katsuki frowns. “Father?” He says, and Masaru sighs. “You’re right about me, son. I’m a coward.” He says, and grabs Katsuki’s shoulders.

“It should be me fighting for our clan’s honor, but ever since I saw what he did to your mother—I can’t—” He squeezes Katsuki’s shoulders, and sniffs. “Please don't die, son.” He whispers, and Katsuki nods. “I’ll bring that sniveling coward down, Father.” I can’t worry about failure now, I need to win for Mother and Father. They need me to win. He grits his teeth. “He’s as good as defeated.” Katsuki adds, with a smirk. He lies down, and sighs. Well, let’s get some sleep before this fight everyone’s so scared about. He has an injured leg, so there’s a huge advantage—right?

The next morning Katsuki walks out of his tent, to see Ochaco standing outside, twiddling her thumbs. Katsuki chuckles. “You wouldn’t be worrying about me too, Round Face?” She scoffs. “You wish.” She responds, not wanting to admit that she got no sleep the night before out of worry for his well being. He scoffs. "Well, watch my back, okay?" He asks, and she frowns. "Aren't these duels like the most honorable things?" She questions, and Katsuki sighs. "Yeah, but you were right. He did seem too confident." She bites her lip. "Okay, I'll watch him." She says, and Katsuki grins. "Knew I could count on you, Uraraka."

She smiles. "You called me Uraraka, not Round Face." She comments. He chuckles. "I know what I said." He says, as he walks over to the arena. Ochaco grins. He trusts me! He's willing to put his fate into my hands. Better not mess this up... She takes a deep breath, and follows him into the arena. She sits down in the stands, and Mitsuki walks up to her. "You can sit up in the booth with us, if you want to, dear." Mitsuki says, and Ochaco shakes her head. Mitsuki didn't seem to take "no" for an answer. "Oh, but you're a friend of Katsuki's!" She says, and Ochaco sighs. I may not be able to see any foul play if I'm up there, but I can't just say no to her! She's intimating... Ochaco laughs nervously, but nods. "I'll still be able to see the match well from there, r-right?" She says and Mitsuki nods. "Best seats in the house!" She assures Ochaco.

They climb up to the booth, and thankfully, she could indeed see if any foul play was going on, perhaps better than before, with the overhead view. Katsuki walks to the middle, with Neito limping in. Please don't die. She thinks. Aizawa (the tired man that works in the employ of the Bakugo Clan), walks in between the two fighters. "Alright, listen up because I'm only going to say this once. The rules of engagement are as follows..." He goes off about being able to kill your opponent, or get them to yield. Weapons will be provided for the fighters, and you cannot use any other weapons. Mitsuki explains that is so they don't use poisoned blades or the like. The final rule surprises Ochaco; "absolutely no magic." If these were not followed, disqualification was the result.

So if I see him use magic, he'll be disqualified... She leans forward, and squints down at them. She sees Katsuki grab a scimitar. Neito grabs a handaxe. "Alright, with that, you may begin." Katsuki smirks, as he charges towards him. He swings and slashes him, and Neito just barely blocks to keep his arm. Ochaco watches Neito, and notices that in-between blocks, he is mouthing something. She growls. Despite my vantage point, I can't hear what he's saying! Mitsuki notices her irritation. "Are you okay, dear? Katsu is doing well." Ochaco bites her lip. "N-nothing." She mumbles.

Katsuki kicks Neito's bad leg, and Neito falls down. Katsuki points his sword at Neito's throat, calling for him to yield. Neito uses his axe to yank the scimitar out of Katsuki's hand, and the force of it sends Katsuki forward. Neito shoves his axe into Katsuki's left side. Mitsuki grunts, and Ochaco gasps, as she sees a familiar purple mist escape from Katsuki's wound. Neito pulls his axe out, and Katsuki's body doesn't move, as if he were petrified. "MOVE IT, KATSUKI!" Mitsuki yells, as Neito lifts his axe again. No... it can't be... Ochaco thinks and swallows audibly. Power Word Stun..!?

She climbs onto the railing of the booth, and jumps down to the arena below. Dendar, now would be a good time for that levitation spell! Ochaco says, as she falls towards the ground. A cushion of air slows her fall, and she sighs. Power Word Stun is such a powerful spell, I don't know if I can dispel it! On my own, at least... She looks at Katsuki, who is leaving a puddle of blood on the ground. If I don't dispel it, Katsuki will die! She takes a deep breath, and with a yell casts Dispel Magic, and she forces out every ounce of magical power into the spell. Neito stops his blow short, as he hears Ochaco speak the words of dispelling.

She sighs, but Katsuki doesn't move. She groans. A cackle resounds through Ochaco's head. "The only way you're getting him back is if you use my power." Dendar's raspy voice says. Ochaco grunts. "And you'll only get that through willing servitude! Oh dear, quite the dilemma, huh?" Dendar taunts, and Ochaco whimpers. There's no other way... I can't save him on my own... She closes her eyes. "Do it." She whispers. "S-s-say it." Dendar hisses. "Say you accept my whole power willingly." Last chance to think of something else, Brain! No?

"I accept." She says, and a rush of raw power escapes her, and sends a purple energy towards Katsuki and Neito. Katsuki gasps, and reaches for his wound. Neito collapses to the floor, and whimpers. "I-I yield!" He says, and starts to crawl away. Ochaco lands, and rushes to Katsuki's side. "Katsuki!" She says, as she inspects his wound. "What just happened? One second he got a hit in, and then you were floating. And what was that purple light?" He asks, and Ochaco frowns.

"I accepted Dendar's power." She says, using her healing magic to seal his wound. His eyes widened. "What?! Why?!" He says, in a panic. "He used Power Word Stun, one of three Power Words. The strongest spells known to warlocks. I needed to dispel it, but I couldn't on my own innate magical power. I accepted her power because it was the only way to save you." He sighs. "Right, so what, you're like a stronger warlock?" She shrugs. "Maybe, but I'm definitely not on the good side anymore..."

Katsuki grabs her shoulders. "You saved me, that's enough for me to believe you're good." She backs up. "No, you don't understand, Katsuki. I'm in her service now. I have to obey her now." Katsuki scoffs. "I refuse to believe that. You can fight it. You've got quite a strong will." Ochaco smiles. "Okay. I suppose I'll try." She says, and Dendar growls. "You can't—" She starts, until a man runs up, panting. "We spotted a dark beast in the forest, and have captured it. What do we do, Chieftain?"

Ochaco pokes Katsuki. "That's you." Katsuki walks over to the man. "May I see it?" The man nods, and walks outside the arena to where a cage lies. A humanoid creature is huddled up inside it. "You said you found it in the forest?" Katsuki asks. The man nods. "It was asking for you, and your elf friend." The humanoid creature turns. "Are you Katsuki Bakugo?" She asks, and Bakugo kneels by the cage. "Yes?" He says, and she sighs. "I was told, 'go to the bridge, and the forest, and find Katsuki Bakugo'." Ochaco frowns. "Who told you this?" She asks. "He said 'Deku'."