#i had to cut the upper heel off of some old slip on flats for them so thats why they look ugly inside ajdndkcnndnc

[fnafisms]

I suppose I should back up my claim in the notes on that one post heehee

@just-a-drawing-bean

[knit-wear-it]

Bloom

A/N: Happy Pride! Here’s some Crossbow Canary to celebrate 🏳️‍🌈❤️🏳️‍🌈❤️

They met at a Halloween party. Helena was half-listening to a group of fellow freshmen discussing the politics of TokTok when she noticed her— a petite, athletically-built blonde wearing a yellow hard hat and a slick of red lipstick. It was a shade too dark for her, standing out stark against her pale skin; the mark of a makeup novice. She was laughing with a small group of friends, her smile radiant. She was radiant.

Then, as if she could feel Helena staring, the blonde looked straight at her.

There was a faint flush in the apples of her cheeks as she offered a tremulous but encouraging smile, and Helena practically bolted across the room toward her.

***

Her name was Dinah.

They met again a week later, by accident, at a small martial arts studio off campus. Helena arrived just as Dinah was leaving, her face shiny and blotchy with exertion, her ashy blonde hair plaited back in a sweaty French braid. She wore black Lycra gym-gear beneath her pea coat to stave off the approaching New Jersey winter. Her coat was a vibrant cornflower blue, reminding Helena of the rich pigments Italian Renaissance painters used for Mary Magdalen's robes. Without the dark smear of lipstick, she could see the graceful curve of her prominent Cupid’s bow, giving her face a sweetness that belied the clear-eyed maturity few their age possessed.

“Oh,” Dinah stopped short on the sidewalk, her face lighting up. “Hello,” she grinned.

“Hi,” Helena grinned back at her, suddenly giddy as if she’d eaten a gallon of corn syrup. She could feel excitement fizzing in her veins, propelling her closer like a moth to the flame.

“Do you train here?” Dinah asked, re-shouldering her gym bag.

“They have a Krav Maga class I like,” Helena explained. “You?”

“Jiu Jitsu,” Dinah shrugged, smiling. “My old trainer swore by Krav Maga, but it doesn’t have the same…” she pursed her lips as she took her time to search for the word. “Grace,” she settled on.

“Grace?” Helena smirked. “Are we talking about ballet or fighting?”

Dinah laughed easily. “My first sensei would say they were the same thing.”

“Wow, how many senseis and trainers have you had?” Helena teased. She immediately regretted it when Dinah visibly tensed, her expression abruptly becoming guarded.

“I was fostered at a dojo for a little while when I was a kid,” she explained haltingly, her brown eyes darting off to the side. “And uh, then I was in a group home until I was eighteen and they… let me keep taking karate to give me some, uh, stability I guess.”

Helena’s eyes widened at this revelation, delivered so candidly in passing on the sidewalk—that she’d grown up in foster care; that she was an orphan. She could feel Dinah’s uneasiness, and it inspired a desperate need to comfort or reassure her, a wholly unfamiliar impulse.

“My dad sent me to a Swiss boarding school when I was twelve,” Helena blurted out. “After my mom died. It was kind of like a group home just with, you know, rich kids and archery. And a castle.”

As the words came tumbling out of her mouth, she knew she was being horribly rude by being so flippant about her privilege, but it seemed to lighten Dinah’s mood, her kind smile blooming again.

“Well, just because there was archery doesn’t mean it wasn’t hard to be away from everything you knew,” she said, meeting Helena’s eye meaningfully.

She understood loneliness, Helena realized. She understood the pain and anger of abandonment. Yet she didn’t carry bitterness around in the same way Helena did; bitterness that didn’t taste as bad when Dinah was standing here proving there was a way beyond it. It gave Helena hope—something she wasn’t well acquainted with after repeated tragedies.

A squat city bus puttered past behind them, catching Dinah’s eye. She glanced at Helena apologetically, a sliver of vulnerability slipping into her otherwise confident counternence.

“Maybe I’ll try Krav Maga sometime,” she offered, almost shyly.

“Maybe we could get coffee afterward,” Helena suggested, beaming.

They exchanged numbers before Dinah ran to catch the bus.

***

A week later, they kicked the shit out of each other at the studio and went for coffee. Helena had expected Dinah to pick up the Krav Maga moves quickly since she was well-versed in Karate and Jiu Jitsu. She even indulged in a stupid fantasy about helping her find the right techniques and positions, a blatant ploy to be physically closer to her.

But when they began sparing, Helena quickly realized she was wildly outmatched. Dinah did not need her help—she already knew Krav Maga even if she hadn’t quite mastered it. Then the minute Helena got the upper hand, Dinah gave up on the prescribed moves the instructor gave them, and took Helena down with a few quick karate strikes she couldn’t counter effectively.

Helena’s back hit the mat hard, knocking the wind out of her. Her eyes widening as Dinah pinned her down with a steady hand flat over her heart, the heel of her small hand grazing the top of Helena’s breast through her sports bra.

Dinah released her and sat back, looking smug.

“You cheated!” Helena laughed, accepting a hand to pull herself up to sitting.

“What’s the point of fighting if you aren’t going to win?” Dinah shot her a knowing smirk.

“What happened to grace?” Helena demanded, her eyebrows raising when Dinah faltered but quickly recovered.

“You’re right,” she agreed, her face softening like she’d come to some internal revelation. “It’s not about winning. It’s about the practice, and finding balance.”

“Alright, sensei,” Helena rolled her eyes but she couldn’t stop smiling—another unfamiliar impulse. “You can buy me a coffee to make up for cheating.”

“It’s called mixed martial arts for a reason,” Dinah insisted as they headed for the changing rooms. “I was just mixing in more martial arts”

“Yeah, yeah.”

***

For the rest of the semester they trained and went for coffee at least once a week. They would tell each other which parties they were going to, what events their friends were discussing attending. It went unsaid that they were leaving breadcrumbs for each other, a trail that would lead them back together.

Their social lives began to blend. Helena became friendly with Dinah’s carefully cultivated group of scholastic overachievers and misfits. Meanwhile, the gang of loud, kittenish gay men Helena surrounded herself with fawned over Dinah. They showed her how to do her make-up properly and cheered when she paraded around the dorm in high heels for them like a clumsy newborn colt.

“She is gorgeous,” one of Helena’s friends hissed to her.

But it never went any further than a lingering touch or look as Helena restrained herself from making the first move, but not because she feared rejection. She’d taken a gap year after boarding school, a boozy thirteen months during which she’d travelled across Southeast Asia—Vietnam, Cambodia,Thailand, Bali, Singapore—and then on to Australia. The youthful hedonism that characterized backpacking made it easy not to be shy or ashamed of her attraction to both boys and girls. But she resisted making the first move with Dinah— she wanted Dinah to come to her.

***

Helena stayed at Princeton over the holidays, just like she’d done throughout boarding school. The only place she could feasibly go was Gotham to be with her younger brother, Pino. He was seventeen, and Helena had just enough contact to suspect he was already involved in the ‘family business,’ which she tried not to think about. They mostly kept in touch via Snapchat and Instagram, a selfie and meme-based relationship that removed the painful edges of reality.

Dinah returned to Gotham for Christmas to visit another member of the orphanage she’d grown up in. She wanted to see how they were getting on without her, she said, though she wasn’t looking forward to being back in the city.

But something obviously went wrong while she was away, because once they were back at school she began determinedly avoiding Helena. She made excuses about being busy with classes and other friends needing her attention. Weeks went by and Helena started to feel crazy, like she was missing something obvious, which meant she was either blind or too stupid to be able to see what was happening.

Then out of the blue Dinah showed up at Helena’s dorm, her hair freshly cut in a cute, girlish bob that brushed the collar of her cornflower blue coat, her tawny eyes glowing determinedly.

“Helena,” she breathed, searching Helena’s face. “Will you go out with me?”

***

They went out for dinner, something Helena had never done with a girl before. She’d slept with women, but she struggled with the idea of going on a date with a woman. She was disappointed in herself, that she hadn't evolved beyond worrying about the perception of others when she knew what she wanted.

But those worries were relegated to background noise when Dinah showed up on her doorstep, wearing a candy-apple-red shade of lipstick that suited her perfectly.

“Hey,” she greeted Helena, her smile radiant. Excited.

***

After dinner, Helena walked Dinah back to her dorm. When the moment she’d been waiting months for finally arrived, Dinah tucked a loose piece of Helena’s hair behind her ear, then tentatively laid her palm across the curve of her jaw. Her eyes fell shut as she drew Helena's mouth down to hers.

Her lips were eager and curious, but clumsy. Helena paused to draw back, the thick fringe of her eyelashes brushing Dinah’s nose as she opened her eyes. Dinah’s hand was still resting on her cheek, while Helena’s hands had found Dinah’s waist. Her eyes were heavy and her lips parted, the red lipstick faded.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Helena said slowly. “But... have you ever kissed someone before?”

Dinah’s face split into a rueful grin, without a trace of shame. “I have now,” she pointed out playfully.

Helena mirrored her grin and gave Dinah’s waist a gentle tug, pulling her closer as their lips met again.

***

They went on more dates, and eventually they found their way into each other’s beds. They got to know each other’s bodies, bringing them closer in a way Helena hadn’t realized was possible. She’d only experienced sex as a blurry, rushed encounter, but with Dinah she was overwhelmed, drunk on how badly she wanted her.

Their friend groups continued to cross pollinate with the queer communities on campus, and they slowly began to build a chosen family together since neither of them had one of their own. Helena was thrilled to see Dinah slowly shed the armour she’d built to protect herself, becoming more open and accepting of her own feelings and desires. But Helena found it harder, in part because she was lying to Dinah by not telling her the full truth of her past.

Her family and their ‘business’ was a dark, shameful secret she had never told another person, and she couldn’t decide how Dinah, with her strong moral compass, would react. It was like an invisible blockade between them, one Helena knew could destroy the delicate fabric of their blossoming relationship if she didn’t resolve it.

About four months after their first official date, it became impossible to keep it inside any longer, especially because the words “I love you” were constantly threatening to spill past her lips. It was only when she couldn’t keep it to herself any longer that she found the courage.

“You can tell me anything, Helena,” Dinah insisted, holding Helena’s hands between hers. They were sitting on a blanket on the quad, the sun shining bright overhead as the first vestiges of spring bloomed around them.

Helena felt physically sick. She’d imagined every way this conversation could go, and she usually settled on Dinah being horrified once she learned the terrible, violent truth.

“It’s about…” she swallowed thickly. “My family. I haven’t been… completely honest with you. My dad. He wasn’t really a businessman. Not in the traditional sense.”

Dinah’s eyebrows raised, but she gave Helena’s hands a reassuring squeeze.

After a few false starts, Helena explained that her family wasn’t like other families. That her father and his brothers and generations of Bertinelli men before them hadn’t had… normal jobs. They were criminals. Successful, powerful criminals whose influence manipulated the very fabric of Gotham society.

Dinah listened, her expression becoming more and more guarded as Helena ploughed ahead. She could see what she was thinking. That Helena’s family was partially responsible for the corruption and crime that plagued Gotham. That the city was a shithole because of men like her father. It was all true, or at least it used to be, before the masked freaks took over and made everything worse.

She explained that a man named Mandragora tried to usurp her father when she was twelve, killing her mother, aunts and uncles, cousins and family friends in a blood feud. She was shipped off to Europe for safe keeping while her brother Pino, just 9 years old at the time, was sent to live with extended family in Central City. Ultimately her father’s associates and friends ran Mandragora out of town, but not before the damage was done. Helena remained in Switzerland, and Pino returned to Gotham, where he was raised by what extended members of the Bertinelli clan.

There was one more piece of information Helena couldn’t bring herself to share, because just thinking about what happened to her father made her blood boil—anger frequently outstripped grief when she thought about what Harley Quinn did to her Papa.

She hunted him. Tortured him. Murdered him.

But she couldn’t say the words. Mobsters were bad enough. Harley Quinn was an entirely different kind of villain, one Helena didn’t want her family — who she loved deeply despite their flaws —associated with if she could help it.

By the time she’d finished, Dinah had taken to playing with an errant daisy springing up from the grass, her attention wholly focused on the little white flower as she worked through her thoughts. When she finally looked up at Helena, she was cautious, still uncertain, but eventually her lips curved into a smile—kind, open, generous, and reassuring.

“I have to tell you something too,” she shrugged helplessly. “I love you, Helena... and you aren’t responsible for the choices your family made. You still loved them and lost them and I know how much that hurt you.”

Helena’s eyes widened, shocked that Dinah was speaking these words to Helena. For Helena.

“I—“ she faltered, searching Dinah’s face. “I love you too.” She sprung up to her knees and pitched forward, grabbing Dinah’s face with both hands and making her shriek with laughter as they fell back on the grass together. “God, I really really love you, Di.”

Dinah laughed again, her eyes closing as Helena urgently kissed her. She felt as if she’d never be able to properly express how much she felt. This was the polar opposite of the grief and anger that plagued her. This was the beginning of something beautiful and powerful and safe.

Dinah would save her from the darkness, she decided.

She was the only one who could.

***

A/N: I know you’re all here for Jarley, but in the same way I wanted you to love Ed, I’m hoping you’ll simp for this ship. I loved writing Dinah through the eyes of someone who sees the best in her since she’s been pretty limited to her own self-punishing point of view and Harley’s warped vision of the world. And it’s a relief to see Dinah begin to grow up now that she’s around people her own age she relates to… Even wearing lipstick is like an indulgent act for her that she’s finally allowing herself to take part in. Yes, Dinah! You deserve love and lipstick and self care! ❤️🎉

[goldenraeofsun]

There is Only Try, Part II

Read Part I here!

A love spell - that’s right. Cas is under a fucking love spell.

And like an exquisitely-built house of cards, it all tumbles down. Soundless and devastating.

Dean’s heart skips a beat, and not in the fun way like when he found out that widow housewife was down for an open relationship. He stares at Cas, the blood draining from his face.

“Dean?”

“The love spell,” Dean says hoarsely.

“What about it?”

“You only think you love me because of a love spell.”

Cas throws him a bemused look. “Sometimes I don’t understand you at all. You were right there when Rowena said it wouldn’t affect me in the same way if I already harbored feelings for you. For a moment I was worried you’d -”

“No,” Dean interrupts, “but magic doesn’t affect you the same. None of this is real.”

“What.” From Cas’s tone, it isn’t a question.

“Rowena’s attack dog spell!” Dean explains wildly. “It killed that girl Rowena was trying to recruit for her coven, but when she hit you with it, you didn’t die.”

“Obviously,” Cas says, eyes narrowing as he tries to follow along with Dean’s logic.

“It only dug deeper into you.” Dean exhales, a complicated mixture of embarrassment, rage, and dread settling heavily in the pit of his stomach.

Cas purses his lips. “You’re being deliberately obtuse.”

Dean jerks back, stung. “You’re being… obtuse.”

Cas levels him a flat glare. “I started feeling this way years before we killed that last witch.”

“But what if it’s the spell making you think that? What if this is all because of the magic,” Dean starts, horror crashing down, “and I’m so fucking screwed when you’re back to yourself?”

“This is me,” Cas says, insulted.

“You don’t know that!”

“I actually do,” Cas protests, the faintest stirrings of anger creeping into his words. “This isn’t the spell, Dean.”

But Dean pushes away from the table, shaking his head. “No, no, no,” he repeats, hands balling into fists at his side. “Of course it’s the goddamn spell.” He shakes his head, feeling like the shittiest, lowest person on the planet. No fucking wonder it was too easy.

How messed-up in the head must Cas be to think he’s fallen for a human? For Dean?

Oh yeah, here’s everything Dean wanted right on a silver platter. It’s just, the last time he got a deal like that the little catch was his soul.

Dean’s too old to fall for this crap again.

He can’t look Cas in the face. “I’m gonna go check on Rowena,” he says gruffly.

Cas stands up. “I’ll come with you.”

Dean’s jaw clenches. He holds out a hand. “Don’t.”

Cas’s mouth sets in a hard line. “Despite my feelings for you, I am not yours to command. I will be going with you.”

Dean grunts acknowledgement, spinning on his heel for the door. It’s not like Dean has ever had any real say on Cas’s comings and goings - mostly goings nowadays.

Cas follows, his footsteps nearly silent on the Bunker’s floor.

Dean stomps down all the way down to the vault where they keep their most skeevy ingredients. He finds Sam and Rowena bent over a brass bowl. Their clothing is intact, thank god, but Rowena's hair has like three red curls out of place and her lipstick is smudged, so she’s the most mussed Dean’s ever seen her.

“You got the antidote to Cas’s little problem?” Dean asks brusquely, clomping down the stairs. He already feels claustrophobic surrounded by the windowless walls piled high with pickling jars and boxes spelled shut, never mind Cas boring holes into the back of his head.

Rowena looks up, blinking guilelessly at them. “Of course! It’s one of the most basic spells a witch can learn. I had it whipped up in a jiffy.”

“Then why didn’t you come get us?” Dean demands.

“I thought, while we had a little time, I might as well show Samuel some protection charms.” Rowena casts a sly look up at Sam. “He didn’t know any, the poor lamb. Totally unprepared. After all, you never know when the, ahem, mood will strike.”

Sam goes red in the face.

“Oh, gross.” Dean shudders.

Behind him Cas makes a wordless considering noise, which - Dean can’t think about right now.

Rowena’s gaze slips past Dean to Cas over his shoulder. “Are you ready?”

Cas steps forward, and Dean can practically feel the weight of Cas’s gaze on him. Dean doesn’t turn around; he can’t. He can’t look at Cas and know it’s the last time he’ll be seeing that half-exasperated, half-smitten expression on his face.

Rowena reaches behind the bowl and pinches a stoppered vial between her thumb and forefinger. She shakes it enticingly in Cas’s direction. “Bottoms up, dove.”

Gingerly, Cas steps forward to take it from her. He doesn’t make a move to drink it.

Dean huffs an irritated breath, his heart beating erratically in his chest at the look in Cas’s eye. “Go on,” he says through gritted teeth. “Take it.”

Cas purses his lips, fingers slipping on the cork.

“Christ,” Dean mutters, snatching it from Cas’s lax grip.

“Dean-” Sam starts reproachfully, but Dean ignores him as he opens the cure and thrusts it back in Cas’s direction.

Cas stares at the depths of the murky brownish substance, and Dean’s about to force it down Cas’s throat himself to get this torture over with when Cas finally swallows the potion.

They all watch him, Dean barely blinking not to miss anything.

“Well?” he asks as Cas just stands there, still as a statue.

Rowena waves her hand. “Revelio,” she barks, eyes flaring violet.

Nothing happens.

“The spell has been nullified,” Rowena announces smugly. “No need to pay me. Samuel has already seen to my… reimbursement.”

Dean scowls. “Again, gross.”

“Rowena -” Sam starts, casting an almost guilty look in Dean’s direction. “Stop.”

“Fine,” Rowena says airily, to Dean’s complete surprise. Maybe she’s not such a heinous bitch after all. “I’ve had my fun. It’s like taunting a small child - at some point it becomes all rather repetitive.”

Nope, still a bitch.

But before Dean can respond, Cas grasps him around the upper arm. “Don’t,” he murmurs.

“But she-”

“We need to talk,” Cas growls, almost herding him back up the stairs. “Sam can deal with Rowena.”

“Don’t worry, that part’s already happened, darlin’!” Rowena calls delightedly up to them.

“Hey,” Sam protests, but the next part gets cut off as Cas practically drags Dean back to his room.

In his room, Dean crosses his arms over his chest as Cas closes the door behind them. “What?” Dean says defensively. “If you’re looking for an apology - I’m sorry, okay? I know I fucked up.”

Cas huffs an impatient breath, shaking his head. “I understand our relationship is complicated, but I had hoped -” he breaks off. He leans against the door, keeping as much space as possible between him and Dean.

Unspoken message received, Dean falls heavily onto the edge of his bed, half-facing away from Cas. A riot of feelings he’d rather drink away are duking it out underneath his ribcage, but, in a burst of trademark Winchester forethought, he already finished off his bedroom emergency stash. “We don’t gotta talk about it, man,” he says to his hands.

“We clearly do,” Cas counters, eyeing him like Dean’s an easily spooked zoo animal, “if you don’t trust me enough to take me at my word.”

Dean raises his head. “What?”

Cas sighs. “I told you my feelings ran deeper than a simple love spell. I told you, I’ve admired you, cared about you, loved you since before we ever ran into that witch.”

Dean gapes up at him.

Cas meets his gaze squarely. “I love you, Dean. No spell is making me say it; it’s just me.” He inhales a swift breath. “But if you’ve changed your mind, if I’m not -” he pauses infinitesimally before soldiering on, “not what you want, you should tell me now. Before any more mistakes are made.”

Dean gets to his feet on shaky legs, very conscious of Cas’s apprehensive gaze watching him the whole time it takes him to cross his bedroom. He gets right up in Cas’s personal space, and clearly Cas has learned something because his eyes widen at Dean’s proximity.

Dean clears his throat. “I’m not good with words, Cas.”

Cas nods jerkily. “I know, and that’s fine.” He tries to take a step back, but there’s nowhere to go since he’s already backed himself up against the door.

“I don’t remember the last time I told someone I loved them to their face,” Dean says hesitantly, and it’s excruciating to say these things out loud. “Not Lisa. Not Bobby, or even Sam.” And before Cas can stumble right back out the door, Dean reaches for his hand. Dean’s palms feel gross and clammy, but Cas doesn’t seem to care, judging from the wonderful world of Disney look coming over his face. “So if you need that sort of thing, you’re angling to get with the wrong dude.”

Cas licks his lips, his fingers tightening around Dean’s. Slowly, he shakes his head. “A verbal confirmation, while nice, is not necessary.” He glances down at their clasped hands. “But hopefully, you’ll feel comfortable telling me someday.”

Dean shrugs. He won’t write it off completely, but he can’t start this… thing with Cas with any secrets.

“Until then,” Cas says, “I can see your soul. I just didn’t know how to read what you were feeling until now.”

Old Dean would’ve made some stupid quip about personal boundaries.

New and improved, loved Dean, is simply grateful Cas gets to use a cheat code for all the hard parts.

Cas makes the first move.

Breath hot and heavy against Dean’s lips, Cas grips the edges of Dean’s flannel, anchoring him to Cas’s front. His mouth is hungry as he kisses Dean, and Dean can’t help the way his hands reach up to tangle in Cas’s hair, dark and soft, and everything Dean’s ever dreamed of.

Cas makes a little wounded noise as Dean deepens the kiss, nipping at Cas’s bottom lip lightly. Cas’s hands slip under his shirt to grip his bare waist firmly, and Cas must run hotter than the average human because his touch is like fire against Dean’s skin.

Dean breaks away from Cas’s mouth to kiss at the hinge of his jaw, tonguing Cas’s pulse point as Cas gasps for air. He works the skin between his teeth, not enough to bruise or hurt, just enough to show Cas he means business.

Cas scrabbles for purchase against the door, grunting as he almost loses his footing.

“Why don’t we take this to the bed?” Dean murmurs.

“Are you sure?”

“If you are.” Dean licks his kiss-swollen lips. “You’ve done this before, right?”

Cas slowly shakes his head. “Not with a man.” Dean nods, already resigning himself to dealing with his thickening cock on his own, as Cas adds, “But I want to. With you.”

Dean narrows his eyes. “Your only time was with that reaper, right?”

Cas huffs. “In practice, yes. But I spent millennia watching humans copulate. There’s hardly a sex act or position that would surprise me by now.”

Dean grins. “That sounds like a challenge.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “You’re welcome to try,” he grumbles as Dean leads him towards his bed. “But for now, I’d like to bring you to orgasm with my mouth.”

Dean chokes. “You what?”

“I’ve given it a fair amount of thought,” Cas says as he methodically strips Dean of his flannel and shirt. “What I would do to your body if I had the chance. How I would use my knowledge of human anatomy and physiology to give you pleasure.”

“Fuck,” Dean rasps, transfixed by the sight of Cas’s sure hands working open his belt buckle. “Who knew you were such a kinky son of a bitch under that trench coat?”

“You would have known,” Cas points out, “if you’d ever bothered to ask.”

Dean chuckles breathlessly. “But that one time with the hooker - I could’ve spooked you with a strong breeze.”

Cas frowns in the middle of pulling Dean’s jeans and underwear down. “I didn’t want her. I want you.”

Fuck a holy oil molotov cocktail; Dean is going to combust just from that look on Cas’s face.

Dean steps out of his pants, frowning as he takes in Cas, still bundled up to the neck in suit and coat. “Looks like you’re overdressed, angel.”

Cas looks down at himself.

“Let me help,” Dean drawls, pushing Cas’s coat off first. He lets it fall to the floor in a puddle of tan fabric, quickly followed by Cas’s suit jacket. He captures Cas’s mouth in another kiss, blindly undoing the buttons of Cas’s shirt. He lets it flutter to the floor and yanks Cas’s undershirt over his head, laughing softly as Cas has a little trouble with the neck hole.

Cas surfaces, looking almost smite-y around the eyes. He crowds Dean up against the bed until the backs of his knees hit the mattress. “Lay down,” he orders quietly.

Dean complies, blushing furiously. He stares up at Cas, shirtless, belt buckle undone, pants unzipped. He can make out the slight bulge of Cas’s hard cock underneath the dark fabric.

Cas crawls over him, kissing him deeply, and Dean’s never been this turned on in his life. He yanks Cas’s pants the rest of the way off, grumbling as one leg gets caught around Cas’s ankle. Impatient, Cas shakes off the last of his clothing, and he’s gloriously bare, bent over Dean.

Cas slots his leg between Dean’s, his thigh lightly brushing against Dean’s hard cock, and Dean has to actively concentrate not to rut against Cas and shoot his load in thirty seconds flat. He groans as Cas applies a bit of pressure.

“Are you ready?” Cas rumbles.

“To die of blue balls?” Dean gripes.

Cas shoots him an unimpressed look before he shimmies down Dean’s body so his face is more in line with Dean’s crotch. Thank god Dean doesn’t need to memorize this for spank bank material; any recollection would hardly do it justice - the feel of Cas’s hot breath over his cock, the way Dean’s heartbeat is thundering with anticipation, the expression on Cas’s face like Dean is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Cas actually licks his lips.

Goddamn, Cas hasn’t even really touched him yet, and Dean’s so fucking done.

Dean groans as Cas wraps his hand around him, his grip gentle but sure. He gives Dean a few experimental pumps, and Dean’s in serious danger of letting this all end too quickly.

“Slower,” he says through gritted teeth, “or I’m gonna come.”

Cas blinks. “Already?”

“Yes,” Dean says testily. “You’re hot, and I’ve jacked off to this exact scenario a bunch of times - so, yes, ‘already.’”

Far from looking disappointed, Cas’s expression turns distinctly smug as he sits back slightly on his haunches, slowing the pace of his hand to a crawl.

Breathing harshly through his nose, Dean grunts, “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Cas says at once. “I’ve witnessed plenty of premature ejaculations.”

“So reassuring.”

“Dean,” Cas says, leaning forward so they’re practically nose-to-nose, “If you’re really concerned about coming too soon, I can get you hard again.”

“Dude, I get that you have high expectations, but I’m not a teenager anymore,” Dean says. “I can get it up like max three times in a whole day, and, even then, that’s only with good pacing and a lot of time on my hands.”

“You misunderstand me,” Cas says, pressing a swift kiss to Dean’s mouth. “I wouldn’t leave your erections up to chance.”

As Dean stares up at him, uncomprehending, Cas’s eyes flare electric blue.

Oh shit.

“You can do that? Give me a,” Dean struggles for the right word, “grace boner?”

Cas winkles his nose in distaste, and that’s it; Dean will always call it a grace boner from now on. “It would be no different than manipulating your body’s physiology to speed up healing or render you unconscious.”

“Dude, we have to work on your dirty talk,” Dean says, grinning.

Cas rolls his eyes but ducks back down to get his hands back on Dean’s cock. Dean hisses at the contact, but Cas ignores him. Cas tightens his grip, one corner of his mouth quirking up as Dean’s hips jerk and twist in response.

Dean inhales sharply, his fingers twisting in the sheets, as Cas bends down lower to lick the head. The wet, slick touch is gone too soon, and Dean moans at the loss, “C’mon, Cas.”

Cas laves his tongue over Dean’s dick a few more times, slowly, savoring the taste like a fucking gourmand. Which - flattering, but also totally not what Dean needs right now. He squirms on the bed, trying to get more of Cas’s mouth on him.

Cas doesn’t give an inch. “Patience, love,” he murmurs, one hand splaying possessively over his abdomen.

“Christ,” Dean gasps as Cas licks a long stripe up his cock, root to tip. He gets one flash of brilliant blue eyes before Cas ducks his head, swallows Dean down, and sucks like his life depends on it.

“Fuck!” Dean’s hips buck violently, seeking more of that delicious heat, but Cas keeps him still with a hand that might as well have been made of iron. And, Jesus, if that not pinging all of Dean’s buttons. Dean groans as Cas gives a particularly hard pull.

Cas pulls off of him, licking his lips in a lewd display that sends every last blood cell Dean has left rushing south. “Are you alright?”

“Am I-?” Dean gasps incredulously. He laughs, breathy and not at all sounding like himself. “I’m good, buddy. I’m fucking awesome.”

Cas smiles. “I’m glad.”

Dean's response gets cut off with a low moan as Cas gets back to worshipping Dean's cock. Cas swirls his tongue around the head as his other hand reaches around to pump the shaft in time with the movements of his tongue.

Soon, far too fucking soon, Dean feels the telltale tingles of an oncoming orgasm.

A strangled “Cas-” is all the warning he can get out before he comes with a shout. It feels like Cas’s throat wrings every last drop from him, leaving him in a hazy euphoria.

Cas straightens, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and Dean has never seen anything hotter. “Was that satisfactory?” he asks, his voice raspy from the workout.

Dean gapes up at him. “Yeah.” He reaches for Cas’s hand, tugging him back down to the bed. “C’mere.”

Cas goes, a bemused expression on his face. “Like this,” Dean murmurs, positioning Cas on his back as Dean rolls to his side. He reaches down between them, wrapping his fingers around Cas’s cock. It’s been a while since he’s done it to someone else, but handjobs aren’t exactly rocket science.

Dean’s so used to studying Cas’s normally stoic face for signs of what he’s really thinking, it’s easy as pie to key into Cas’s tells now. He grins as Cas lets out a little surprised gasp, adding more pressure as Cas breathing speeds up. As Cas shakes apart, Dean kisses him through it.

Dean flops back, turning his head to watch Cas bask in his own post-orgasm afterglow.

“That was… very nice,” Cas says eventually.

“You bet your fucking ass it was nice,” Dean retorts. He bites his lip. “You really wanna do this? With me?”

“I love you,” Cas says simply. “Why wouldn’t I at least want to try?”

And when Cas puts it like that, Dean can’t find a single reason not to.

[dewitty1]

Haunt the corner of my eye

harryromper @harryromper

Chapters: 5/5 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Characters: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom, John Dawlish, Angelina Johnson, Parvati Patil, Dennis Creevey Additional Tags: Post-Hogwarts, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Mystery And Angst With A Happy Ending, Auror Harry Potter, Student Draco Malfoy, Healer Luna Lovegood, Wizarding Politics (Harry Potter), Number Twelve Grimmauld Place

Summary:

Harry’s life is very much on track. After a successful career as an Auror, he’s set to become the youngest ever Minister for Magic. But strange things are starting to happen at Grimmauld Place. Items he doesn’t recognise are appearing left and right, and somehow he never feels quite alone. There’s only one thing Harry knows for sure: it has something to do with Draco Malfoy.

Excerpt:

Harry’s just turning off Upper Street when he sees him, stopped in the middle of the footpath, looking up at a sign. Malfoy’s tall: long limbs; blond hair falling in his eyes as he glances back down at a piece of paper clutched in his hand. He takes up space, indifferent to the way the sea of early-morning commuters is having to part around him. Arrogant as always. It flares rage at the edges of Harry’s frayed nerves and all of a sudden he’s pushing past people to get to him, grabbing at Malfoy’s shoulder before he can think about what he’s doing and shoving him up against the brick wall of a fish restaurant.

Harry’s suddenly acutely aware of just how close they are, heat radiating off his body from his run. The startled expression on Malfoy’s face narrows into suspicion rather than fear or disgust.

“What the fuck are you playing at?” Harry hisses, holding Malfoy in place against the wall with his forearm.

“You’re the one who just threw me into a fucking wall,” Malfoy sneers back. “I think you’re the one who should be offering explanations.”

Harry leans back a little, conscious that he’s causing a bit of a scene. He doesn’t have his fake Muggle ID with him, and the last thing he needs is to be confronted by the authorities over an assault, even if all he wants to do is punch Malfoy in his pale flawless face.

“Why are you doing this?” he demands, letting up the pressure on Malfoy’s chest a little, but reluctant to let him go completely.

“Doing what?” Malfoy snaps. “I was minding my own fucking business before you jumped me like a gorilla.”

“What’s in it for you?” Harry seethes, even more incensed now that Malfoy doesn’t seem prepared to admit to anything. “Sneaking around, following me. I see you everywhere. You’re not even supposed to be in London.”

Something flickers across Malfoy’s expression for just a moment, some split-second of recognition or acknowledgement, but then it’s gone, his stare cold again.

Harry rocks back on his heels, dropping his hold on Malfoy. He’ll just arrest him, he thinks. They can sort this out at the Ministry. But as he’s about to reach to where his wand is holstered at his lower back, his eyes cut down Malfoy’s body and he freezes.

Malfoy is wearing a t-shirt with the Arctic Monkeys logo on it. Suddenly Harry’s furious again.

“You’re trying to make me think I’m crazy, is that it? Why were you in my house? Why would you think it would be funny to leave that stupid shirt in my drawer?”

Malfoy glances down at his chest in confusion and then back up at Harry, his eyes flashing. “You know this shirt?” he asks urgently.

Harry groans, exasperated. “Stop messing about, this has gone on long enough.”

“Because I don’t know this shirt,” Malfoy snaps. “I have no idea what an arctic sodding monkey is, and until a couple of weeks ago, I’d have sworn I’d never worn a Muggle tee shirt in my life, but there’s dozens of them in my flat and I don’t understand what’s happening to me and if you do, then you need to explain yourself.”

Harry’s heart sinks. He thinks immediately back to his own confusion about the t-shirt. What in Godric’s name is going on?

“So you’re just going to play dumb, is that it? Pretend you haven’t been creeping around and messing with me. This is about the election, isn’t it? You’re opposed to my politics so you thought you’d stalk me and harrass me!”

“Not everything is about you, you self-centred narcissist,” Malfoy growls back. “I don’t give a fuck about your political campaign or the wizarding world’s stupid little elections. Someone has been messing with me. For days now. I’m constantly finding things I don’t recognise in my home. Everytime I turn around it’s like there’s someone just out of sight, out of the corner of my eye. I feel like there’s somewhere I’m supposed to be. Like I’ve forgotten an appointment but all the damned time.”

He slumps back against the wall, as if his outburst has sapped his energy, or as if he’s just now realising the pointlessness of shouting at Harry about it. By contrast, Harry’s brain is racing, thinking about how similar the feeling Malfoy’s describing is to the way he’s been experiencing the world over the last few weeks. That same nagging sense that he’s missing something.

He studies Malfoy more closely: the defeated posture, the tired shadows under his eyes that Harry knows mirror his own.

“What were you doing, just now?” Harry asks, lowering his voice. If Malfoy is surprised by his abrupt change in demeanor, he doesn’t let on. He produces a green and yellow slip of paper that he has had clutched in his hand.

“I found this at home. I don’t even know what a Snappy Snaps is, but it had an address on it so.” Malfoy gives a sigh and shrugs. “Nothing else has helped. I thought I’d try here.”

Harry takes the slip of paper and stares at it. He experiences the same discordant feeling he’s had all week. A sort of jangling in his nerves that he can’t understand and can’t get to settle down.

“I’ll come with you,” Harry says, handing the slip back.

“Look,” Malfoy groans, “if you’re going to arrest me, let’s just get on with it. It will take me a couple of days to get an Advocate on the continent prepared to represent me in whatever trumped-up breach of the Post-War Prohibitions you intend to charge me with.” Malfoy seems defeated now, the fight completely drained out of him. The way he says it makes Harry feel uncomfortable, as if it’s a foregone conclusion he won’t be treated fairly. Harry feels like he should be affronted by that, and a few minutes ago he probably would have been, but now he keeps looking at the slip of paper in Malfoy’s hand.

“I’m not going to arrest you,” he finds himself saying, before he can think better of it. “I’ll come with you, to this address.” Malfoy opens his mouth as if he’s about to protest and then thinks better of it, huffing as he pushes off the wall and past Harry, not waiting to see if he’ll follow.

The shopfront is a few doors down, and both Malfoy and Harry stand on the footpath looking at it, puzzled.

“Muggle photography?” Harry asks.

“Seems like. You’d know more than I would.”

Harry frowns at him. “You’re the one who’s been living as a Muggle.”

“Apparently,” Malfoy mutters under his breath, and then strides forward, pushing open the door to the shop.

Harry crosses the threshold in time to see Malfoy give the paper to a young woman, who glances at it briefly and then turns to the shelf behind her where thick shiny green envelopes are stacked, presumably full of photographs.

Harry’s still trying to work out how any of this makes sense. If Luna’s right, and Malfoy’s been lurking around in Muggle London for the last few years, none of this would be confusing to him. But at the same time, it’s extremely confusing for Harry, who feels like all of these things—the bar last night and the mailboxes before it—should be a lot less familiar to him than they seem to be.

The woman hands Malfoy one of the envelopes and he pays her with Muggle money. He turns back to Harry as he opens it, drawing out the stack of pictures, starting to leaf through them quickly. His expression collapses.

“Well, this certainly isn’t going to help matters.” He lets out a humourless laugh.

“What?”

Malfoy thrusts the whole packet at Harry pushing past him out onto the street as if he needs fresh air. When Harry glances down, he can see why. The photos are all of Harry and Malfoy. Together. On holiday, by the looks. Arms slung around one another in front of old stone buildings and pressed together in tiny restaurants with checkered tablecloths.

(๑ˊ͈ ॢꇴ ˋ͈)〜♡॰ॱ

[countessofbiscuit]

*shakes my tin cup like a victorian street urchin* please ma’am spare some rexsoka porn for a poor lass down on her luck?

hope this fills your boots, anon <ladles out some sad smut> it’s all i’ve got ;__;

Some Diversion

(ao3 + art that inspired this by @redsong) (3k, Explicit) 

People were always more receptive when you told them you were honeymooners. Even in a motel that probably couldn’t pony up for a classified ad in the planet’s second-best travelzine.

“Oh!” chirped the concierge, a glum theelin, skin faded by spice. “Congratulations.”

It helped that she and Rex looked odd and threadbare themselves, having stuffed beskar in the backpack and left plates in the ship. Rex stepped an inch closer to put a hand around Ahsoka’s bare midriff, playing along. Her eyes welled up at the gesture. She smiled through it, selling the charade with a wave of her hand under the counter. The concierge became extremely obliging: happy to offer a quiet en-suite near the rear exit, uninterested in payment until checkout, and supremely sorry they didn’t keep bubblezap on the premises.

Ahsoka was just grateful the farce couldn’t follow them to their room.

It’d be a cruel facsimile of previous missions, and of dreams whispered in the dark, now that they could actually do it: get hitched and cut loose. But somehow, with that face and that other chip in his arm—the identifier, a detainable offense to remove even under the Republic—Rex was less free than he’d ever been. He’d jumped the fence. At least in the Grand Army he could leave the wire now and then.

No—Rex hadn’t jumped, Ahsoka reminded herself: she’d flung him over it. And she was finding her actions harder to justify, when he’d been nothing but a studied blank these past few days, clearly at pains to hide himself from her, Force or no Force. White noise had more personality.

She struggled anew when he tossed her poncho aside, leaving him in just his blacks, stamped with that bendu they couldn’t unpick or peel off. Sleek and broad-shouldered and solidly familiar in all his Rex-ness. It reduced her choice to something carnal, and her stomach roiled with shame. Ahsoka gripped the windowsill, unable to even face him in this small room made smaller by the hutt-sized bed.

“I’m taking a shower,” he declared behind her.

Ahsoka stood at the window and stared at their y-wing in the shiplot until her eyes crossed. In just her sparring bra and leggings, she probably looked like some sorry tailhead picked up the station who was already regretting her companion for the night.

Her regrets were abundant, certainly, but how could Rex be one?

The sonic hum ceased, eventually, followed by a rationed burst of water in the sink. Rex padded and rustled around the room. Ahsoka remained fixed to the window. She couldn’t bear to turn around and acknowledge the old sham that had never been so awkward. Faking wedded bliss was once a promise of things to come, not a reminder of everything that had gone wrong.

When Rex’s thighs pressed against hers from behind, Ahsoka nearly crashed into the ceiling.

“Soka,” he mumbled. He circled an arm around her waist, anchoring her, and thunked his forehead against her rear lek. The intimacy washed over Ahsoka like a warm bath. They hadn’t been this close since burying the last of the men they'd been able to reach; her head had bonked his as they arranged Fetch’s broken limbs, their tears that wouldn’t run dry mingling in dots on Fetch’s dusty armor.

“You don’t have to, Rex,” Ahsoka heaved, forcing the words out.

“What.”

“Pretend—pretend like we used to.”

He went very still, catching his next breath before it swept down her skin. “I was never pretending. Were you?”

She swallowed. “No.”

“Good. Didn’t think so.” His voice was husky. His cock was impossible to ignore. Hard and free, lengthening between her thighs where she stood quivering. “And I’m not pretending now,” he said, jerking up to jerk the blind down.

Ahsoka jolted. Rex still wanted her. Even if just to scratch an itch. Even if just to spend one more night in the slipstream of normalcy, before it dissipated forever. The thought was heady, a faceful of exhaled spice. His nakedness against her skin smouldered. This was the first thing that felt real, that felt normal, in days.

She reached for Rex’s hand and slipped it into her bra. Her nipple tightened at the contact, sparking something in her belly. When he palmed her with interest, she tugged the zip down at the front, freeing her breasts, and Rex shucked her bra from her arms.

Ahsoka shoved his other hand down the front band of her leggings. “Touch me, Rex,” she croaked, arching into him.

He obliged. His fingers spread her fine folds, thin from neglect and starved of blood. Ahsoka opened her thighs further, allowing him the full use of his broad hands. His slow, two-fingered strokes against her besh pulled her pleasure down until it pooled like hot oil that threatened to leak. Her arms, propped atop the windowsill, felt spongy and not equal to his skill. These were the same deft fingers that could shoot straight two seconds post-op, when he was still half-under—fingers that could take life and make it worth living. Rex had mastered this terrain a long time ago. He’d know exactly what to do next: two knotted joints would slide into her—

Rex backed off, to her thin moan of protest. “These need a wash,” he said. He squatted and rolled her leggings down to her ankles.

Ahsoka huffed at his martial fastidiousness. “So do I.” She’d only seen wet wipes since a sink in Sundari. But she’d always been an impatient, hitched-skirt of a lover, either by nature or necessity. Hard to know, anymore.

Her right foot was barely free from the fabric when Rex thrust two fingers into her slit. Ahsoka wobbled and choked on a squeal. The first gasp of the little death that was building in her core.

“You’ll just make another mess.” Rex curled his fingers against her ring, making her vision tremble, loosening her body’s grip around his knuckles until it proved his point. Her slick leaked out, wetting her upper thighs. She flopped forward onto her elbows and let her head hang heavy, to watch his face and watch the blue bleed into paleness down his brown skin.

“What are you going to do with my mess?” she panted.

“What I always do.” He brushed the back of his hand up her thighs, catching some of the slick and bringing it to his mouth. “Clean it up.”

It was definitely meant in tired jest. A natural answer in the easy back-and-forth they fell into before a fuck. But it hit different, now—now that she was standing over leggings still stained with moondirt and blood not her own. Ahsoka slumped forward, away from his hand. Had Rex not been clone-quick and stood to catch her, she’d have fallen to her knees against the wall, faceplanting into the grotty wallpaper where she belonged.

“Hey, hey, hey … ” He may have been trying for comfort, but his voice struck flat, like a flint against her heart; Ahsoka’s face flushed hot with tears. “Don’t think about it, Soka. Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I shouldn't have—stop blaming yourself.”

They’d already had this conversation—a few times before they’d even dug the first grave. I’d have done the same, he kept saying. But that was an empty reply to a question Ahsoka hadn’t asked, assuming her hypothetical boots in the situation. What would he, Captain Rex, brother and commander to those men, have chosen, if she hadn’t selfishly chosen for him?

And he refused tell her. Because he had his own guilt to bear. Because there was no easy refrain for the truth that would alienate the one person he had left: After what you did, I would have chosen my brothers. I should have chosen Jesse. Even in madness. Even in death.

Ahsoka sobbed, held in Rex’s silent, naked embrace. She was a juggle of raw emotions—guilt, devotion, shame, desire—each clamoring for primacy; some needed to fall naturally, or she’d be crushed trying to hold them all.

Her Force-blessed privilege had told her, you can fix this. She’d been so very wrong, and she’d taken everything from Rex in her blind panic of an attempt. But she could still give him this, at least: her body and small comforts.

Ahsoka breathed deeply through her nose, making a show of regaining composure. Rex's hands gripped his elbows around her. She unfastened one to guide it down to her besh again. “Please keep going,” she said hoarsely, nuzzling her montral against his cheek in encouragement.

His fingers weren’t eager. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“We’ll sleep better,” she countered. They hadn’t slept at all since passing out in their respective seats at the edge of a waystation’s artificial atmosphere. Too many unknowns, too much distance to cover. Surely this would ease some of the anxious wakefulness parked behind her eyes. Ahsoka reached back and found his halfie. It answered to the heel of her hand. “And you started it.”

Rex groaned into her lek, gripping her crotch. “Cockheaded shiny mistake.”

“Finish the drill." She bucked into him. “Please just fuck me out of my head.”

With a pained sound, he began stroking the length of her crotch, like he wanted to tease her in half. Her slit burned for lack of him. With every pass of his fingers, her core clenched as if to suck them in. Ahsoka tugged harder on his cock.

Rex tried to spin her around, weary of this mutual reacharound, but Ahsoka squared herself firmly. “No—from behind.”

His brothers had always held flashes of Rex in the twitch of their smiles, in the warmth of their eyes and the quirk of their earnest brows. Now she was sure it would torment her in reverse. She couldn’t meet his face right now. They were all carved into the features of each other. But saying as much would magnify his survivor’s guilt, adding a mirror to his own, until Rex was trapped in his own reflection.

“If you’re sure,” said the man who knew all her preferences, and doubted the choice of this one.

Ahsoka had all the vanity of a secondhand binary droid. That Rex also knew. She couldn’t quibble convincingly about her red eyes or puffy face. “I’m sure. I want you like this,” Ahsoka repeated, plaintively, rising on her toes in invitation to present her ass. “The harder the better. Like that night in Iziz—on the balcony.”

Rex paused, quickly fetching the memory. “You were in heat, then.” Read: it was easier to thrust like an animal because your besh was too loopy to bite back. A jealous urge to drive everyone else from her head had probably helped, too. It was the first time he’d ever marked her.

“Yeah, and I still can’t think of Onderon without getting wet. So just … take me back there.”

“Alright,” he said. “Into the glass you go. Hold on.”

Ahsoka shuddered at the gruffness in his voice. But Rex proposed himself gently, holding his stout head to her folds. She eased back to push her slit around it and stuff it through her ring. She groaned heavily around the space his cock took up. Then Rex plunged in, giving her the rest, until Ahsoka felt gluttonously full.

He hissed. “Stars almighty. Fuck.” He held still for a beat, as if to recalibrate his sensor array in the vacuum of her body. “You’re tighter than baby’s first blacks.” Like he had any reason to act surprised. But it was calming, in a crude way. One charade supplanted another, like this. They weren’t newlyweds: he was just some washed-up veteran looking for a good time, and she was a local dropout, cashing in on mundane speciesism to cover the debt.

Ahsoka latched onto the conceit and relaxed into the lewd delight of his nakedness flush against her. Of him inside her. “My tail—” She tilted her head back, to offer Rex the forbidden thing his eyes had lingered on since she’d rocked up again, taller and longer and fuller in interesting places. “Take it, Rex. Pull it.”

He didn’t need telling twice. Rex swept his palm along the underside, stopping finally to grab the midsection, just above the flare of her fattier tail. Ahsoka trembled when he squeezed, her nerves clattering between alarm and arousal. A tog who submitted to tailgrips was considered as base as a twi who invited lekjobs. But she had nothing to be missish about anymore, and certainly not with him.

And to be in thrall to Rex, her captain, this best of soldiers, was still a fucking thrill.

The ache of Rex’s grip warred with the pleasure of his hood sliding inside her walls—back and forth, back and forth, until he reached her ring, gauging the give he had to work with.

Holding fast, hand on lek and hip, Rex plowed into her.

Ahsoka cried out, rebracing her arms against the sill to counter him. She slickened further to the sound of smacking skin. What ass she had rippled with every punch of his thighs, and she hoped he was eating up the view.

A purr curled under Ahsoka's breath, sharpening into a growl at the strange clench around her headtail. If her adrenal system got too offended by the intensity of their fuck, she’d be drooling venom into the carpet and would have to sleep on the floor, away from him, for fear of a feral dream. She’d been gagged in Iziz.

“Drop my tail, Rex,” Ahsoka panted. “But don’t fucking stop.”

He let go, but his pace ebbed. Never would take her every order. “You alright?” he asked.

“Yes, yes,” she growled. “Mouth was going cottony.” Ahsoka rocked into him, testing her grip against his shaft. The window of opportunity was narrowing. “Harder,” she urged.

Rex held her hips to better his leverage. He thrust, again and again. Ahsoka tightened around him, his movement tugging her tacky cunt and plucking at her bliss. He took her with him as often as not.

Dropping to her elbows, Ahsoka dunked her head again to get an eyeful of his effort. Rex’s legs were sturdy and strong, flecked with fair hairs, knees pistoning his handsome, muscled thighs. Where they met, his sack hung gravid; it was ready to fill her, slapping her wet folds as they careened together. Her lekku tossed wildly, tits jiggling in time. She’d have to wait for her next heat for a real socking, but this was all Ahsoka needed, now. A vestibular riot. A rave of simple physicality.

Rex made a sound like straining plasteel. “‘m close—so close.”

Everything—all the sucking and jerking and grunting—coalesced in a ferment of pleasure, contracting around knowledge that Rex was the cause of it. Her brave, bright knight, a golden heart and warm smile at the end of so many shit days.

“Fuck—gods beyond, I’m gonna��Soka, I’m—” he groaned and spasmed hard. One shuddering arm landed beside her face.

A heat flooded through Ahsoka. She had to tell him—she had to warn him over the roar of climax in her own head. “Hold on, Rex—oh! Rex—” Her orgasm punched down. She lurched under it and into the curl of Rex’s arm, her senses whiting out.

There was really little danger of flying off in telekinetic euphoria. She and the Force hadn’t communed beyond the basics in days—suited her just fine, there wasn’t much to hear now, and the void was worse than anything. And she was beyond exhausted.

She remained rooted to Rex, held underneath him, sagging soggily. More comfortable than she’d been in weeks. Rex could probably maintain the hold for the next few inescapable minutes. But it was awkward.

So he shimmied them backwards to the bed, where he sank onto the mattress, bringing Ahsoka down with him, hugging her to his bare chest. He couldn’t do otherwise. Her besh had him in a primal lock, eager to relieve a togrutan penis of its seed; it regarded the presence a much broader human appendage as an affront. Ahsoka relished the fullness, but she’d long since been made aware that this aftermath sucked major dick, and no, that wasn’t just a turn of phrase. Untold millennia of reproductive evolution simply refused to recognize Rex’s frequent caller card—or accept that it’d have better luck sucking glue through a curly straw than getting viable swimmers out of a clone.

So they sat, waiting it out. Rex knew the drill.

Once or twice, Ahsoka’s lungs ballooned to speak, but she didn’t have any idea what would come out. Her lek was tucked into his neck. His carotid pulse thumped into her tips, and his strong heart beat solidly against her back. We’re still alive, she might have marvelled, had she not paid for it so heavily: a destroyer of men, whose valiant hearts lay dead as moondust.

At last, Rex sighed broadly, clearing himself out to say something. It took some time before he did, Ahsoka dreading all the while that they’d fucked an inch forward, only to fall a klick back.

“I forgive you, you know,” he said, factually. Like a reporter beginning a transcript of bad news. “For trying to save me. For not letting me march away.” The words were like the stubble on his cheek. Raspy. A little harsh. Trying, in particular, cut her deeply—and not just as someone who still half-believed herself a Jedi. Rex deemed her actions a failure … or unfinished, at best.

But Ahsoka had heard the words correctly, and there was no lie in them. Rex went further. “I’ve got … there’s a lot of work to do.”

There was a chink in the blastdoors. Held open in the way he rephrased what was on his mind. Ahsoka felt a draft of hope. “I’m here to help, Captain,” she said, completing a circle of intimacy as she took his hand. “If you want me.”

Rex twisted to look at her. She let him find her eyes. “I do,” he said. He squeezed her fingers and closed a bleeding circuit of faith with a kiss.

[katelynn-a-fan]

Somewhere Over The Rainbow: Chapter 2

First | Next | Masterlist | Ao3 

Summary: Patton has found a child on his doorstep, what is he going to do with them? Are they okay? Patton doesn't even know what he's doing, so he gets in contact with the one person he knows who would.

Word count:  6.4k (6359)

Warnings: Fear, implied hypothermia, blood

Patton bit down on his hand a little to prevent himself from crying out at the pathetically small and frail form in front of him. 

The child was curled in the fetal position and covered in a thin layer of snow on their back, but the front of them was strangely clear of snow. Patton’s brow wrinkled as he took in how thin the child looked. They were so thin that the muscles in the child’s neck were visible with every breath they took. Every micro movement was there for Patton to observe. Patton’s heart would’ve broken again if it wasn’t scattered across the floor like- like the vase. 

Their hair was long, unkempt, and tangled, looking nothing like the smooth curls that Patton could tell that they were. The snow followed the same strange phenomenon as their back, only the top of their head had signs of snow on it. Their tangled bangs were moist with water as the snow melted under their body heat and rain down their head, but there were no tiny dots of snow covering them.

He examined the child, relaxing just a little when he found none of the vase shard had traveled far enough to hurt them. 

Patton’s mind swirled with every possibility for the reason this child had turned up on his doorstep, from parents abandoning them or losing them to the worst possibility, where they were de-

Trying to clear his thoughts, he shook his head a bit. He couldn’t just stand here wondering about this forever!

Patton, you gotta focus. This child needs help! He’s been out here for who knows how long? You have to warm him up!

He bent down, ignoring when that strand of hair began to fall into his face again. His hands stretched out to pick the child up and into his home to comfy and warm safety. But when the child’s eyes fluttered, yet didn’t open, Patton paused. Even with their eyes still closed, the child was nevertheless able to sense Patton and violently flinched away. Their cry was full of terror, as if Patton was a monster. It was no cry for help, just a wordless exclamation. The child rolled enough to scrape some of the snow off their small body and onto the porch. 

Patton immediately snatched his hands away. His heart cried out at the anguish on the child’s face, at what would cause this poor child to react so hopelessly in this dire of a situation. They didn’t have the capacity to actually comprehend someone was there to help, but even alone and barely conscious they didn’t try to even cry out for help.

A huge gust of wind abruptly blew around the house, effectively cutting Patton off from doing whatever he was about to do. Both Patton and the child shivered as it blew against them. When Thomas’s hands unclenched from his chest reflexively, Patton’s chest twinged at what was uncovered. His unclenched hands revealed blue and purple tinged fingers that resembled popsicles from how stiff and cold they looked.

I need something to dry him off and warm him up. Oh, a towel! Of course, that’s perfect!

Patton started to head back inside. He bolted back into his house a step, but something stopped him. 

But… I can’t just leave him out here! Patton’s thoughts could not agree on what this child needed first and honestly part of Patton was growing frustrated at himself for how unable he was to decide what to do. His fists trembled at his sides. A tear of frustration leaked from his eye until he again gazed at the child’s tiny form. The image helped Patton clear most of his conflicting thoughts, but some still remained.

He sighed once again, forcing all of the indecision out of him as he focused in on one decision. And after a moment, he acted on his decision.

Patton swung around once again on his heel, darting back into the house. Even as his brain was battered with dull pain signals, he ignored the aches in his feet. Patton’s dog covered socks on the slick floor gave rise to Patton nearly falling or slamming into a wall on one or two separate occasions. Nothing could stop him now, though. Not any old fall. He was too determined to let that stop him.

The glasses-clad man did not attempt to turn on the light when he thundered into the bathroom. It would take too much time and Patton had only a limited amount of time he could help this poor child. Luckily, Patton’s muscle memory was enough to guide Patton directly to the towel rack. He tugged on the towel, glad when it came free easily from the rack. In the dim light, Patton’s eyes made out the shape of the towel to watch it easily slide up and out.

He wasted no time in dashing back to the front door, though it was then that he finally succumbed to his slick socks and the hardwood. Patton’s control of his momentum slipped, literally and figuratively, away from him. He could only stick it out and pray he was able to cushion his fall automatically. 

Time was suspended in a single moment, Patton in freefall for what was only a couple seconds but stretched out for Patton into much more than that, before Patton finally slammed down on the ground. It was a hard fall, but no pain immediately stood out, so Patton was already pushing himself back onto his feet within seconds. He had a dull achy throb of pain on one side of his body, but that was just how he had fallen. Nothing felt too hurt, so Patton brushed it off. He needed to help the child.

Patton spotted his saving grace on the floor as he continued his journey down the hall. It was the pair of shoes he had kicked off an hour or two ago because they weren’t needed for grip if Patton was barely going anywhere. With no hesitation Patton slipped them on his feet.

Why did I even take these off in the first place?

Patton didn’t mourn his mistake for long as he stampeded through the door in a whirlwind of movement. Shoes skidded across the ground as Patton ground to a halt in the doorway. 

The child hadn’t moved. They barely even looked like they were breathing, in fact. It was only from the movement of those poor visible muscles in their neck that Patton could even discern they were still alive. 

Patton bent down in front of the child. He was much slower in his movement this time, not wanting for the child to startle so violently again. They were so fragile as it was. Patton didn’t want to make their own condition worse by startling them or making them feel unsafe. 

Slow and steady wins the race, or so the saying goes.

Patton went slowly, but as fast as he thought he could push it. Just being outside in this weather for more than a minute had Patton’s body erupting into shivers. This child had been out in this cold for likely more than ten times that amount of time, their state was so much worse than just a couple minutes’ jaunt in the snow.

Waiting for a sign that they were calm and mostly unaware, his hand paused just before he was able to make physical contact with the child.  The sign came when Patton noticed their breathing beginning to even out bit by bit. 

He took the opportunity to lightly brush their upper arm with the smallest edge of his fingertip. Their arms were slightly discolored, faint marks visible even with the small area of the child’s skin Patton was able to make out.

Biting his lip as he painstakingly waited for the child to stir or lash out, he tensed. Luckily for him, the child stayed still and their breathing pattern did not change. They were completely unaware of him.

And so the progessive process of picking the child up began, Patton’s fingers laid experimentally flat on the child’s arm. It was methodical work, much too slow for his liking, but it was progress. 

When Patton had a very loose and tender grip on the child’s arm, he slowly used the leverage to slide the towel around their body. He heavily monitored the child’s face, ready for any sign of distress as he made leaps and bounds towards picking the child up.

With gentle, small circles, Patton massaged the child’s back through the towel. The towel was more coarse than he remembered, but that did not concern him. Patton’s heart leaped when the child’s face relaxed even more, and though the child didn’t smile, he saw their face brighten up a little. Their brow wasn’t as furrowed and their muscles weren’t as tense.

After a while of doing that, Patton transitioned to shifting the towel slowly up to their head to brush off the snow there. Feeling brave, he also started to shift the child’s body to be able to pick them up. The child remained unconscious, but they did make a small sound as Patton began to lift their torso. But as Patton stopped, the child quieted again. 

Patton almost gasped at how light they were to move; he was able to lift them easily into his arms. 

They barely weigh anything at all! Oh you poor thing! I’m sorry this happened to you, little one. I am, but I do have to move you. 

“I’m going to take you inside where it’s warm, alright?” Patton spoke softly. Even if the child was unconscious, they had the right to know what was happening and where they were being moved. He wasn’t even sure the child could hear him, but it was something he could do, so he did it. The child’s eyes fluttered at the sound, but they didn’t make any noise, distressed or not.

Patton guided their head into the crook of his elbow. His eyes widened as only now could Patton discern exactly how small this young child was. Their body barely stretched across Patton’s torso. His heart, which had slowly come back as Patton finally was picking the child up, nearly beat out of his chest as Patton was overcome with such overwhelming love and protectiveness for this tiny human child. Patton had just met them, but he loved them all the same.

The child shuddered as he completed the embrace; the child’s body was still locked in the fetal position against Patton’s chest. As a gust of wind blew through the porch, Patton pulled the child’s body tight to himself. Now that he had the child secure in his arms, he moved much faster. The faster he got out of this cold, the faster the child would heal from their affliction.

Patton tried to shift the child as little as possible as he sprinted back into his home. After getting through the doorway into the much warmer climate of his home, he quickly shut the door behind him with one hand. Wasting little time, Patton ran to the couch where he had been reclining not a few minutes before. 

Patton’s heart jumped when the child made another sound that sounded vaguely distressed. They shifted in his arms, but instead of thrashing like before when they were half-conscious, this time they curled into him. It was as if they were trying to soak in all the warmth they could, which they probably were. 

Patton unfortunately had to deprive them of his warmth for a bit as he hovered over the couch and laid the child down on it. The child’s hands clenched and relaxed and their head leaned forward a centimeter or two; their nebulously conscious state still searched for the little warmth Patton gave them through his embrace through his soft sweater. 

However, when Patton had laid them out fully on the cody couch, they stopped moving forward and searching for his warmth. Patton grabbed the closest blanket he could find and immediately threw it over the child’s curled form. He avoided covering their face as he draped it over them. They didn’t react well before to Patton standing over them, and the only thing that could have given him away was his shadow over them. Patton would not risk that kind of situation again, so he only tucked the blanket under the child’s chin.

He wanted this child to be comfortable, and by the stars above this child was going to be as comfortable as Patton could make them!

Patton’s eyes searched the room, falling on a pile of various blankets. It was the perfect ammo. Ammo for Patton’s love, that is. Patton quickly ran over, gathering the unholy amount of fabric in his arms and staggering back to the child. A small plushie of a cat had been perched atop the pile and Patton right then decided this cat plushie was now this child’s. Now and forever. They needed a small friend that they could hug right now.

With gentle hands, Patton slowly layered each blanket over the child. Their shivers remained, but they slowly began to lessen in severity and strength with each new layer. The blankets were working. Once Patton had layered all the blankets he could, he clutched the cat plushie to his chest. He placed a quick kiss on the plushie as it was his favorite, but that didn’t matter. The plushie was this child’s now.

Careful not to undo his hard work of layering the blankets, Patton gently and carefully lifted the blankets over the child and placed the plushie on their chest. His heart melted when the child sensed the weight on their chest and curled around the plushie automatically. 

Aww! Such a sweetheart! 

Patton pressed his hands up under his chin. He had to try very hard not to squeal out in excitement at the child’s preciousness, though it quickly faded with the situation of what was happening hitting him once again, a vice-like grip seized his chest. He suddenly couldn’t breathe. Yet despite his shallow breathing, he desperately wanted to move.

He shifted his weight away from the child. Patton pushed himself up from where he was carefully bent over the child, intending to get to where he could pace the living room. But instead, a familiar sensation against his leg stopped him in his tracks. 

The familiar weight of the oblong piece of circuitry and plastic against his leg was what drew his attention to his comfy pants’s handy pocket. Now that he thought about it, he should’ve noticed it sooner.

His phone.

That was all it took for realization to slam into Patton about how stupid he was for not thinking.

Fu...dge. I forgot there were people who I could call to help me. God, I’m selfish right now. I just wanted to get the glory of saving him myself, huh… I…

Patton hit himself on the forehead with the edge of his palm.

I literally have a friend that specializes in this kind of stuff! How stupid can I be? Stupid! Stupid. Stupid…

Patton cringed as the word ‘stupid’ repated itself over and over in his head. It drowned out everything but the focus Patton had as he pulled out his phone. The only other thing it didn’t drown out was his constant concern, and slowly panic as well, that only grew with every little glance at the state of this poor child.

His hands shook as he swiped open his phone, his eyes blurring a little until he finally swiped open the contact that read: ‘The Dukey.’ Patton hesitated, wondering if he really needed to call him, but one look at the small form under the blankets on the couch had him immediately pressing the button. He moved further away from the child, trying to get far enough away to not disturb them as he pulled the phone to his ear.

Patton nearly jumped to the ceiling when the first call tone echoed from the phone. His jumpiness hadn’t worn off from when he had thought someone was trying to hurt him, apparently. Patton pressed his left hand to his chest without thinking about it. It was his natural reaction to being startled, but the weight of his own hand on his chest actually helped him calm down and start to breathe normally again. 

The following couple of call tones went by much easier, now that Patton wasn’t as jumpy as a grasshopper. It was on the fourth ring that Patton’s hands started to tremble again. 

What if he wasn’t there? What if Patton couldn’t reach him?

Patton didn’t know what he was doing! How could he protect the child if he didn’t know how to help them? He was a failure.

Failure. Failure. Failu-

The sound of the call picking up at long last came through the speakers. Patton’s back straightened as his friend's voice came through the phone. 

“Hello?”

Patton spirits leaped as the sound of his friend entered his ear.

“Hey, Remus?”

“Yes, Daddy? You gonna punish me for not checking in?” Patton could hear Remus’s smirk in his voice from over the phone. 

He would’ve entertained the game they both played, but a child’s life or at least wellbeing was on the line, so Patton couldn’t play. His feet carried him from one end of the living room to the other, the pain in his feet merely and afterthought. In fact, Patton didn’t even feel the pain as he focused on getting Remus over.

“Remus, I can’t play this game right now please, I just need you to come over. And no, you’re fine.” Patton’s voice was stern and serious, yet slightly hushed.

There was a pause--a pause that was something characteristically not something Remus ever did. Remus was always bouncing off the walls, interrupting anyone and everyone with the pure stream of consciousness. He was never silent. Remus only ever paused because he had to breathe. If he didn’t have to breathe, Patton swore the whole world could hear his unholy screeches when he was on a chaotic streak.

“Remus?” Patton tried, wondering if the connection just dropped. But when he pulled the phone away from his face, his service was at one less than full bars. That was impressive in the snow; service was always spotty in a snowstorm like this, so Patton was lucky to have nearly full bars. 

There was only one reason Patton could gather other than Remus just spontaneously keeling over from a brain aneurysm or something; that Remus could surprisingly tell Patton was serious.

“What is it? Are you hurt? What happened?” Remus’s voice was a far cry from his normal tone of voice. It was so soft and actually sounded concerned. Patton’s heart melted at the softness; he marveled at the fact that this actual sudden change in emotion was because of him. 

Patton chuckled dryly, monitoring the child out of the corner of his eye.

“No, I’m okay, Remus. I… just have to call in a favor. Could you bring some of your stuff and meet me at my house? Please?” Patton bit his lip. He waited for Remus to just shut him down with a crude joke, slipping back into his usual bravado.

“No, you don’t have to call in a favor. I’m coming, but I have my night shift soon, so I can’t guarantee I’ll stay for long.” Remus soothed his voice again. None of the flippancy Patton expected in his voice, just genuine concern once again.

Patton sobbed once into the phone, but he bit it back just a little too late for him to properly stifle it. Patton cursed himself as the silence grew with each passing second of his lack of response. He just couldn’t get anything past the lump in his throat. If he tried, Patton was sure he would bust out crying and he didn’t want to do that in earshot of the chil.

“Are you really okay, Pat?” Remus’s voice grew the softest it had yet. Patton could hear Remus gathering his things in the background, which did raise his spirits a little. But the lump in his throat stayed put even as Patton swallowed multiple times in an attempt to dislodge it.

Patton cleared his throat, and that finally beat back the lump enough for him to whisper a quiet, “No.” 

A tear fell down his cheek as he spoke. His voice was unsteady, but he still forced his voice to be intelligible. Another tear followed the first when he glanced at the couch to see the blankets shifting as the child moved under them.

“Patton, I’ll be there as soon as I can. Jus-”

“I’m sorry Remus, I gotta go!” Patton cut Remus off. He pulled his phone away from his face and hung up.

He ran over to the couch, slowing up before he completely crowded the child. His hands hovered over the child’s form, not knowing where to go.

Patton crouched down next to the child as the child shifted under the covers. Their eyes flitted under their eyelids uncertainly as they drew their limbs even closer to themself. They let out a tiny whimper of distress as they squirmed. However, once they made the sound, they settled down once again against the couch. 

They did mutter something quietly as their eyes nearly opened even as their body relaxed back into the couch. Patton angled his ear closer to the child, but the child’s words trailed off into silence just as Patton was close enough to determine what they were saying. What Patton did get from the mumbled words was something about sitting down and cake. It didn’t really make sense to Patton.

“What, kiddo? Are you awake enough to repeat that?” Patton asked them, wondering if they were really waking up. But if anything, the child’s state only grew closer and closer to sleep.

The child’s eyes stopped flickering after a few seconds of increasingly more steady breathing from the child. Patton huffed softly, a dry laugh that held little humor.

The child’s brow reamined furrowed slightly even as they sunk back into unconsciousness. They did not wake, much to Patton’s… well, complicated feelings on the matter.

They look so small and exhausted. I want to help them, but… does that mean waking them up or letting them sleep? I’m not a medical professional! I don’t have the know-how for this stuff like Remus does!

Patton risked a gentle caress of the child’s face with the back of his hand. He wanted them to feel safe, and by golly this child was going to feel safe if it was the last thing Patton was going to do!

Patton didn’t expect the child to react, so he was pleasantly surprised when they did. The child leaned minutely into the touch, though Patton was really unsure if it was just because his hands were warm or because the touch was just that comforting.

He tried once to wake the child. He shook the child's shoulder without certainty, waiting for any sign of stirring from them, but the child remained unconscious. Even while unconscious, their body shivered violently under the myriad of blankets.

Sitting down on the ground with his back to the couch, Patton grabbed his phone from the coffee table and looked at the time. About five minutes had gone by since Patton hung up on Remus, and he saw two missed calls from Remus.

What he did to Remus finally hit him.

Oh god! He’s probably worried sick! I shouldn’t have phrased it so cliche, he’s probably freaking out right now cause he thinks i’m dying. Crap, crap, crap!

Patton opened his phone frantically. He blanked on where the messaging app was for a long moment, but when he spotted it, he immediately jabbed his phone screen. Patton didn’t trust his voice to stay if he spoke with Remus again, but texting was fine.

Pattycakeman: Hey, sorry for worrying you. I kept you hanging and I’m so sorry I worried you. I couldn’t stay on the phone because I had to attend to something.

The Dukey: What the fuck is happening? Why weren’t you able to stay on the phone? Seriously dude, fucking tell me if you’re hurt. Can you not call me?

Pattycakeman: Language!

Pattycakeman: I'm… not hurt, but I don’t wanna call right now.

The Dukey: Those dots, or Nerdy Wolverine says they’re ellipticals or something, don’t give me confidence that you’re telling the truth. 

Patton sighed. He ran his hand through his hair, noting it was a little greasy.

That’s probably because I’ve been sweating over this kiddo. They have to be okay. If they aren’t okay right now, Remus will make sure they are soon.

Patton’s body vibrated as the child shivered violently. Their breathing stuttered as the shiver swept through their whole body. They were still cold, even with the multitude of admittedly thin blankets piled on top of them.

Patton turned. He raised himself off his butt as he checked to make sure they were okay otherwise.

Where was something else he could lay on them? Maybe he could find something heavier?

Patton’s eyes widened.

My afghan! That would be perfect!

Patton shot up. He forgot himself for a moment as a twinge of pain arced up his leg from his foot. He winced, but it didn’t deter him for long.

He moved quickly, though quite achingly, to his feet, down the hallway where he has also retrieved the towel from the hallway bathroom. There was a much skinnier door than the others halfway down the hall. That was the door Patton opened, the door opened to reveal a normal looking closet for the most part.

The closet was filled with various items, from a few kitchen appliances that were rarely ever used to a small walking stick made out of wood. It was no more than maybe three to three and a half feet (a meter) long. The walking stick had something carved in it around the handle. In the dim light from the light in the hallway and not the light above the walking stick, the carving was unfortunately illegible.

What Patton was focused on was the thick blanket placed on a lower shelf. It was a baby blue, sea green, and a light grey color combination. The colors made it look almost like the ocean. Baby blue for the tropical and vibrant type of water, a deeper green for the plant life that sometimes colors the ocean slightly that shade of green, and grey for the color of the overcast ocean when a storm rolled in and the waves got choppy on the open ocean.

Or maybe Patton just picked those colors because he liked them when his tita made the afghan for him. Yeah... It was just that. In any case, it looked beautiful.

Patton’s face brightened when he caught sight of the signature blue, green, and grey combo only the afghan had. He quickly nabbed it off the shelf. Patton cupped part of the afghan as it fell towards the ground. He loved the afghan and could never bear to see it just fall to the ground, dirtied.

Patton shifted his own weight and the afghan itself as he attempted to get a better grip on it. The afghan’s folds were almost endless as Patton’s hands skirted over mountain after mountain of woolen peaks that made up the afghan.

He brought it up to his nose and sniffed deep. The smell of something distinctly belonging to his grandmother was rife in the material. Nostalgic memories of running around his tita’s legs and playing hide and seek with his childhood imaginary friend all came crashing back into him with one sniff. 

But there was no time for a trip down memory lane when the child needed him.

Patton crab-walked out of the closet slowly; he had difficulty navigating around as the afghan blocked a great portion of his view, but was able to manage. He nudged the door closed with the edge of his hip. He cringed as he was unable to stop the closet door from clicking closed. Though it was perhaps far away enough not to disturb the child, it still sent daggers of worry through Patton.

As he traversed through the hall back to the living room, Patton bobbed the afghan up and down in his arms.

I can’t tell whether to be surprised at how heavy this afghan is or marvel at how light it is for the amount of fabric it's made out of.

Patton shrugged to himself. 

It was then that Patton’s foot spasmed in pain. The spasm caused the foot to land wrong as Patton stepped forward and he was thrown off balance as his upper body continued forward without anything to stop it. Patton’s arms splayed out instinctively as he hurdled towards the ground. 

His saving grace was the very afghan that had caused Patton to trip in the first place. Patton couldn’t observe past the afghan in his arms to right himself, and yet that was his salvation. Patton fell onto the afghan as it softly fell down to the ground. The material between him and the ground meant that he didn’t suffer any injury as his weight was spread evenly over the soft fabric.

He yelled quietly in frustration into the afghan to muffle the sound.

Everything was going wrong, and Patton hated it.

A telltale numbness started to creep up at the back of his mind as he released his frustrations into the afghan. He clenched his fists in the fabric, as if he was trying to hold onto his feelings before they numbed. Patton fought the numb back with his own emotions, his overwhelming love for this child he had saved from the cold pulsing in his chest. 

Patton sniffed in that very distinct smell of his grandmother again, and that helped his love finally beat back that numb feeling--for now, at least. He finally smiled into the fabric, almost laughing when the material tickled his cheeks as his face moved over it.

With a renewed vigor, Patton pushed himself onto his feet. He didn’t immediately straighten his back at first, though; he reached down and massaged his feet and ankles first to attempt to alleviate any ache or strain. When he was confident that he had cared for his pain adequately, Patton slowly gathered the mass of fabric in his arms. He was careful this time to gather it so that he was able to see where he was going as he walked.

Patton slowly staggered back to the couch, where the child was mostly peacefully resting on the couch. He noted that another wrinkle had now appeared on the child’s forehead. Before he attempted to drape it over the child, he laid the afghan on the coffee table. He carefully swept the mug and the partially eaten cookie he hadn't been able to finish to the side to make way for the afghan.

When he was ready, he picked up the afghan and spread it out before he found the corners at the top. Patton grabbed them and tugged the rest of the blanket off the table. In completing that action, the afghan unfurled itself and mostly hung straight down. 

From there, it was easy to gently lay the corners on either side of the child. Patton quickly grabbed the other ends and scooted around the coffee table to properly drape the afghan over them. When Patton was done, he stood back. He waited for something to happen, for the new weight to wake the child or for the child to reject the covering half-consciously, maybe. Patton didn’t really know exactly why he was waiting to be honest.

He glanced down at the coffee table where he had displaced his mug and cookie, a bright idea coming to him.

This child is going to need one- no, two! of my cookies after they’re done with this. Something sweet after all this… pain.

Patton tarried a moment more before he jogged to the kitchen, where the cookies still on the tray had basically cooled by then. He instantly grabbed two of them and a napkin, wrapping the cookies in it. The napkin would help the cookies not go stale and prevent any of Patton’s fuzzy comfy pants fuzz getting on them.

He opened a lower cupboard and pulled a very similar container to the ones already piled high on the counter. Patton opened the container and piled the remaining cookies into it and snapped it shut. The tupperware container became another bit of enclosed plastic against more mountains of enclosed plastic when Patton balanced it on top of the other containers of homemade cookies.

Patton had no recollection of moving from the kitchen back to the living room, but his body carried him back regardless. He was halfway bent down kneeling beside the child, ready to bury his face into the afghan to wait for Remus when he figured he shouldn’t. He did gently press his face against it, but not any more than that. 

Now that he was still, thoughts of what he thought of whoever had done this, leaving a child out in the cold to freeze to death, pinged around in his mind.

Patton groaned softly as he brought his face out of the fabric to hear the doorbell begin to ring.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Patton muttered rapidly under his breath about nothing in particular as he pushed himself up as fast as he could to the door. 

As a precaution, he glanced out the peep hole in the door before he even thought of opening the door. Then when he saw the man standing outside, Patton quickly threw open the door.

Patton must have looked a real sight to Remus. Remus’s concerned expression on his mustachioed face only deepened when he took in Patton’s state.

“Why have you-” Remus’s voice started at a normal voice level.

“Shhh!” 

Patton widened his eyes purposefully. He brought his finger up to his lips in a shushing gesture and looked pointedly behind him into the house.

When Remus spoke again, his voice was lowered to a much lower level than before, However, it was clear Remus had no idea why he needed to be quiet. Patton gestured for Remus to come in and Remus obliged. He ducked through the door and shifted the medical gear he had strapped to him. He looked down at his feet where his shoes crunched against the broken shards of vase.

“Patton, why the fu- fudge have you called me in here just before my shift? Your feet aren’t acting up again, are they? I know you said you weren’t hurt by anything, but why else would you… call me… here…”

Remus stopped short in the open doorway of the living room; his words trailed off as Remus visibly tried to decipher what he was seeing in front of him. He was rooted to the spot as his mouth opened and closed like a goldfish in shock.

“Patton-” Remus turned back to him open-mouthed. He blinked rapidly as his mouth somehow grew wider and his hand rose to his face.

Patton nodded as he closed the door behind Remus. When Remus didn’t move towards the living room immediately, Patton lightly prodded him with his open right hand on his back as he passed. Remus instead latched onto Patton’s shirt, pulling Patton back abruptly. 

“Patton, how- Was this kid just in the snow or something? He looks incredibly hypothermic! Were his clothes wet or damp?”

Patton swatted at Remus’s hand, but his face was tight with concern still.

“Yes, he was in the snow and the back of his clothes were very slightly damp, but his front was oddly untouched by the snow. You need to come check him out. I'm not a licensed medical professional, that’s why I called you. I needed your medical opinion before I made a decision to take him to the hospital.”

Remus opened his mouth to say something, but instead wordlessly snarled and made a beeline for the child. Patton was taken aback by the sudden apparent anger in the snarl and followed behind Remus closely as he knelt down by the unconscious child.

Remus unloaded most of his materials onto the coffee table to his right, where Patton had incidentally already made a space for it when he moved the things for the afghan. The first thing he did was bring out an infrared thermometer and aim it at the child’s head as he activated it.

Remus’s face paled as he read the read out on the screen. Patton’s eyes brows furrowed at it, surely that wasn’t the child’s-

“His temperature’s almost 82ºF (28ºC), we have to get him to the hospital now! He’s not going to survive here, he needs immediate medical attention! Here, we need to get him to the hospital now! I have enough here to begin treatment in the car, but we can’t wait for an ambulance!”

Remus raised his voice higher and higher. He disregarded Patton's previous insistence he stay quiet as the emotion visibly overtook him, his fists were shaking and nostrils flaring. His brow furrowed deeply, the line growing more and more defined.

Patton half-sobbed at the realization that this was very serious. He quickly helped Remus to pull back the covers a little; they couldn’t carry the child in all those blankets.

But both of them stopped dead in their tracks when they saw a dark spot of crimson red on the last blanket that was directly on top of the child. Remus pulled the blanket with shaking hands to reveal blood slowly soaking the child’s front. It was then they both noticed the small gash in the child’s already threadbare shirt. As the child shifted as their source of heat was taken away, the child winced and the movement revealed an open gash running across their stomach.

This had just gotten… so much worse.

[monstersandmaw]

Female orc (Rakasha) x male character  (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Yes, her name is Rakasha, not rakshasa. Sorry if that’s confusing for those like me with some form of dyslexia! Why do I do this to myself. Anyway, folks, this is a story reward for one of my higher tiers, featuring a snarky orc, a Tired(tm) healer, and a pair of cursed rings...

I really hope you enjoy it!! Don't forget to let me know if you did by reblogging it! It means the world, but if you're shy, a click on the heart button is also great :)

Content: past family deaths, nsfw, and fluff. :) Word count: 9206

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Virion stepped through the bazaar, trying not to gaze around him and gawk at everything as if he’d never been in a town before. That was a sure-fire way to stand out and attract a cut-purse, or perhaps worse. Trinkets here and there caught his eye, but he never lingered long, slouching along with his hands in his pockets.

Taller than many of the humans, he nearly tripped over a tiny fae creature as they scuttled along after a what he had thought was a puppy at first, but when he saw it had six legs, and scales mixed in with the fur, he blinked, shook his head a little, and moved on. He wasn’t looking for anything in particular, and just let the current of people pull him along through the bustling, tightly-packed stalls until he came to a tiny, extremely narrow shop crammed into the space between two larger facades, almost as though it had been deliberately stuffed into the gap between two buildings. On closer inspection of the roof line, he saw that that was exactly what had happened.

Equal parts amused and intrigued at the odd little place, he pushed the door open, his palm pressed flat to the cool, warped glass panels, and stepped into the fusty old shop. A smell of damp paper and slightly mildewed leather filled the air, and despite the apparent narrowness of the space from the outside, a huge amount of ‘stuff’ was crammed into the shop. Cabinets of curiosities lined the right hand wall, while various trinkets and pieces of mismatching armour were aligned along the left. A helmet with a completely bashed in faceplate stood proudly on a small wooden pedestal on the table, and around it were an arrangement of bronze arrowheads etched with runes. Down the centre of the room were piled trunks and boxes and crates, right up to the spider-webbed rafters.

It was only as a shadow moved further down the shop that he realised he was not the only customer.

A tall, well-built, female orc wearing a studded, leather travelling jerkin moved idly to examine some daggers arranged in a stand, and Virion found himself drawn down the narrow corridor of space between the wooden crates and the left hand wall. He’d always found orcs a strange people, and one he knew very little about despite having travelled a fair bit. She had a lethal looking re-curve bow strapped to her back, and a number of other weapons glinted and caught his eye the longer he looked.

From behind a nearby box, a tiny, stoop-spined old man suddenly and rather gleefully croaked, “Visitors!” and both the orc and Virion startled, whipping round to face the source of the exclamation.

The orc growled softly to herself, fingers gripped around a knife at her hip and muttering under her breath in a language Virion didn’t recognise, but he knew softly-hissed curses when he heard them.

“Peace, peace,” the ancient little man laughed - a sound like a piece of dry, crumpled parchment. He poked his half-moon glasses back up his bulbous nose with an arthritic finger and grinned toothlessly up at the orc. “Ah,” he said. “I see you have found my collection of daggers. I would direct your attention to this one, with the hilt made of-.”

“I’m not interested in those,” she said, bluntly cutting him off. “I need some more arrowheads. You got any?”

“Hmm,” the shopkeeper said, bobbing his head repeatedly like a child’s toy and seemingly unperturbed by her rudeness. “Yes, yes. Finest goblin forged steel? Or perhaps you’re looking for something a little closer to home? We have orcish wares too…”

“I don’t care. It just needs to be about this big -” she held up her finger and thumb and Virion glimpsed scars and some dotted tattoos across her knuckles before she lowered her hand and shot him a nasty look. “And I need them sharp. I can’t be bothered pissing about sharpening them. I’ll take about twenty.”

“I’ve only got ten goblin forged -”

“Whatever. I’ll take what you have then.”

Virion’s brows knitted but he decided to keep back and mind his own business. Traditionally, as far as he knew anyway, orcs were quick to anger, and not the kind of creature you wanted to piss off.

Turning his attention back to the plethora of things arrayed along the wall, he found his eyes resting on a pair of rings in a simple wooden box. He’d always been curious as a child, and suddenly a very child-like urge to pick one up and try it on overwhelmed him. Unable to stop himself - after all, what was the harm in trying on a simple band of tarnished silver? - he reached for it and slid it onto his right index finger.

Holding it up in the dim light, he saw that it wasn’t a plain ring after all. Engraved into the band was the design of two dragons, their snouts almost touching, their wings outstretched along the middle of the band, while along the upper and lower extremities seemed to be some kind of text, ancient and unreadable to him at least. It caught the light in a pleasant way and he smiled, considering asking the shopkeeper how much he wanted for it.

The wizened old man, however, had disappeared to fetch the small batch of arrowheads, the orc wandered over and picked up the other one, turning it over in her jade green fingers. Her expression softened somehow, the tension melting from her brows, and she reminded Virion of his late sister trying on their mother’s jewellery. Not that she’d had much, but Clara had always held it with a wondrous kind of reverence. It brought a smile to Virion’s face to see the tough woman enjoy something so frivolous and harmless as trying on a ring.

The shopkeeper returned and handed her the arrowheads, and when he saw what she was doing, his blue eyes lit up with joy and he clapped his hands together.

The orc didn’t seem put off by his odd reaction, but then she actually slid it onto her finger and everything happened at once.

A light flashed between Virion and the orc, bleaching his vision blank, and a burst of energy exploded from its epicentre. Objects went flying from the shelves and rained down onto the flagstone floor around them. Virion was knocked back, landing heavily on his backside, while the orc reeled and staggered into what sounded like a tower of wooden crates.

Virion rubbed at his eyes, blinking furiously, and gradually his sight began to return to him. From the way the orc was mashing the heel of her palm into her own eye sockets, he assumed things were going as slowly for her as they were for him.

“What the fuck?” she rasped a moment later. “I… I can’t…”

Still blinking, his ears ringing a bit from the release of whatever force had been cooped up in the two rings, he tottered to his feet and looked down at his hand. The band, which had been darkened with age was now bright as a newly struck coin, but what sent a jolt of real, ice-cold terror through him, was the fact that it wouldn’t come off. It wouldn’t even budge. Somehow, a ring that had been a little bit too big for his finger when he’d first slipped it on, was now nestled snugly around it, and was refusing to come off.

The orc, he saw when he glanced over at where she still sat on the floor, was in the same situation.

“Where’s that little fucker?” she snarled, pushing herself up with the lithe speed of a panther and looking around for the shopkeeper. “He’d better not have been a fucking fae… I’ll rip his head off his scrawny neck if he can’t fix this…”

“Easy,” Virion murmured levering himself more carefully to his feet. “There has to be an explanation. He must be here somewhere. Perhaps he was knocked over by the explosion as well?”

The orc fixed him with such a derisive look that he actually took a step back, her amber eyes glowing in the dim light of the shop.

But the little man was nowhere to be found. They searched the entirety of the shop, finding nothing in the back but spiderwebs and the dry skeleton of what might have been a rat. When they emerged from the storeroom at the back, they passed through the shop - careful to touch nothing this time - and the orc growled, “Listen, there’s a goblin who runs a jewellery shop back up towards the town square. He might be able to get this off.”

Virion nodded, still shaken and feeling a little wobbly in the knees. Magic wasn’t something he wanted anything to do with, and yet here he was, with some ancient ring stuck on his hand. Just like him to barrel headlong into trouble without a care in the world.

“Since we’re in this predicament together,” he ventured amicably as the orc led the way through the street without looking back at the shop, “I’m Virion.”

With little more than a fleeting, sidelong look down at him from her impressive height, she grunted, “Rakasha.”

She seemed to have little interest in further conversation, so he simply strode along beside her, keeping pace easily enough, and occasionally bringing his hand up to stare at the ring in the sunlight.

The goblin, however, had no good news for them. He tried to cut the rings off using some beefy looking wire cutters, but they glanced off the surface without leaving so much as a scratch. “I suspect a saw wouldn’t do any better either. Might lop your finger off, and who knows what that would do to you…” He rubbed his long ear thoughtfully with gnarled fingers and said, “Mmm… these are magic, for sure. You’d be better off going to somewhere like the University up at Grantbridge. They’ll have mages there who’ll be able to help you. I’m sorry.”

Rakasha snarled and stormed out without so much as a thank you to the goblin, and Virion turned back to the tiny creature with a sigh. Before he was able to articulate even the first syllable of his thank you, blinding pain erupted in his stomach again and his knees buckled. Clutching his middle, he went down like a felled tree as white heat burst through his skull and he could barely think through the sudden shock of agony.

The goblin scuttled around the counter and crouched beside him, just as Rakasha lurched back in through the door. As she did, the pain eased, and Virion opened his eyes, panting. “What the…?” he wheezed.

The jeweller looked from one to the other of them and his black eyes widened. “I’ve heard of enchanted objects like this,” he said, his reedy voice grim and hushed. “You can’t go further than a short distance from one another…”

Virion chuckled mirthlessly. “You might have mentioned that sooner, friend,” he said, and the goblin shot him a sheepish look of apology.

“Oh fuck this,” Rakasha rumbled, still holding onto the open door for support and looking a little paler than she had done a minute ago. “As if having a cursed ring stuck to my hand wasn’t enough, I end up tied to a pathetic little human? How far is it to Grantbridge from here?”

Virion wasn’t exactly a hulking tower of warrior muscle, but neither was he small or weedy, and he scowled openly at the orc.

“Three weeks on foot?” the goblin hedged, steadying Virion as he clambered to his feet for a second time since putting on the ring. “Maybe a bit less for you two,” he added with a wry grin down at his own small boots.

“What if I just kill him and cut the ring off his finger?” she growled.

The goblin’s mottled grey-green skin blanched a little at that, and he held up his hands in a pacifying gesture, as if he thought she might just gut Virion then and there in his shop. Virion too took a step back, eyes fearful. The jeweller stammered, “M-Most of the time, or so I’ve heard, with such objects… if you were to do that, you’d only kill yourself as well… Your… Your life forces are linked, somehow… I’m not a mage though, so I… I don’t know the consequences of such extreme action…”

Rakasha looked at Virion with her amber eyes blazing like the setting sun, and said, “Tell me you don’t have some pressing business you need to get done first, right? Some wife and a brood of whelps you need to tend to…”

He shook his head sadly. “Just me,” he said. She seemed so full of anger, so defensive, so short-tempered and quick to dismiss others. This was going to be a long few weeks, he was sure of that.

After a brief stop at the tavern where he’d been staying, to collect his belongings and settle up, the two headed to the western corner of the small trading town, and began their journey up to Grantbridge. They would have to cross the Whispering Plains, a vast tract of grassland inhabited by centaurs, minotaurs, a few cervitaurs, and the bison folk, before hitting the Granta river, where they hoped to take passage on a barge, at the suggestion of the innkeeper at Virion’s former lodging. It should shave a few days off their journey time.

That first day as they trudged in almost complete silence along the Queen’s Road, through lush copses and gentle rolling hills, Virion thought Rakasha might still risk lopping his head off with the axe at her belt. She spoke no more than a few words to him, and by the time the sun was tipping towards the horizon, he had given up trying to make conversation with her. She just ignored him, as though he were some kind of yapping stray puppy who had decided to trot along at her heels for a while, and who would soon grow bored and go away.

Rakasha was tense, her shoulders set, her pace relentless as she marched along, and every now and again she would cock her head to one side, as though listening to the woods on their left for trouble. The sun grew warm in the late afternoon, and she shucked her long sleeved leather jerkin off to reveal her impressive torso, wrapped only in the bindings around her muscular breasts and leaving her smooth stomach and muscled arms bare. Virion, despite being more than wary of the orc and having only encountered her kind as vicious raiders in the past, couldn’t help but admire a being in the peak of fitness and conditioning. She was gorgeous too, he supposed in her powerful way.

Some time later, taking his eyes off the dirt track immediately in front of his boots, Virion glanced up and scowled. Up ahead there seemed to be a young looking cervitaur, lying limply on the side of the road. The two of them spotted him at the same time. Rakasha’s hand eased her axe in its holster while Virion immediately darted forwards, his mind already trying to evaluate his condition, even from that distance. The creature looked half-starved for a start, his hips standing out and his cervine and human ribs obvious as his chest heaved weakly.

Before he’d made it two paces down the road, Rakasha grabbed him by the top of his travel pack and hoiked him back as if it were the scruff of his neck, and growled at him to be careful. Biting back a hot flare of irritation, he batted her off with a carefully aimed swipe of his forearm. She released him more from surprise than his own martial arts skills - which were admittedly very limited. He’d just gone for the vulnerable bit where the muscle was thinnest and the bone unprotected. Who needed martial arts skills when your grasp of anatomy was as good as his…?

Kneeling at the dirty looking cervitaur’s side a moment or two later, he saw how thin and weak he looked.

“Help me?” he rasped.

“What happened?” Virion asked, wanting to run his hands over the cervitaur to check for injuries, but restraining himself to get permission first. “What hurts?”

Before he had the chance to hear any more, the cervitaur’s hazel eyes darted to a point just behind Virion’s head, and the man frowned, ducking sideways instinctively.

A gnoll had sprung silently out from the rocks above where the scrawny cervitaur lay, and launched himself at Virion. With a roar, Rakasha launched herself at a second bandit and at the same time, ripped the attacker back from Virion with her free hand. She cracked their skulls together, leaving them staggering and concussed, before knocking them out with the back of her single-bladed axe and turning to face the last bandit who had rounded a huge boulder just down the road.

Her hair fell down her back in its loose ponytail, and as she squared off, Virion’s eyes widened. The cervitaur she was facing now was huge, almost as powerful and muscular as a bison taur. With his stag’s antlers held high, he pawed the ground, and then lowered his torso a little and charged her.

Virion crouched beside the younger cervitaur, frozen with a kind of fascinated horror as the two fought. She was a complete force of nature. The cervitaur’s hooves lashed out but she ducked and dodged them, his antlers swept from side to side, but eventually she locked him in a wrestling move and tipped him onto his side, slamming him into the dirt of the road so hard he was left stunned and winded. Her axe blade hovered mere inches from his throat and he fell still.

From beside him, the younger cervitaur gasped, “Uncle…”

“That’s your uncle?” Virion blurted, horrified that the kid was so young and malnourished compared to his relative.

Rakasha still had her axe blade to his throat and was snarling something in his ear. The cervitaur nodded in response, and suddenly she’d bashed him on the side of the head too, leaving him unconscious as well.

“He’ll be fine,” she growled as she prowled over to the pair of them. Virion suspected that all three of them would need to see a healer though; concussions like that didn’t just go away. “I take it you were bait, kid?” she said and the cervitaur nodded. She shot Virion a look that told him quite plainly what she thought of him for falling for the ruse so quickly. “Can you stand?”

Shakily, he staggered to his feet and accepted the water skin that Virion handed him. “Thank you,” he said.

“You should run while you can,” Virion said. “Get to the town… This is no life for you, kid…”

“I’m not a kid,” he said with a watery smile. “I’m nineteen.”

“You need to get some meat on your bones,” Virion murmured. “There’s lots of work in the town, and it’s only eight miles or so that way. You’ll have to be careful.”

“I’ll be alright,” he shrugged.

Virion grinned at him, though it was hard not to feel deep concern for the underfed and malnourished young cervitaur. Virion had been there himself: alone, aimless, adrift from his family. He offered him the knife on his belt, but the cervitaur refused him gently. “Alright, well… take care,” Virion said, scratching the back of his head.

The two of them watched him trot off down the road, and Virion shot a glance over the three unconscious bandits. The male gnoll who had attacked him was still out cold, but the female flicked an ear groggily.

“Come on,” Rakasha snarled, and he turned to face her.

“You’re bleeding,” he said, only just noticing a bruised-looking gash on her upper arm, presumably where the stag’s antlers had got her.

She shook her head. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Wait,” he said, picking up his pack from where he’d slithered out of it during the scuffle. Rakasha continued down the road, and when she hit about twenty five feet from him, she grunted, staggering. Virion, however, experienced blinding pain in his gut and head and was not ashamed to howl in protest. “Fucking shit, Rakasha, at least let me grab my stuff will you?”

The orc grudgingly let him catch up and then grunted, “We should make camp for the night soon… while there’s still enough daylight.”

With a glance over his shoulder at the still-prone bandits, Virion added, “Let’s get another few miles first, eh?”

He couldn’t stop fussing - silently and only to himself, however - about the cut in her arm, and when they finally turned off the road perhaps only twenty minutes before sunset, she surprised him by allowing him to tend the wound. It wasn’t deep, and hadn’t needed stitches, but he fished out some alcohol and a clean cloth from his bag and wiped it down, eliciting a hiss from her, and a softly spoken curse in her own language.

“You know,” he said, “I… I feel like I have an apology to make to you…”

“For that?” she snorted, jutting her chin towards the freshly-tied bandage around her arm. “Please. That didn’t hurt.”

“No,” he laughed softly. “No, for assuming you were just a brutish thug, I guess.”

She raised an eyebrow at him and he flushed hot. “Care to elaborate?” she laughed.

He swallowed thickly. “You could have killed those guys today…” he said. “But you didn’t.”

Rakasha shrugged and stood, moving over to a log and rolling it a bit closer to the fire pit before plonking down on top of it and inspecting the bandage curiously. “I was going to, but I don’t want the law on my hands for murder. I’ve already got enough shit to deal with, being tied to you and cursed with this ring…”

Virion’s shoulders dropped a little bit and he caught Rakasha’s amber eyes watching him over the flames, glowing in the dim light.

“I’d be halfway across the plains by now if it weren’t for you,” she added, her voice gritty and harsh.

“What? How?”

She laughed, and while wasn’t exactly cruel, it was gruff and spoke of a tougher race than his own, for sure. “You can’t run beside an orc all day, human. Get some rest. We’ll start before dawn.”

He shook his head, fighting the disappointment that had bloomed in his chest. After so long on the road alone, he’d half hoped that this might turn into a tentative friendship, but the orc clearly regarded him as little more than a bothersome parasite. Honestly, he was tired, and although he was fairly fit and lean, his muscles ached from the pace she’d set that day. The orc was right - there was no way he could have run all the way to the ferry crossing on the Granta. Self-doubt and misery began to crowd into his mind, bringing with it memories of the most painful night of his life; the night he’d ended up alone and wandering the roads of this corner of the kingdom.

Needless to say, what with the creaking of the woods and the roots digging him in the back, and the nebulous unease that clawed at the inside of his mind, he didn’t sleep well. When he had sat up and scrubbed at his eyes with his hands, he found Rakasha staring at him.

“What?” he grumbled.

“You look like shit.”

“You’ve got leaves in your hair,” he retorted immediately, oddly reminded of the repartee he’d had with his sister for a moment. The sudden reminder and pain of Clara’s loss lanced through him and almost brought tears to his hazel eyes.

Rakasha, perhaps more curious than concerned, grunted, “You alright?”

“Yeah,” he said, though it came out as a croak. He cleared his throat. “You ready to make a move?”

She nodded but didn’t speak.

“How’s your arm?” he asked, standing and feeling the need to answer nature’s call.

She shrugged her beautiful, bare shoulder experimentally and pursed her lips. Her tusks were thick and short, her jaw heavy, but there was something monumental about her that he found strangely beautiful, especially in the dim pre-dawn light between the birch trees. “It’s good,” was all she said.

As he’d returned - not going all that far because he didn’t want to risk the flaring hot agony of getting beyond the permitted range of the rings - drawing closer to the campsite, he felt something odd tugging at him on the inside with each step. It reminded him of the intense pain he’d felt in his gut the day before when she’d gone on ahead of him. If he concentrated on it hard enough, he realised that it was drawing him towards her.

“You felt that too, I take it,” he said when he returned and saw that she had paused, halfway through scuffing out the embers of the fire. In answer, she simply shouldered her bow, axe glinting softly in the loop at her belt.

Stepping out onto the road, Rakasha rolled her shoulder again and said, “Where’d you learn medicine like that?” she asked. “You’re not a mage, are you?”

He shook his head, secretly pleased that he’d helped with the already-advanced healing process orcs possessed. “Nope,” he said, letting the consonant pop. His chest fizzled as he felt the conversation steering around towards his past, but he didn’t shy away from it. If they were going to be travelling together, he didn’t mind trying to forge some kind of relationship with her this way. And besides, her curiosity was better than her contempt from the previous day.

“My father was a physician,” he said, voice catching on the tense of the verb. “My older sister too.”

“Was?”

“They’re both dead.”

“Spirits shelter their souls,” she murmured reflexively, and he smiled at the unexpected sentiment. “What happened?”

Virion swallowed thickly and ran his hand through his scruffy brown hair. “I used to travel all over with them… helping people here and there, you know. Setting broken bones, stitching up cuts, that kind of thing. But I didn’t take it all that seriously. Not like they did.”

A stone scuffed beneath his boot and he kicked it along the path, watching it bounce off the ruts in the road.

“I… I was much younger than my sister, so their work always seemed like ‘grown-up stuff’, you know? I felt like an outsider a lot of the time, and even when I was seventeen or eighteen, I would usually go off and drink or show off for the girls or whatever instead.”

As lighting runs ahead of thunder, amusement flared in her golden eyes and Rakasha tipped her head back and laughed heartily this time, and Virion caught sight of a bead in her ponytail that was quite obviously made from an orc’s tusk. He immediately burned to ask her about it, but it felt like an extremely personal question, so he refrained from voicing it.

Instead, he asked, “What’s so funny about that?”

“Did it work?” she said, still chuckling. “Did you impress any of these soft human women into bed?”

“What do you think?” he grinned, encouraged by this more playful side of her.

She shook her head. “I can’t see anyone swooning into your lap, human,” she said, punching him on the arm. “But I’m an orc, so…”

“What’s impressive to an orc then?” he asked, trying not to show that her words had stung more than the punch had. “Rippling muscles and a bellowing war-cry?”

“It doesn’t hurt,” she said. “But I bet a mouse could fart louder than your war-cry.”

“I don’t even have a war-cry,” he said. “I’m a healer, remember?”

“True,” she hedged. “Maybe you don’t need one.”

They lapsed into silence after that for a bit before he continued his story. The sky above was cloudless and the pale blue of courtly silk, much like it had been that day when he’d walked into the village, heart heavy with dread and found them. The trees became sparser as they walked, and up ahead he could glimpse the sea of shifting grass that was the Whispering Plains and the start of the White Road.

“There… There was a report of plague and they… uh…” he cleared his throat, ignoring the prickling in his eyes. “They went to see what they could do for them.” He didn’t need to articulate what had happened next. “I didn’t hear from them in weeks, and eventually I went to look for them.”

Bodies bloated in the sun, the stench of death that the cloth around his mouth couldn’t mask, the withered remnants of his only family… He closed his eyes briefly, stilling his churning stomach, and then said, “I burned them and promised them I’d do better, that I’d be better.”

Rakasha blinked as he finished his story, looking down at him from her height, and tilted her head slightly. “That’s a terrible fate for anyone to meet,” she said respectfully. “And you risked bringing it on yourself as well to honour them…”

He shrugged. “I couldn’t leave them like that. They were all I had left.”

She nodded and returned her eyes to the road ahead. Something seemed to have shifted between them, like the stirring of a breeze after a week of stagnant calm.

In the two days it took them to cross most of the plains, using the White Road, so called because it had been cut into the chalk downland of the plains to leave a gleaming white ribbon across them. Virion learned something about Rakasha in return. She was the daughter of the chief of a big clan, came somewhere in the middle of eight siblings, and had set off on her own with her clan’s blessing to see a bit more of the world.

“It’s becoming more common,” she said, swatting a fly out of her face as they traipsed along. In the distance, a herd of centaurs looked up, sounding a short blast on a horn at their presence. Rakasha didn’t seem bothered, and the centaurs in these parts were not known for attacking travellers. “Younger orcs are almost taking it as a rite of passage. We’ve come to call it the Wandering.” She scratched at her tapered, pierced ear and shot him a look that was surprisingly self-conscious.

“What have you learned so far then?” he asked. He inferred from something about her manner that she’d found it a bit of a culture shock, but he was curious to see what she’d say.

The centaurs made no move to come any closer, but they were now all watching them now, perhaps half a mile away.

She shrugged. “Not to pick up shiny bits of jewellery in back-ally shops for a start…”

Virion chuckled and said, “Well, it’ll be a tale to tell when you get back to the hold.”

Her face darkened. “I hope this mage can help us,” she said, twisting the band of the ring on her finger.

“Tired of me already?” he quipped. He found he liked the challenge of trying to make her laugh, but the look she gave him this time took him by surprise; it was almost fond, behind the scowl.

“You’re like a stray dog that’s growing on me,” she said.

With an easygoing shrug, he laughed, “I’ll take what I can get.”

The centaurs turned out to be traders, and they exchanged a few objects and coppers for some roasted seeds and nuts, way-bread, and dried fruits to sustain them on the final stretch of the plains. It took a week to cross the plains, and in that time Rakasha opened up to him a bit more. She explained the meaning behind the dotted tattoos on her knuckles and when he dared to ask about the tusk  bead in her hair she smiled and said it was in remembrance for a dear friend she’d lost in one of the raids.

Finally, on a swelteringly hot afternoon, they made their way down through the sun-bleached and -blasted grasses towards the Granta river. A modest, wooden jetty stuck out a few yards into the slow-moving water, half hidden by tall, rustling reeds.

They only had to wait overnight for a river barge going downriver to come by the empty dock, and after bartering with the harpy captain for passage, the two were welcomed aboard. At the stern of the wide, flat river barge was a structure a bit like a shed, built to shelter the travellers and crew from inclement weather, but the rest of the deck was full of cargo boxes, crates, and barrels.

“There’s not much room for you to lodge,” the harpy said, as they stepped aboard, “But we’ll be there in three days and the weather’s set to stay fair.”

“Thank you,” Virion said with a deliberate smile that ruffled her feathers a little.

She scowled at Rakasha though and croaked, “You keep your weapons sheathed and cause no trouble, orc.”

To Virion’s surprise, his companion only bowed her head and strode to the other side of the barge to stare off into the water as it sloshed past.

He joined her briefly and she turned her head a little as she admitted, “I’ve never been on a boat before.”

“Hope you don’t feel sick,” he grinned. “If you do, I think I have some ginger somewhere in my pack.”

“I’d rather not chew on a tuber that’s been rolling around the bottom of your bag for spirits-only-know-how-long,” she snarled, but there was no venom in her tone now. “It’d probably make me sicker than the water.”

Their fellow travellers were not numerous, it being a cargo barge after all, but a small group of musicians was headed to the university town as well. Virion immediately settled down in their midst that evening after a day of reading one of the books he’d picked up in Sycamore Gap - the town where he’d first met Rakasha. He found himself welcomed by three tieflings, all with different skin colours and horns, and an enormous and extremely friendly firbolg. Rakasha kept very much to herself, but on their first night, when the group pulled out a bodhrán, violin, a small harp, and a flute, and started to sing, she looked up from the crate where she’d been seated for most of the day.

On the second night, the firbolg, named Aeqen, asked her if she’d like to come and have a drink with them, and she nodded gruffly, sitting cross legged on the deck beside the small barrel where Virion been perched.

Glancing down at her, he saw the way the fae-light in the lamps highlighted her cheekbones and glinted on her unadorned tusks. As if feeling the weight of his gaze, she looked up at him, and scowled. He laughed and handed her a beer from one of the tieflings, and she downed half of it in one go.

“Ready to make port tomorrow?” Aeqen asked conversationally, and began to beat a rhythm on the bodhrán in his lap. Liliana, one of the tieflings with freckled blue skin began to trill out a quick tune on her flute and in no time the other two tieflings were dancing.

He nodded. “It’s been a nice change of pace on the water though,” Virion said.

They sat finishing up their beers for a while, but every time Virion looked over at the firbolg, he saw the way the creature’s large eyes lingered on Rakasha as she sat there thoughtfully, her eyes on the dancing tieflings as if she’d never seen anyone dancing before. Assuming it was interest on the firbolg’s part, and that if anyone might have the physique to impress the orc, it would be him, Virion found that the dregs of his bottle tasted bitter, and he set it aside and stood, silently excusing himself and stalking to the back of the barge.

He was still sifting through the roiling emotions when someone cleared their throat behind him and he turned around to see Rakasha standing in the shadows, back lit by the fae-lamps further along the deck. “You alright?” she asked, her already husky voice gruff and quiet.

“Yeah,” he said, turning his back on her. “Just… wanted some air.”

“You want me to go?”

When he didn’t respond, she stepped closer to him, and they both felt the draw of their cursed rings. She put a hand on his lower back and tension ratcheted up his spine, one vertebra at a time.

“Did I hurt you?” she asked, her touch fluttering slightly.

Virion shook his head and the pressure of her warm palm returned for a moment before disappearing completely.  

“I wish I understood you humans,” she said, chuffing a soft laugh and leaning her forearms on the railings, mirroring his posture.

“Let me know if I can help,” he said. “After all, you are leashed to one…”

She nodded but didn’t go any further.

The water slid by in a river of inky blackness, the reeds whispering at the edges.

Rakasha broke the silence again a few moments later and said, “I wonder if there are merfolk in these parts…”

“Probably,” he said. “They’ll be upstream of a city, for sure. I think I saw one of the alligator folk earlier. Their eyes reflect in the dark a bit like orcs’ do…”

He shot her a sidelong look and found that her golden eyes were indeed flashing in the dark like a predator’s as she stared at him.

“I was wrong about you,” she said quietly.

“Oh?”

“Mmm. Remember when I told you that I was doing my Wandering when I first met you?”

Virion nodded, but didn’t dare move a muscle in case he spooked this new, gentler side of her.

“I’ve not mixed with other species much,” she said.

That much was obvious, but he kept that to himself.

“I… I guess you could say I was - am - pretty naive…”

“I wouldn’t necessarily say that,” he said with false politeness and they both laughed.

After a moment she continued. “I thought humans were… honestly pathetic. Most of you have so little muscle and you’re so damned fragile… but… you’re not, are you?”

“There’s more than one way to be strong,” he murmured, watching the reeds slip by in the dim glow cast by the barge’s lamps. “You want to go and dance?”

She laughed, and perhaps her cheeks darkened a bit, but it was hard to tell in that light. “I think I’ll just watch for now, if that’s alright.”

They returned to the small party, and while Virion sat on his usual barrel, Rakasha decided to lean her body up against it so that her head was almost touching his thigh. He found it hard to get to sleep that night, with thoughts of what her long, dark hair might feel like and what her skin might feel like against his. He thought that he should have been surprised to be thinking like that, to be seeing the orc in a new light, but if he were honest with himself, he’d admired her physically from the beginning. It was only now that he was starting to get to know Rakasha that he found himself fantasising about her a little though.

Grantbridge, the city that cradled the university in its midst, was vast. Rakasha was obviously completely overwhelmed by the sheer volume of people, the chaos and noise, the bustle, the clatter, the shouting and the smell of it all, but she never flinched or backed down. Perhaps surprisingly, however, she did follow Virion’s lead as they found their way - eventually - to the university, and at last were admitted to the professor’s study.

“Thank you for seeing us at such short notice,” Virion smiled, and the tall woman in a long, white robe grinned at him. Her skin was dark and flawless, and her black eyes glittered with warm intrigue. “I thought we might have to make an appointment and come back another day.”

“When the clerk informed me that we had a case of cursed rings on our hands - oh, please excuse the pun - I couldn’t refuse you, my dears,” she said. “Now, if you’ll let me examine them?” she asked, stretching out her hand, palm up.

Virion cautiously obliged first, and she turned his finger over, examining the markings on the band.

“Oh, yes,” she crooned delightedly. “I’ve heard of such rings! These are incredibly rare. See this inscription?” she said, pointing at the writing that neither of them had been able to read. They both leaned in and then nodded. “It’s in Ancient Telvhen - a precursor to modern High Elvish, which in itself is a very old language. Fascinating. And the dragons - I believe this alludes to a very old story from the Telvheni empire about a prince and a beautiful dragon shifter… Oh, I’d love to hear where you got them from, but that’s a story for afterwards perhaps. Let me translate the inscription for you.”

She slid a pair of half-moon spectacles onto her nose and cleared her throat.

“It is more or less as follows: ‘Each with different heart, together shall they part.’”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Rakasha asked, a heavy scowl weighing down her dark brows.

“Let me see yours, my dear,” the mage asked, not even batting an eyelid at her coarse language, and Rakasha obliged with a wary glance at Virion. He nodded and she gave him the ghost of a reassured smile. “Ah yes, look, the same inscription. And you’ve travelled together from Sycamore Gap to get here? Impressive.”

“Fuck how far we’ve come,” Rakasha snarled. “How can we get them off?”

Bile rose in Virion’s throat, fearing that if the orc continued to insult the mage she would refuse to help them, but the woman only laughed brightly and said, “Have you tried just taking them off?”

“Of course we did, you -” she began, but Virion cut her off with a thwack across her stomach. She turned to look at him, about to snarl something at him for hitting her, but when she saw the look on his face, she cursed in orcish.

“That, my dear,” the mage chuckled, “Is a phrase I will have to remember for the next time I’m in the company of the necromancers from the Chapter at Arlesford…”

Rakasha didn’t even respond as she watched Virion slide the ring easily off his index finger. “How?” he breathed, staring at her with his hazel eyes wide. “We couldn’t… We… They were…” Astounded - and a bit embarrassed - he couldn’t fathom it.

The mage smiled. “‘Each with different heart, together shall they part’” she quoted. “Might I be wrong in suggesting that the two of you have come to see things differently during the course of your journey here?”

At that, Virion and Rakasha exchanged a look. “Well… yeah,” he said, “But…”

“You mean we didn’t have to come all this way here?” she said. “That we could have just taken them off before now?”

“It’s hard to know when the magic left the rings,” the mage replied, turning back to her desk with a twinkle in her eye. “But I believe they have done their purpose…”

“And what purpose is that?” Rakasha asked. Virion noted that she had made no move to take her own ring off, but he thought that perhaps she was still too stunned.

It was Virion who answered. “To bring two people with different views together.”

“It’s a famous past-time amongst the meddling fae,” the mage said as she sat back down at her desk. “I might suggest that if you were to go back to wherever you came across these, you would not find things quite as you left them.”

“You couldn’t pay me enough gold to go back to that place,” Rakasha laughed. “So we’re free of the magic completely now?”

“As far as my not-inconsiderable abilities can tell, there is nothing left in those rings. They are but ordinary bands of silver. Do with them as you please, and go where you will. Though I suspect that if you take them off, you will not find them in your possession for long. These things have a way of finding new owners and new people to help…”

“Interesting way of helping,” Rakasha grumbled.

“Thank you for your time,” Virion said, his voice a little shaky.

“Pleasure,” the mage said. “Though I suppose I should be thanking you for helping delay the inevitable…” she eyed a stack of papers at the corner of her expansive desk and groaned, “First year exam papers…”

“Good luck!” Virion laughed, and they left her to her marking.

Outside the university, in the wide square directly opposite the main building, they stood and watched the stalls and stages going up for the festival which began that very night. Too stunned for conversation, they just stood there like additions to the statuary that lined the walls of the old university. A short while later, in a far corner of the square, they glimpsed the musicians with whom they had travelled downriver, and the giant firbolg even waved at them across the open space.

Rakasha waved back and Virion nodded.

“What now?” the orc asked as the musicians returned their attention to their preparations for the evening. It was the first time either of them had dared address the issue.

Virion shrugged. “I guess we could go our separate ways… no need for you to delay your Wandering by - what did you call it? - ‘babysitting a stray puppy’?”

Rakasha’s cheeks did darken to a beautiful olive green at that, and she kicked at a pebble beneath her feet, sending it skittering under the iron rimmed wheels of a passing waggon. Her fingers twisted the band on her finger as she said, “I think you know I don’t see you that way anymore…”

With a grin, he said, “We could stay here for a bit then?”

She nodded.

The first inn they found charged outrageous prices, so they went a little further back from the market square and found a boarding house run by a drider who was friendlier to non-humans and offered them surprisingly reasonable rates for her one remaining room. A double, as it happened.

“You mind sharing?” Virion asked and she grinned.

“Do you?” she fired back.

The festival was beautiful. Mage-crafted fireworks soared into the sky from the crenellations of the university building, and music played and people danced. There was a play that utterly entranced Rakasha, and after they had sampled from a number of stalls selling food from all over the continent, Virion even managed to coerce Rakasha into dancing with him, the two of them slotting into line at the end of a simple partner dance before it started.

It wasn’t complicated, and he found himself entranced at the way her eyes glittered in the low light and how her tusks glinted as she laughed.

They caught up with the troupe from the barge some while later, but Virion could hardly take his eyes from Rakasha. Her skin gleamed with a slight sheen of sweat from dancing, and she seemed almost a different creature now.

“Here,” Aeqen laughed, putting a flower crown around her head. “Perfect.”

She blushed like a temple virgin and tried not to look at Virion, which only made them all laugh.

Eventually, when they’d had their fill of festival sweets and vigorous dancing, they shared a look that said the same thing, and they left the square, heading through the streets to their little boarding house room. Rakasha took his hand in hers and squeezed it.

“You enjoy tonight?” she asked, and he nodded. The rings clicked softly together as the bands connected briefly in their intertwined hands.

“Yeah. You… uh…” he said awkwardly. “You looked…”

“What?” she laughed, her long hair loose and flowing down her back. She was still wearing the flower crown.

“Honestly… gorgeous…” he finished rather lamely, and she grinned, halting.

They’d paused in a tiny little square with barely enough room for a stone fountain in the space between the houses, but she drew him close and leaned down, tilting his chin up. His jaw bore the scruff of more than a few days without shaving, but she didn't seem to object as she tilted his face up and lowered her own towards him. Her eyes were incredible and he forgot how to breathe as she began to kiss him.

He reached his hands up into her thick, dark hair and gripped her so tightly she growled and drew back.

She quirked a questioning eyebrow and he nodded.

The two of them made their way back to the boarding house without stopping again, though Virion’s dark leggings definitely seemed a size too small.

Inside their room, Rakasha backed him into the door by way of closing it, and ground herself against him. He wasn’t short, but he felt more than a little dwarfed by her size and strength. Exhilarated by that, breathless, dizzy, and thrumming all over, he kissed her back, his hands wandering over her body, desperate for a touch of her skin.

He pushed her back, and she obliged curiously. Virion’s fingers slid under her loose tunic and she shrugged it off, bearing her muscular torso for him. He jutted his chin towards the bed and she backed slowly towards it, coyly undoing the laces at the top of her loose trousers. He sank his teeth into his lower lip and watched her slide the fabric - trousers and undergarments as one - free of her wide hips. Next came the fabric binding around her breasts. The muscles of her abs clenched as he reached for them and with a feather-light touch, he pushed her back onto the bed.

She parted her legs invitingly and he struggled out of his own clothing, abandoning it all on the floor beside the bed.

When he returned his attention to her, her fingers had slid between her legs and she was slowly circling her swollen clit, her golden eyes locked on him. Her other hand had cupped her breast and she pinched her hardening nipple between finger and thumb and he felt his cock twitch and swell.

Her eyes tracked the movement and she jutted her chin, trying to get him to come closer. He obeyed and ran his hand over the clearly-defined muscles of her thighs, watching the way her breath hitched visibly, her back arching at the drag of his fingertips over her dark green skin.

“Rakasha,” he said, voice husky and a little deeper. “Tell me what you want?”

“You,” she snarled. “I want you.”

His hand closed around his cock and he worked himself to full hardness while he watched her teasing herself. She was slick and wet and so inviting that it didn’t take long for him to kneel between her legs and line himself up with her entrance. Her lips parted and her jaw went slack, and he watched her throat work as she swallowed. He wondered what it’d feel like if she did that with his cock in her mouth, and it responded accordingly, twitching and leaking pre-come down onto her clit.

“Hurry up,” she snarled, bending one leg at the knee and shifting her hips invitingly. He didn't need telling twice.

As he slid slowly inside her tight heat, he rested his left hand on her bent leg, stretching her as he entered her, and she let out a deep, guttural moan. Her muscles clenched around him and he fought the urge to come like a virgin inside her already. Breathing deeply, he sank hilt-deep into her and paused.

“You’re so tight,” he gasped, leaning forwards head bowing.

Reaching for him, she grabbed his hair and snarled, “Move…”

Unable to deny her request, he rolled his hips back and forth, breathless at the sensations of her body around his, the slick heat of her. Sounds began to roll out of her as her chest heaved and she played with her breasts. She never took her eyes off his face though. He moved his thumb to her clit and circled in time with each thrust, and he felt her react to his touch immediately.

Her breathing quickened, chest heaving, and she arched and thrashed as he took her closer. White hot pleasure coiled in him and he knew he wasn’t going to last much longer. Picking up his speed, he altered his angle a little and caught that place inside her that made her cry out. Her tusks jutted upwards, her hands abandoned her chest and grabbed the sheets as she arched and writhed beneath him.

“Come for me,” she demanded, opening her eyes again, and as her gaze met his, his release ripped through him like a landslide. A second later, she followed him, and the clenching of her muscles around his cock drew out his own pleasure until he was shaky and weak all over. He fell forwards onto his elbows, breathing hard, barely missing her face as he collapsed on top of her.

Her hands found his back and began to trace idle lines over his skin while he panted, heartbeat thudding in his ears.

Playfully, she squeezed her inner muscles around him and he grunted a half-hearted complaint, which only made her laugh.

Eventually he rolled onto his side, grunting softly as he slid free of her, and she followed and tucked his body gently against her side. Her lips landed softly on his sweaty temple and she whispered, “Little human, did I break you?”

He shook his head, unable to form words just yet.

“You sure?”

“Shut up,” he grinned, considering elbowing her in the ribs, and she laughed.

“If someone had told me back at that bazaar that I’d be lying in bed with a human who had just made me come like that,” she said, “I’d have sunk my axe into them… probably…”

“Funny how the world works,” Virion said, his words slurring a little as an immense exhaustion washed through him.

He barely noticed Rakasha slipping free of him and cleaning herself up, only to return and draw the sheets up over them both. She curled up on her side, facing away from him, and he rolled over and nuzzled up against the bulwark of her back, inhaling the scent of her thick hair and the expanse of her soft green skin.

He let his hand play over the dip in her waist for just a moment longer, and then hugged himself a little closer before sleep claimed him and he sank willingly down into it.

—

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[theamberwriter]

Levi’s Secret [Mod!Levi Ackerman||Fem!Reader]

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Fem!Reader [Mod!AU]

Word Count: 2012

Warning: Cursing, pregnancy

A/N: I posted this a while ago on Quotev, DeviantArt, and Wattpad (I think). I updated it for you all!

Levi Ackerman, co-vice president for one of the most powerful companies in the world, Titan Industries, has a secret. Nothing dangerous - well, maybe it will be if anyone finds out, but it'll only be dangerous to their health. He plans on keeping it that way as long as he can. The shitheads he works with don't need to know about his personal life.

But what is that secret?

If one were to go into the upper left-hand drawer, supposing they got the key, and found the insert in the bottom of it. One could find a mysterious paper object lying flat in the bottom of it.

But what is this object?

Well the other VP Hanji Zoe is determined to find out. She's continuously caught the short man looking at – something – in the drawer. But even the security cameras can't reveal what it is. She only knows where the mysterious object is located. News spread quietly around the office when Hanji blabbed, and some people began to take bets; a porn magazine, nudes of his wife and just regular ole important papers were among the guesses.

Almost everyone wants to know what is in that drawer.

Even the president, Erwin Smith, who is an old friend of the co-VP, is curious about Levi's mysterious drawer.

Hanji knows better, though, than to ask the stoic short man about his secret. She knows he’d blow her off, or threaten her, or move the thing – whatever it is. Hanji also knows better than to ask his wife, [Name], who will only give her a mysterious smile and tap the side of her nose to tease her.

No amount of begging will force [Name] to give out any of her husband’s secrets. And not in fear of Levi getting angry, but because she loves to mock the nosey woman. [Name] knows a side of Levi nobody does, knows things that no one else knows – and that drives Hanji crazy, she wants to know everything. Mostly just so she can pester and tease her short friend about it.

Currently, it is a Friday morning – about 10:54 AM. In the main HQ of Titan Industries, in front of a large set of double doors up on the 34th floor, can be found a certain brunette Hanji Zoe and a young office worker from the floor below. Eren Jeager is the long-time friend Levi’s younger cousin, Mikasa, who also worked in the office.

         “Hanji,” says Eren, looking nervously about him. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

         “Of course, it is,” reassures the woman as she slowly opens the door. “Shorty’s in a meeting, and shouldn’t be back for a while. Besides, I know exactly where to look. I’ve seen him do it a million times on the cameras. – look, just signal me if something goes amiss, alright?”

         Eren sighs, his shoulders slumping. “Right.”

         The woman creeps into the room, after ruffling Eren’s hair, and slowly makes her way over to the pristine desk. She is going to try not to mess it up – it’s so tempting! But she is also trying not to get caught, so she resists the urge.

         Ever so gently, Hanji removes the pen she always sees Levi use from its place in the mug on his desk. It’s one [Name] gave him Hanji notices (even after having seen it a million times, she never took note of what was on it), it’s pictures of their wedding and honeymoon a few years before. But, to Hanji’s dismay, there is no picture of the man smiling or being anything but his usual self! [Name] must have made this specifically for his desk.

         With a sigh, Hanji shakes her head and kneels to retrieve the key from under the desk. If one didn’t look closely, they would miss the small key held in brackets screwed to the top of the desk. The brunette carefully slides the gold key out, glancing it over once, before shoving it in the lock and turning it. She flinches as it makes a soft click sound.

Sliding out the drawer, Hanji then looks for the spot where the tip of the pen would fit. It’s hard to spot, even with the sunlight streaming in the wall of windows behind her. But she does find it. She grins to herself as she lifts up the insert. Standing, Hanji puts her hands under the panel and feels for the edge of the object. When she finds it, she fishes it out and drops the insert.

Placing the pen on the desk, the woman looks at what’s in her hand. At first, it appears to be a white folder but as she flips it over, she finds it’s something else. Hanji’s eyes widen, a squeal escaping her throat. So it was none of the dirty things the office workers conjured up.

She completely ignores the loud, ‘Hello, Mr. Ackerman!’ that Eren just about yells from outside the door. Nor does she hear the growl from the short man as he snaps at the boy to ‘quit fucking shouting’ and ‘get the hell away from his door if he’s just going to stand there like a dumbass.’ Hanji also completely ignores the short man as she runs out of the office to tell Eren of her discovery, even though she tosses him a ‘hey, shorty.’

“Eren, you will never believe –” starts Hanji, but then stops as she realizes that the short man is seething behind her.

         “Oi! Shitty Glasses!” grits Levi, his fists clenched as he glares her down. “Who in the hell gave you permission to go in my office when I’m not there?! And how the fuck did you get that – give it to me!”

         But Hanji simply turns and runs, ditching her heels and knee-highs as she does so that she doesn’t trip or slip. Levi immediately takes off after her, but not before glaring at young Eren and snapping at him to get back to work; Eren shakily does as he’s told.

         Hanji, meanwhile, sprints down the stairs and runs to one of the desk lined floors. Waving the thing in the air, she yells, “I’ve got it!”

         When people look up, all they see is her running with Mr. Ackerman hot on her heels. She only stops when Erwin enters the floor, having seen the commotion on the cameras. Levi stops as well, and then he and Hanji begin to sprint and jump in circles around the president. But this stops as Erwin takes the thing from Hanji, who’s now behind him, while Levi glares down his friend from in front.

         “Erwin. Give. Me. That!” spits Levi, but Erwin sighs and shakes his head as he holds the object high above his head – knowing that his tiny friend can’t reach that without assaulting him.

         “Sorry, Levi,” mutters the blonde. “Everybody’s just curious.”

         “It’s none of their damn business! – and why do those shitheads know that I keep that in my – four eyes, what the fuck?!” Levi’s glare shifted over the broad shoulders of his boss, to where Hanji’s eyes were just popping over them.

         “Well I couldn’t keep to myself that you had a secret, now could I?! – and anybody who said it was porn or nudes has lost their bet, I hope you know!” calls Hanji, at this Levi whips around the glare down everybody in the room. Especially those forking over money, or claiming they had to go to the bank.

         “S-So, what is it?” stutters poor little Armin Arlert from his desk nearest the trio.

         “It’s none –” starts Levi, but he is cut off by Erwin.

         “You might as well tell us, or else Hanji will,” states the blonde. From behind him, Hanji agreed and began to bounce excitedly.

The raven-haired man glares but then sighs in defeat. “Fucking fine! Give it.”

Erwin carefully lowers the object into his friend’s expectant hand. Turning, Levi faces the floor with the white side showing. But then, he turns it around and looks grumpily away.

Slowly, people gather to get a better look – it’s a thin paper picture frame.

DADDY’S LITTLE BABY is hand done in pale orange block letters across the top of the paper frame. Around the outside is decorated in swirls and dots, it even has a mint green bow tied in two holes punched in the corner. In the frame, lies a black and white ultrasound picture.

“Levi’s gonna be a daddy!” shouts Hanji, running around to throw her arms around the man. Levi growls at her but says nothing.

Erwin puts a hand on Levi’s shoulder, smiling lightly down at him. “Congratulations, Levi.”

“Yeah, thanks,” is all he mutters.

Hanji chuckles, “you could be a bit happier!”

“How the fuck can I?! You damn bunch of shit minded assholes weren’t supposed to fucking know! You shouldn’t even know I’m fucking married, but somebody had to go running her damn big shitty mouth!” Levi spits, glaring around the group gathered.

Hanji and Erwin roll their eyes, Hanji ruffling Levi’s hair. “How could I not?! It was exciting! Also, how were you going to explain the fact that [Name]’s in here all the time?! She probably would have told us herself!”

“What would I have told you?” [Name]’s voice cuts through the chatter. People move to the side as the woman pushes her way through with a box in hand. She smiles sweetly lightly as she sees Levi seemingly presenting the picture frame she made him three months ago for his birthday. “Aww, Levi, you’re showing off our babies!”

The plural catches Levi’s attention, any thought of a blush disappearing. Levi raises an eyebrow slightly. “Babies?”

[Name] giggles, nodding and holds out the box to him. Slowly, he takes it while handing her the frame. He eyes her warily as he opens the box. Inside is a new ribbon and an ultrasound picture clearly showing two circles – twins?! Levi about drops the box at this, but only [Name] notices.

“Twins?!” yells Hanji, causing the man to flinch away from the loud sound.

“Yes, Hanji,” [Name] chuckles loudly. “Levi and I are having twins. Can I have a small hole punch someone?”

More chatter flutters through the room, and then Armin shuffles up with a punch. He mutters a ‘congratulations’ to which the woman smiles. Punching through two more holes in the frame, [Name] hands the punch back and walks up to Levi. He just stares intently at her.

[Name] ties the new ribbon through the holes, and then slips in the new ultrasound. Also paper clipping on a matching ‘S’ that was hidden beneath it onto the end of ‘baby.’ The misspelling makes Levi cringe, but he knew it was his wife’s attempt to be funny.

“How long have you known? When the hell did you get that done?!” utters Levi, watching [Name]’s face intently.

[Name] kisses his cheek with a smile. “I went about two weeks ago, when you were out of town.”

“And you’re just now telling me?! We have to go get more shit for the nursery!” hisses Levi, causing Hanji to laugh loudly.

“Don’t worry shorty! We’ll throw you a baby shower!” she says, as though it’s simple. Levi goes to glare, but [Name] cuts in.

“I’d appreciate that Hanji,” she says, “Levi wasn’t going to let me invite any friends.”

“Forget just friends! We’ll have the whole damn building doing in on it! All 35 floors!” announces the insane brunette, bouncing up and down again.

Before Levi could stop her, Hanji began to ramble on and on about all that could be done. As well as going around and assigning things to each employee, who was still in shock that their grumpy boss was going to be a father.

And, though he despises the brunette sticking her nose in his business, Levi knew it made [Name] happy to have everyone finally know.

Suddenly, Levi doesn’t mind sharing his secret.

[bard-of-worlds]

Chapter 2 Beginning in Kalos

“Where is he?  He should’ve gotten off that plane by now.”   A teenage girl sighed as she leaned against a pillar in an airport in Lumiose City.  She looked light she had just come from a Gothic rave, her dark hair was done in a twintale style that reached her butt, two purple streaks went down her hair facing her front.  She was wearing a black tube top that had a small v that showed the sides of her large breasts and that exposed her midriff with a black open vest over it with a tight short skirt that ended at her upper thighs with a belt around her waist with six pokeballs, knee high black boots completed the outfit.  Her face was heart shaped; her lips were a shiny black and her eyes had purple eye shadow that brought attention to her blue eyes, a pair of sunglass with black gems in the frame was around her neck on a chain. Next to her was a small bag, out of place for a traveler if not for some tech from home.  She snorted as she saw some of the other women glare at her and the men around her stare at her in lust but not a single one had even an ounce of courage to approach her.  A few of the younger girls were staring at her in wonder and a few might have talked to her if their mothers hadn’t been there but then again this wasn’t home so maybe she could cut them slack based on different culture.

So this is why everyone back home hate outside assignments so much. She thought to herself, this was why they preferred to stay in their home; at least there people could dress how they wanted without people talking about them, at most they commented about the fashion behind hands and doors, and if a man looked at her like some of them were he would have at least walked over to talk to her by now.  Lady Camilla had grabbed her from that party her cousin had dragged her to and thrown her on that train to the airport so fast she had to have two of her Item Cubes with her full wardrobe and her Aura Equipment sent to the airport. And she only got it a half hour before she was told to board the plane, so when she got to the travelers hotel later tonight she could put her cloths and outfits for her mission in order, but she had to be carrying her ‘Party Clothes” Cube in her bag with her Cube Reader, ‘Founding Day is an excuse to dress differently at every party you go to’, she would never listen to her cousin about stuff like that again.

 “Boss I really, really hope that old man was right about her and him; for your sake at least.”  She muttered as she looked to the doors to the tarmac as they opened and she glazed upon the woman walking in with a Helioptile on her shoulder.  For an instance seeing it brought a flash of rage to her face, but she forced herself down, the woman wasn’t one of those sexiest Inquisitors, those bastards had been slaughtered by Sir Mordred and a woman would never be one of the Knights!

 “Hmm, good figure, clothes and makeup could do with some work but her muscles seem to hint that she’s someone who makes a living by traveling so she probably has some stamina, not the best but I’ve recruited worse.  At least if it not really him…” She trailed off as she saw the figure follow her in. A blue short-sleeve jacket, a red hat on black hair, darker blue jeans, red shoes and a black shirt under the jacket and his face, it was like looking at a younger version of the boss.  The Pikachu riding on his shoulder sealed the deal, this was her target and by the boss he was who they hoped he was.

 “I will never ever bet against the longshot ever again.” She grinned as she reached down and grabbed her bag and started to watch her target walk with the woman over to a city map outside the airport.  They talked for a minute before he ran off.  The woman he had been with smiled good naturally as she watch him dash off, but this left Lilith with a dilemma.

 “Hmm, I could try to catch up with the princeling… or I could chat up that cutie and get his destination from her directly, what should I do?” She smirked as she brought a black painted nail to her lips, a smirk on her face as she looked at Alexa.

   Alexa smiled as she and her Helioptile shared a look with each other about their friend's exuberance. She did feel a little bad that her sister had to have gone on a journey without sending any word to her, but that was her sister for you.  As she walked back toward the airport to her get her bag she collided with someone as she walked through the door.

 "Ohmph." Alexa cried as she fell backwards, her Helioptile fell off her shoulder and she fell on her bottom.

 "Sorry about that, I wasn't looking where I was going." A female voice said as a hand with black nail polish reached down to help her up. Alexia grabbed the hand and got to her feet checking that her pokemon was okay before turning to the person she bumped into.

 "No problem. .." Alexa trailed off as she stared into blue eyes that seemed to take up her entire view.  She felt herself drifting away, until all she could see was the color blue.

 "Say, about that boy you were with, could you tell me where he was going?"

  Alexa shock herself awake as her Pokémon started to shake her, looking up she realized she was inside the airport with her bag siting by the escalator.

 "Helioptile, how'd we get inside and get my bag?  I… it doesn't matter, let's make sure we didn't miss our bus and have to have Gogoat take us home once we get out of town."  Alexa said as she and her Pokémon walked away, not noticing a female shadow with a grin on its face, a fang poking out of her mouth as she blew a kiss after Alexa.

 "Thanks for everything Alexa dear, we'll meet again and we'll see what side you’ll be on when we're done."

   “So the prince is headed for the cities gym, a fierce start worthy of his father.”  Lilith mused as she walked toward the gym.  All she had to do was watch the entrance, scan him and send a report back home.  As she got insight of the tower she stopped dead when she saw Ash and his partner thrown out of the pokeball symbol on the building.  She raised her hand began to cast a spell when she heard two voice much closer to her target

 “I’ll try to catch that boy!”

“I’ll catch Pikachu!”

 Lilith stopped her spell as she saw a blond boy in blue and yellow jumpsuit and black and white tennis shoes throw a backpack under the prince that released a crash pillow while a blond little girl wearing a dark brown blouse with a black ribbon on the chest, white skirt, black shorts, and pink Mary Jane flats grab the prince’s Pokémon. She breathed a sigh of relief as the blond girl was shocked by the Pikachu.  

 “Quick thinking you two now let me cast a quick scan while I can.”  Lilith muttered as she put her sunglasses on.

 “Tool to see, Sight beyond, Show me that which hides from All.” She chanted as her glasses glowed pitch black.

 “So the two of them are brother and sister hu, the boy’s aura shows that he has quite a mind and the girl is someone who wants her brother to have someone in his life, something about their father and mother?  Looks like I could teach her a few things, but let’s take a look at the prince.…how in Arceus’s name is he able to walk let alone think with those seals on him?”  She asked herself in horror at what she over a hundred seals on his Aura.  She reached with a shaking hand to touch one of the gems in her glasses and started to chant.

 “Sights Seen, Sights Unseen, capture them for All to See.”  She popped the gem out and ducked into a nearby alley to and grabbed one of her pokeballs.

 “Fly high, Murkrow.” She called as the ball opened in midair and released a black flying type with a crooked yellow beak.

 “Murkrow, Murkrow.” The Flying type chanted as it appeared and landed on an out stretched arm.  Lilith slipped the gem into a necklace around its neck, reached into her bag and pulled out two blue colored pieces of hollowed metal shaped like her wings which were met with a look of worry from the Flying type.

 “Girl, I know these make it so you can’t fight with your wings, but you need the Wing Sheaths to make it back even sooner than with the Wind Road alone, this report has to get to Lord Magnus sooner then you could normally, it’s that important.” Lilith said as her Flying type looked her in the eye before raising its wings straight up to make equipping the Wing Sheaths that much easier.  After a quick fastening she was ready, Lilith had a look of pride on her face as she gave out her orders.

 “Thanks girl, now go, as fast as you can, but stay safe.  The boss has to find out what the state of his son is so the prince can be helped as soon as possible.”  Lilith said as she scowled at what had been done to Ash.  If his mother had anything like that done to her, the boss was going to find the people responsible for this affront of Aura itself and impale them alive, and they would deserve  it.  As her Murkrow shot off into the open sky, climbing higher as she flew away from the alley, Lilith looked down at her cloths and remembered the airport and gave a short sigh.

 “Better hide behind an illusion for a while.   To Walk Unknown Upon the Land, Change my Form to What I Command.”  Lilith chanted as a black flash covered her body.

 As the flash faded away a completely new Lilith had completely changed her appearance!  Where a gothic party girl was, there was now a teenage honor student stood in her place.  She wore a white dress; grey heels with only a hint of makeup on her face, red hair flowing down her back and a modest figure with B-Cup breasts.

 "So not my style; but beggars don't slip by the hungry Snorlax." She muttered as looked for her target, but was unable to spot him.

 "The seals must have shocked me more than I thought to lose track of him so.... Mandibuzz, take flight!  Fly around and find me a trainer with a Pikachu with two blonds!" She cried as she released her other Flying type.  Her Pokémon had a Searcher Gem in a tiara on her head, so she could identify types from above, and she was trained to identify targets in groups. She would soon know where he was, and with a chant she would see what her Pokémon saw.

 "Sight Of All, Sights Beyond, Share with me What the Searcher Saw."  She chanted as she closed her eyes, and saw through the vision of her Pokémon augmented by the Searcher's Gem, a rainbow of colors representing the Pokémon and humans within the city.

 After spotting an electric with three normal auras next to one of the town's Pokémon arena, she ended her spell and ran toward the battlefield, mentally going over how she would interact with the prince, as a Trainer or a Coordinator?  She did have a flare for glamor and showmanship from her time on the circuit, but she had a few powerhouses with her, maybe bring out her whip and say her family lives in one of the Old Regions that still followed the Treaty of Defense?

 “Wobbuffet, time to Shine.”

 “What is this?” Lilith muttered as she hid behind a tree.  She saw two people in white with red R’s on their cloths behind a Meowth and a Wobbuffet face down the blonds and the prince, she recognized the uniform from tactical information about Kanto.

 “Team Rocket of Kanto, after the prince; are we?”  She snarled as she started to release a purple aura as she watch the prince’s Pikachu be hit with its own attack by the Wobbuffet.

 “ We’d better retreat. Using Mirror Coat reflects special attacks with double the power!” we can’t stand up to that kind of strength.” Blondie boy said he looked at Ash

 “Gotta give Blondie points for tactical ability; but minus points from turning away from the threat to talk to someone.  But this might give me an opening.”  Lilith mused as she grabbed one of her pokeballs.

 “We’ve always stood up to them before and we always will! As long as Pikachu is okay, as long as Pikachu doesn’t give up I’ll be right here, battling to the end!” Ash cried as he stood back up and unfelt by all but Lilith, he released a spike of aura energy before the seals sapped it back.

“Boss, if I doubted he was your boy, its’ so gone now.” Lilith said in a tiny bit of awe in her voice over the feeling Ash’s speech had invoked in her had echoes of his some of his father’s speeches.

 “All you’ll get is reruns.” The Female Rocket cried in response to Ash’s words.

 “Now, Pikachu, Electro Ball” Ash commanded.

 “Pik! Pika! Pika! Pika! Pika!” Pikachu cried jumped up and generated the attack its trainer ordered.

 “We’ll help you out, too! Bunnelby, use Mud Shot!” Blondie cried.

 “You’re on, Wobbuffet!” Female Rocket cried out.

 “Wob! Buff! Buff! Buff!” Wobbuffet cried as it jumped up, dodging the Mud Shot while activacting Mirror Coat, bouncing the Electro Ball back toward Pikachu.

 “Pikachu!” Pikachu cried out as its mouth dropped open before a small blue pokemon jumped between the attack and the electric type.

 “Froakie!” It cried before the attack hit and exploded.

 The blue pokemon land after the attack with Pikachu in its arms, electric sparks crawling over its blue skin.

  Ash gritted his teeth; Pikachu was fine but only because a small blue pokemon had intercepted an electric attack sent back by Wobbufett, a rookie mistake!  The pokemon in question was a small one that had light blue skin, white hands, and a dark blue stripe from the center of its oval head to its nose, its eyes were closed.  By its skin tone he had to guess it was a water type, but it had a mane of…clouds around its neck that he was made him wonder if it was a dual type.

 “It’s a Froakie!” Clemont cried as he and Bonnie ran over to Ash.  At the look Ash sent him he went on.

 “It’s a water-type that new trainers can get in Kalos. So that Electro Ball must have done lots of damage.” Clemont continued as he looked back as Froakie tensed as electricity ran over its skin.

 “So where is its Trainer?” Ash asked with a worried look in his eyes as he, Clemont and Bonnie looked around as Froakie hoped toward Team Rocket.

 “Where’s Froakie going?” Bonnie asked in confusion.

 “Froakie Froak!” it cried out.

 “What’s with the yapping?” Jessie wondered.

 “I think that Froakie wants to help us.”  Ash said as he stood back up.

 “Fro!” Froakie cried as it opened its yellow eyes and glared at Team Rocket

 “Froakie���s saying bad guys rub it the wrong way!”  Mewoth cried as its mouth dropped open

 “You can’t take them on if you’ve been hurt! Stop!” Ash cried as he raced to Froakie as it inflated the back of its mane and jumped toward Team Rocket.

 “Froakie!” Ash cried as he looked on in concern.

 In midair it grabbed the inflated part of its mane with its hand and threw toward the Rocket operatives.

 “Wow, Froakie just used its Frubbles!” Bonnie cried out as her and her brothers mouths dropped open in shock.

 “Big whoop! We’ll just send that right back at you!”  Jessie sneered as Wobbuffet jumped and activated its Mirror Coat, only for the move to have no effect as the Frubbles hit Wobbuffet, forcing it backwards as the remaining Frubbles hit Jessie, James and Meowth.

 “What’s this?”

 “I Can’t get this gunk off!” Jessie and Meowth cried as Team Rocket struggled against the sticky frubbles.

 “How come it didn’t bounce back?” Ash wondered in confussion.

 “Of course!  Froakie’s gummy Frubbles isn’t a move, so Wobbuffet’s Mirror Coat was completely ineffective!” Clemont exclaimed as he realized what had happened.

 “Awesome, Froakie, way to go! Pikachu and I can take it from here!”Ash cried as he and Pikachu advanced to stand by Froakie as the frog like Pokémon looked at Ash.

 “We’ll lend a hand, too”

“Bunnelby!”  Clemont and his pokemon proclaimed as they stood next to Ash.

 “You guys better not forget about me!” Bonnie declared as she ran next to Ash on his other side and puffed her cheeks.

 “Now, Bunnelby, us Dig!”

“Bunnel-brree!” Clemont command as his Pokémon jumped and used its ears to tunnel into the earth, coming up under Team Rocket, sending them skyward.

 “Yeah! Way to go!”

“Nice work, Bunnelby!” Bonnie and Clemont cried as they saw Team Rocket fly into the air.

 “Let’s wrap this up! Pikachu, Thunderbolt, go!” Ash cried as Pikachu and Froakie both jumped into the air, Pikachu fireing a Thunderbolt and Froakie throwing a water bubble that merged and hit Team Rocket together.

“We’re blasting off again!”

“Wobbuffet!”  Team Rocket cried as they disappeared into the sky.

 “Wow! Awesome power!” Bonnie declared as both Pikachu and Bunnelby ran to their trainers.

 Froakie groaned as it collapsed to the ground.

 “Froakie!  Something’s wrong!”  Ash cried as he ran to the water type and took it into his arms as the others gathered around them.

 “Froakie needs help right away.”  Clemont said as he looked at the water type, seeing the injuries he had sustained in their defense.

 “Is there a Pokémon Center?” Ash demanded as he stood up with the water type in his arms.

 “Well from here, I’m trying to think…” Clemont trailed off as he looked around, trying to remember where the Pokémon Center was.

 “I think it would be a lot quicker if we brought Froakie to the Professors lab instead!”  Bonnie declared as the others looked at her.

 “The Professor?

“Yeah, Professor Sycamore’s Research Lab! There’s no doubt he’ll know how to help Froakie!” Clemont answered Ash as he turned to his Pokémon hold out its Pokeball.

 “Bunnelby, return Thanks a lot!  You really helped out!”  Clemont said with a smile.

 “Come on Ash, this way!”

“I’m coming Bonnie!”  Ash ran after the younger girl with the water type in his arms, Pikachu on his shoulder, Clemont grabbed their bags before hurrying after his sister and his new friend.

 If he’s this strong with only one Pokémon, I can’t wait to see what he’s like with a full team!  Lilith thought with a smirk on her face.  She signaled her Mandibuzz to follow their target, while she trailed the elder blond.  After a while she saw him go into a building behind a steel gate, this must be the Professor Sycamore’s lab.  Seeing her searcher in a tree along the road, she then moved into a nearby ally, quickly checking to make sure that no one was looking or could overhear her, she chanted a spell.

 “Send my Voice, Unheard to Others, To my One Amongst them all.  Girl, I’m heading to the hotel.  Stay here, head over once and perch across from where my room is supposed to be so I can recall you when you get there.”

 Seeing her Pokémon nod, she move deeper down the alley, dropping her illusion around herself, time to rest from all the traveling she had been doing.  Slipping back onto the main roads, she headed toward where her hotel was.  Her target had finished with the only excitement he was going to have today, so time to finish her planning.  As she walked her mind went to the older and started to walk with a swing to her hips.   She didn’t know why, but there was something about him….  

  OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

  The flying type had flown through the Wind Road with the aid of the Wing Sheaths, dodging flocks of migrating flying types as she flew toward her destination.  For the last few minutes she had felt something, was she being hunted, on the Wind Road, the neutral territory for all flyers?   She hugged her wings to her body and dropped 50 feet, dodging a silver blast of energy by seconds.  Pumping her wings she risked a glance backwards, spotting a trio of Skarmory in arrow formation pointed at her.  Hearing the other flying types react to the attack she increased her knowing they were after her she flew faster she tried to think why they had committed such a taboo, what could she do?  Angling down she flew out of the Wind Road, she would need every advantage to escape.  Barreling to the right as she her instincts screamed out at her, she saw one the Skarmorys fly by with a white glow about it, as it flew past she realized with horror, that they were trained!  They had to have been looking for something, did their trainer know about her mission, her trainer’s mission, what she was carrying?!!  Looking ahead she spotted a group sea-stacks ahead of her, she was nearly home, and she could use this, she had to gamble on her movability to escape she just had to bait them.

 Flying slow with while trying to act like her wing was hurt she flew between the pillars as the three Steel-Types followed her. The three Skarmorys flew faster as they moved in for the kill; their master will receive a prize soon.  Dodging blasts of silver energy from her pursuers she flew between the rocks hoping to escape them.  After a while she looked back and saw a single Skarmory chasing her before…. She was blindsided by one of the other two, it had come at her from above, tackling her onto one of the sea stacks

 She moved her body up from where she had crashed and saw the three Skarmory land around her and slowly walk toward her.  She prepared herself to fight to her end when six energy rays hit the three Armor Bird Pokémon.  Around her landed three Pidgeotto while two more hovered with a Pidgeot, each had a look of anger on their faces for the actions that the three had performed on the Wind Road, it was neutral territory for all who used it.  The three Skarmory didn’t even reacted as 5 more of them landed on surrounding rock pillars as one of the three in formation gestured with a wing at her and convoyed the command to leave her and go.  As the Bird Pokémon braced themselves for battle a blast of fire hit two of the Skarmoys on the pillars behind the standoff before energy blasts hit the other three.

 “I didn’t want to believe what my boys told me, but it seems they had seen the situation clearly.”  A gruff voice said as a shadow covered the pokemon.  Raising her head, the Dark Flying type saw an Aerodactyl, one of the Elites was here, she and her rescuers were safe, with that realization she let herself stop fighting, and passed out.

  She awoke to the smiling face of one of the Pidgeotto in a room with medical supplies all around it, she was in one the Homelands Care Centers, she was home.

 “That one wouldn’t leave until you woke up, I guess what they say about Pokémon loyalty is not to be questioned.”  A melodies voice said from the doorway.  Walking into the room was a pale woman with red hair in a bun wearing a nurse’s outfit under a lab coat with a smile on her face that turned to a frown as the nurse saw the effort her patient was making to rise and leave the bed the Flying type was in.

 “You were only out for about two hours, so if your message is time sensitive you should make it on time. You can go as soon I slip this note for your trainer around one of your legs.”  The Nurse said as she moved toward the bed, did what she said and opened the window.  With a bow to the healer the Murkrow took flight.

  Joy sighed as she saw the Murkrow leave with the Pidgeotto flying into the sky, it was to early for this. In all the years she had be in residence here at Castle Town, Pokémon on missions for their Trainers always gave her such problems, they always pushed themselves for ‘time sensitive missions’, really, drama queens 9 times out of ten the lot of them.  Not to mention the problems Founding Day always brought to her Care Centers.

 “Headmistress Joy? Headmistress where are you?”  A female voice called worriedly from outside.

 Back to the grindstone, at least the patents from Founding Day parties are all almost gone.  Joy thought as she walked out to see a black haired woman in a business suite running toward her.

 “Yes Sara, what problems have come up now?”

 “The Skarmorys that were brought in their all dead!  No, they were dead BEFORE the General and his team killed them, they had machines inside!” Sara stammered as Joy lost what little color she had, what her assistant described was one thing only, a thing that her King had tried to destroy down to the roots of knowledge.

 “Frakenmon.”  Joy whispered in horror before her eyes hardened and she walked down the hall.

 “Have the most intact of the corpses brought to Operating Theater 1, contact Lady Camilla with what findings we have.  I want a full security team ready to transfer whatever I can carve out for a full diagnostics wherever it’s decided to send them, contact all off duty morticians report to theaters not in use to carve up the rest of them.”  Joy ordered as she pounded her way to her Theater, time to find some answers about where the bastard who made these things might be hiding.

  As the Pidgeotto followed after her she heard it call out a traditional parting she returned as angled upwards before she saw the castle above the town.    There was her target.  She flew as fast as she could and when she reached the window she started to peck when it opened to let her in.

 The room was full of occult books and tapestries, model of the solar system hovered near the ceiling without wires, near the door rested a staff.

 “I believe you have a scan of my Nephew for me to look over little friend?”  A cultured male voice said as the Murkrow proudly landed on a desk and puffed out its chest, the gem it had protected had reached its destination and the person who would help the Prince.  After a rest and some food she would return to her trainer with her mission completed.  

 “I think this is the Flying type me and my team rescued a few hours back my friend.  Good thing I decided to bring the patrol a few miles out after all.”  The gruff voice from the Aerodactyl said as the gem left the necklace and a hologram of Ash with seals running all over his body appeared over the desk.

 “I don’t think the Master will like what has been done to these two comrades.”  A voice sighed the three shadows converged at the desk.

  Item Cube: Arcane Science device that turns inorganic items into digital data through the power of users Aura

 Cube Reader:  Arcane Science device that reads Item Cubes’, must have code for Cube to recall items

 Aura Equipment:  Catch all term for items which increase or give abilities to humans or Pokémon depending on item; items must be tailored for species that uses said item

 Wing Sheaths: Aura Equipment; Pokémon Armor Type. Appearance;  Hollow blue metal shaped like wings that fit over the wings of the Pokémon using them  Increase flight speed of Pokémon with wings, denies moves that use Wings as mediums

                   Searcher Gem: Aura Equipment; General Gem Type. Bestows Aura Sight on user

 Wind Road:  Bands of wind in upper atmosphere that Flight enabled Pokémon use to migrate around the world.

 Treaty of Defense:  In time of old after a war that covered the known world, a treaty was signed, this treaty granted the right of self-defense with a weapon to all travelers.  In the centuries that followed and new lands were settled, countries that still followed this ancient treaty became known as the Old Worlds, and those places that paid it no mind became the New Worlds

 Frakenmon:  Pokémon reanimated by Arcane-Science.  Forbidden practice punishable by death or enslavement.

[wittystarkk]

The Last Five Years || Part Four || Bucky Barnes

author: wittystarkk

word count: 4k+

relationship: James “Bucky” Barnes/Reader

warning: smoking?? i guess

A/N: this isn’t my favorite chapter. ngl. but. it’s still a chapter. and it isn’t bad. enjoy! (-: Feedback is greatly appreciated! (the gif is long but so cute!)

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

“Fuck!” Someone shouted from the side of the stage, kicking a metal trash can hard with the point of their shoe. Bucky snapped his head up from his script, turning to face the source of the noise. He pressed his palm flat against his thigh, pushing down in order to force his upper body straight up. His knees cracked a little when they weren’t bent.

“Everything okay?” He asked the girl who had kicked the trash can, watching her pace back and forth between the curtains of the side of the stage. She looked visibly agitated and he wanted to divide himself from her. The rest of the people in the play looked unconcerned with everything going on outside of themselves. He sighed, realizing that he was going to have to handle her himself. He crossed the stage to stand before her, folding his arms over his chest. 

The girl gave him a furious glare and Bucky held his hands up in surrender, deciding any attempts to speak to her were going to prove futile. “Right,” he nodded. “I’ll just leave you to it.” He spun on his heels, quickly marching away from the girl. He noticed the director near the front of the stage, talking with his understudy. “Hey, Jim,” he called, halting his steps on the path. “Our uh, our lead actress is having a minor meltdown. Looks like rehearsals are halted,” he snickered, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. 

Jim groaned, throwing his hands up into the air. “What’s the problem now?” The director wondered, one hand going to his waist, the other rubbing at his forehead. “Everyone! Lunch!” The director shouted, walking off to comfort the now wailing actress. Bucky glanced at his understudy who gave him a shrug. Neither knew what was going to happen, or if the rehearsal would continue today. He decided he didn’t care. If the rest of the day got cancelled he could go home, call (Y/N), and hopefully have her over for dinner. He smiled unconsciously at the thought. 

“I’m going outside,” he called to his understudy, needing someone to know where he was in case someone needed him. The understudy nodded, his attention quickly getting pulled away from Bucky by one of the actresses that played a minor role tugging on his sleeve. Bucky exited the stage, winding through the back area until he found the exit door. Throwing it open he had to squint in the sunlight. “Jesus,” he grumbled, heading for a shaded area between the backlot of the theater and the other building.

He dug around in his pocket, trying to find his packet of cigarettes and lighter. His fingers slipped over the plastic of his lighter and he withdrew it from his pocket followed by his cigarettes. As he was pulling one out to slip between his lips, his phone began humming against his skin. He rolled his eyes, fishing his phone out of his pocket, automatically sliding his finger on the answer button without giving a look to the caller ID. “Hello?” 

A soft feminine voice on the other end greeted him, “hello! I’m looking for a James Barnes. Is he available?”

“Yeah, hi. This is James, but please, call me Bucky.”

“Hello, Bucky!” The voice sounded more cheerful than when the phone was first answered. “My name is Elizabeth Whitfield. I was going through some of the audition tapes that had passed through my door today and was entirely captured by yours.”

Bucky’s eyes widened in shock, the unlit cigarette between his fingers falling to the ground. “You-you saw my audition tape? For what? I mean - I should say how?” 

He heard Elizabeth make an amused noise, “a man named Jim Adler. He’s a friend of a friend and he passed it along. Like I said, I had just gotten around to watching some of the tapes and I’m calling because I really liked yours.”

He could barely control his excited breathing as he listened to her speak. His pulse was pounding in his neck. “Right, of course Mr. Adler sent it in. That’s - that’s great. I - I - thank you for watching it.”

“Of course,” Elizabeth laughed. “Now let me get a few things correct, make sure we have the right information about you. You’ve never booked a professional gig before, correct?”

Bucky nodded his head, “yeah-yes. Is that a problem?”

Elizabeth sighed, “no, of course not. And you didn’t go to any kind of school did you? Adler included in his note about you that you were some sort of ‘natural talent’.”

He laughed, “he said that? I mean, no I didn’t go to school. I mean. I did a little bit of theater in high school if that counts?”

“Sure,” Elizabeth’s voice sounded like she was amused with him. “Listen, Bucky. I’m casting someone for a role in a movie and I was wondering if you could make it in for a meeting? A sort of audition?”

“Yes, yeah! Of course. Where, where do you need me to meet you?”

“Well, I would need you to make it to New York-”

Bucky cut her off, “oh! I live here, that’s no problem.”

Elizabeth didn’t sound disturbed by his interruption, simply continuing on in her cheerful voice. “Wonderful! Well could you manage to come in today, sometime before say, five o’clock? Do you know where the Flatiron building is? On 5th?” 

Bucky’s eyes felt like they managed to get even wider than possible, his breathing nearly completely spiratic with excitement and nerves. “Yes, yes! Of course I do. I will uh, I’ll get there. I will be there!”

“Wonderful, just ask for me when you reach the front desk.”

“Great, okay. I will, thank you. I am so - so looking forward to meeting you, Ms. Whitfield.” 

On the other end of the line, she laughed, “please, call me Elizabeth.”

“Okay, Elizabeth,” Bucky laughed, shaking his head, his hand so tight on his phone it was practically shaking. “It’s kind of like we’re friends,” he acknowledged, laughing a little, feeling embarrassed the moment the words left his mouth. 

“I look forward to meeting you, Bucky. I’ll see you soon.” 

“Okay, great. Great, I’ll see you soon too. Goodbye Ms. Whi - Elizabeth.” 

The line went dead and he pulled the phone from his ear, staring at it in utter shock. “What?” He asked his phone through a choked laugh. He looked around the empty back lot for someone, anyone, convinced he was being pranked. That he hadn’t just gotten called for an interview, audition, whatever it was. He ran his hand through his hair, trying to breathe, trying to gather his thoughts. Trying desperately to wrap his head around the fact that, he finally was getting his shot. Someone somewhere was acknowledging him past the small theaters where he would perform stupid plays he didn’t care for. 

He dragged his hand down his face, a smile never leaving his lips. He wanted to rush into the theater and grab Mr. Adler by his face, shake the man and thank him a hundred times for even bothering to send someone his tape. His stupidly made, poorly edited tape wherein he showed his acting chops. He laughed a little, jumping off the stoop he was stood on, shaking his fists around in the air, his nerves and happiness obvious in the way he moved.

He had been getting more parts in plays, sure. But he never anticipated that he would make it to the point where someone called him. That suddenly he would be starring in some stupid run-of-the-mill production and he’d be receiving a request to come meet with someone for a real movie. He was floored, completely and utterly flabbergasted as he pulled another smoke from his pack, managing to light this one as his mind began racing. 

He was already feeling like things were too good. That he was already too lucky in his life. He had enough money from working for this play that he was able to finally get his old car up and running. Hell, even working to a point where he didn’t have to struggle to get it to start every day. Bucky smoked his cigarette languidly as he thought of everything that was shaping up for him, and his body felt full and overwhelmed. 

He dropped the cigarette butt to the floor and stomped on it, needing to get his things and leave before he started freaking out during rehearsal. He wiped his hands on his pants, jogging back into the theater. “Jim,” he called, walking to the side of the stage where he had last seen him. “Jim!” He shouted, looking around for him. 

“Stop shouting,” Jim groaned, standing up from the chair he had made himself comfortable in. “What’s going on, Bucky? What do you need?”

Bucky’s smile was so big and bright it completely caught Jim off guard, causing him to take a step back. “You -” he laughed, shaking his head. “You - you gave someone that tape I gave you?”

Jim rubbed the back of his neck, looking bashful. “Look, Bucky. It was nothing, and you don’t have to say anything about it. Okay?”

Bucky shook his head, “not say anything? Are you kidding me? I just - I just got a call from someone at the studio. A Ms. Witfield… She wants me to come in today for an audition. I can’t believe it!” Bucky grabbed Jim in a hug, squeezing him tight. 

“Well,” Jim laughed, pushing Bucky away from him. “What the hell are you doing here? Go home, get changed. Get yourself put together for your audition.”

Bucky nodded, like the words Jim had just spoken to him were the greatest thing ever said. “Right!” He laughed, turning away from him. “Thank you, Jim!” He called over his shoulder as he jogged for the theaters exit. Jim watched him with amusement, shaking his head in disbelief at the boy. 

“Hey kid!” Jim called to him. “Don’t fuck it up!” 

Bucky stopped jogging when he was back outside in the sun. He scrolled through his contacts on his phone for a moment, finding (Y/N)’s number. He smiled as he pressed the call button, returning his phone to his ear. 

(Y/N) answered the phone on the third ringing sounding caught off guard, “Bucky?”

He couldn’t help but give a soft, affectionate smile when he heard her voice. “Hey, baby.” His own voice was warm and loving, “I’ve been thinking about what you said, and… Let’s move in together.” He bit on the knuckle of his index finger when he finished his sentence, smiling against the skin. 

He heard (Y/N)’s bewildered laugh and hoped that he wasn’t too late. That she hadn’t changed her mind and decided to rescind her suggestion or offer, or whatever it had been. His teeth sunk deeper into his knuckle, verging on painful. “Okay,” she finally said after letting him sweat it for long enough. “Okay! Yes, let’s do it. God, really though? Are you serious?”

He withdrew his knuckle from between his teeth, smiling like a fool again. He wished his face wouldn’t look so gleeful, but he didn’t know how to stop it. Didn’t know how to tamper down the sheer elation that was pumping through his veins with the beat of his heart. “Yes, I’m serious. Just, find us an apartment, okay? I love you.”

“I love you too, but, Bucky… Bucky, wait! What happened?”

He laughed, “I’ll tell you later. I gotta go, baby. I love you!” Bucky hung up, not waiting for her response, pushing his phone into his pocket the moment the line went dead. He took in a breath deep enough to make his head feel a little light. His feet moved quickly underneath him, propelling him to his car. When he got in he let out a yell, smiling bigger than he thought his face would allow. He was in utter disbelief of his life as his car roared to life.

“Who the hell are you?” He asked, pulling out of his parking spot to head out onto the street, joining the slow moving traffic that was pushing along. He had a woman he loved, and who loved him in return. A job that he didn’t mind, and an audition for something bigger, something better. Bucky laughed, shaking his head as he rolled the window down, sticking his arm out to rest on the edge. “I’ve got a feeling that things are moving too fast,” he told himself. “But God do I want it to keep on rolling.” 

--

Bucky wiped his sweating palms on the denim of his best jeans, trying to calm himself down as he waited for the elevator to take him up to the floor he needed. His mind was swirling in circles, nothing makes sense. Air felt like it was alluding his lungs every time he tried inhaling. He was sure he was on the verge of having a panic attack. 

The doors of the elevator opened and he held his breath, mustering up the courage to step off of it. The lobby of the floor he’d arrived at already felt too gaudy for him. Too rich and successful. A schmuck kid from Indiana didn’t belong being auditioned in a place like this. A place that put out esteemed movies, movies that he should only ever dream of becoming a part of. The last time he’d been here, for the initial audition, he hadn’t made it past the first floor. Had only met Elizabeth and been lead to a boring white room that looked almost clinical. He dreaded finding out what was in store for him now that he’d actually been invited up to her office. 

The woman at the desk looked bored, like she would rather be anywhere else but where she was currently. She rolled his eyes when Bucky stopped before her, looking up at him with an expression that made him want to retreat within his own skin. “Can I help you?” She asked, more condescending than he figured she should be. 

“Uh, yes, hi…” He cleared his throat, desperately trying to remember his own name, let alone the name of the woman he was meant to be meeting. “I’m here to see - to see Elizabeth Whitfield.” 

A man who had been lounging against the desk with his back to Bucky immediately turned around, looking like he’d been caught with his fly down. “Are you Bucky Barnes?” The man asked, looking Bucky over with an appraising eye. 

“Yes, I am.” 

The man’s smile was full and bright, he looked like he would be really good at selling shoes. A thought Bucky was surprised to have. “Oh, wonderful! Follow me, Mr. Barnes. Elizabeth is so excited to see you,” the man took off to the left and Bucky immediately followed in his stride, eyes darting around the offices. If someone were to hook a monitor up to his chest at that very moment, he would read on the verge of having a massive heart attack. 

The man stopped abruptly and Bucky looked into an office with a wall made of windows on one side, and the wall with the entry door made of glass. He couldn’t imagine the salary of the woman who had stood from her chair the moment she saw them approach. The man pushed the door open, unable to introduce Bucky, the woman beating him to it. “Bucky,” she exclaimed, holding her hand out for him to shake. He returned her enthusiastic smile, shaking her hand adamantly. “It’s so wonderful to see you again, please come in.” 

Bucky walked into her office and the man who had led him to it shut the door behind them, walking away from the office without so much as a goodbye. “Wow,” he breathed out heavily. He rubbed his hands against his thighs, noticing that they had gotten sweaty again. “This office is incredible,” he acknowledged, looking over at the view her office had.

“Thank you,” Elizabeth glanced out the window before sighing a bit. “Would you like something to drink? Water, coffee, tea?”

Bucky shook his head, “no, thank you.”

She gave him a smile, walking around her desk to sit behind it, crossing her legs at the knees. “So!” She clapped her hands together before leaning forward, resting her arms on the desk. Bucky followed her lead, taking a seat in one of the two chairs across from her, holding his hands together tightly in his lap. It took everything he had to keep his knee from bouncing with anxiety. “The director and producers loved your audition. And, well,” The smile spread across her lips was verging on creepy in it’s happiness. Bucky swallowed thickly, watching her carefully. 

“Well, Bucky… We want to formally offer you the part.” 

Bucky leaned back in his chair, the air from his lungs rushing out in a disbelieving huff. He was definitely going to have a heart attack. “What?” He asked after a moment of processing. His voice sounded like a mix of a laugh and groan. “Are you - are you serious? Elizabeth, you want to give me the part?” 

She nodded, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. Bucky ran his hand through his hair, letting out a laugh. “Jesus Christ,” he whispered to himself. “Elizabeth, this is incredible. I mean - Thank you. Thank you, wow.” He shook his head. His brain had utterly stopped working. Any thought halted immediately, any hope he had to sound like a well spoken and coherent member of society thrown out the door the moment she said he’d gotten the part. His heartbeat was pounding in his ears.

Elizabeth pulled a packet of papers from a drawer in her desk while she allowed Bucky to have a moment to freak out, finding a pen that worked from the mess that was a drawer she never wanted anyone to venture into. “If you’re willing to accept the role,” she pushed the papers across the surface of the desk so that they were closer to him. “You’re going to need to fill out this mountain of paperwork. By the time you’re done your signature won’t even look real to you,” she joked, setting the pen down on top of the papers. Bucky reached out and picked it up immediately, not wanting to give himself a second to think it was a dream. 

“Once everything has been filed and processed and we make sure all of our I’s are dotted and our T’s are crossed, I’ll call you again to set you up for a meeting with the director.” Elizabeth explained, leaning back against her chair, crossing her arms over her stomach. “You should get the script in the mail sometime this week. It’ll be brought by courier though, so please make sure that you have someone there to sign for it.” 

“I uh, I’m actually in the process of moving right now. Do you - is there any way that I could come by to pick it up?” 

Elizabeth shrugged, “sure. I’ll make a note of that right now and call you when it’s here.” She leaned forward and moved the mouse to her computer, clicking on a few things before rapidly typing on her keyboard. Bucky wondered how she got to be such a fast typer, figuring that it came with the job. 

“I really, I can’t thank you enough,” Bucky started thumbing through the paperwork, eyes skimming over their contents as he signed. “This is honestly going to change my life, and you have no idea how bad I have wanted this. God, thank you, Elizabeth.”

He didn’t look up when she snorted a laugh, “don’t thank me, Bucky.” Elizabeth uncrossed her legs and crossed them again, changing the knee that was on top. “You got yourself the job kid, I just invited you.” 

Bucky smiled despite being distracted by trying to remember his social security number for the paperwork. “You’re wonderful,” he mumbled, sticking his tongue between his teeth to bite on while he concentrated. He had never had to fill out so much information about himself in his life. 

When the packet of paperwork was complete Bucky was convinced he’d developed arthritis. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, though he still managed to make himself feel terrible for feeling like he’d taken too long. Elizabeth took the pen back from him and dropped it into the drawer to be lost again, accepting the paperwork when he pushed it towards her. Elizabeth smiled happily at him, “thank you for getting all of this done for me, Bucky.”

“No, please. Thank you for giving me a job,” Bucky laughed. Elizabeth stood from her chair, Bucky dutifully copying her. She held her hand out to him, giving him a million dollar smile. The two shook hands. 

“Congratulations, Bucky. I look forward to seeing you on the big screen,” Elizabeth winked at him, and Bucky felt a twist in his stomach. The big screen, Bucky repeated to himself within his head, swallowing hard. He couldn’t believe it was official. He was going to be a real actor. 

-

Bucky took the stairs to the second floor two at a time, hand fisted around an envelope. “Babe!” He shouted, clumsily tripping over a box that had been placed beside the staircase. “Fuck,” he grunted, regaining his footing. He took a second to check he hadn’t twisted his ankle before dodging a mover who was coming out of the open door to his new apartment, beaming a smile when he saw (Y/N) standing at the fireplace, trying to clean the mirror above it. “Babe!” He shouted again making her jump in fright. 

(Y/N) turned around, hand on her chest. “You scared the shit out of me,” she laughed, hurrying over to wrap her arms around him in a hug, kissing him softly. “God I didn’t think you’d ever get home you jerk.” She let go of him, noticing the envelope. “What’s that?” She asked, pointing at it. 

Bucky smiled, holding the envelope to his chest. “Well, maybe I won’t tell you, keep you in suspense.” 

(Y/N) laughed, trying to pull the envelope from him. “Bucky!” She whined, laughing in exasperation. Bucky tapped his lips, winking at her when she finally caught on. She leaned up and gave him another kiss. He smiled, letting the envelope go. 

“You are holding my very first paycheck from the movie, babe.” 

(Y/N) pulled the check out of the envelope, her jaw dropping in shock. “Bucky!” She shouted, looking at the amount before looking up at him. “You’re fucking me, right?” She asked, holding the check up.

Bucky laughed, “well not right now. But probably later tonight.” He winked, receiving a smack to the chest for his joke. “Looks like we’re gonna be able to afford this apartment baby.” 

(Y/N) shrieked a laugh, wrapping her arms around his neck, peppering his face with kisses. “Baby, I’m so proud of you.” She whispered against his cheek, knotting her fingers in his hair. “I am so, so proud of you,” she repeated, moving to press her forehead against his. “You’re doing it, baby. You’re making it.”

Bucky held his arms around her tightly, pressing their bodies tighter than should be possible. “I love you,” was all he could manage to say.

~~

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@petlaufeyson​, @lovely-geek​

[get-your-fics]

Violent Delights - Chapter Three

The Rapture Ball

Summary: Bruce Wayne is addicted to a lot of things to distract from his dark urges, but his addiction to you might only increase them.

Pairing: dark!Bruce Wayne x reader

Series warnings: Violence, language, smut, rape/non-con, stalking, kidnapping, underage drinking, drug use, torture, abuse

CHAPTER TWO

Whatever effect you had had on my dreams wore off, because the shadows came for me again. They crept into the corners of my mind and feasted on all my insecurities and worries. I was paralyzed with fear, helpless as they descended and cloaked me in darkness. I could hear the pained groans as his body decayed into ash and dust, see the curved edge of a silver blade glinting in the dim light of candles lining the stone walls.

I woke up alone again, the mattress cold and empty beside me. This time, I had had the decency to shed my blazer and slip off my shoes before I had passed out. I blinked rapidly, the rays of afternoon sunshine streaming through my windows blinding me, and clutched my throbbing head. I slowly sat up, grumbling as I did so, and caught a glimpse of my sorrowful appearance in the mirror hanging above my dresser.

Red veins protruded from the whites of my dark eyes. The skin underneath them was a deep violet and formed dark, shiny circles. My complexion was pallid and ghostly white, and my black tank stuck to my torso from the thin layer of sweat coating my body. My jet-black curls were mussed and stuck out in all directions like I had been tossing and turning all night. Knowing me, I probably had.

I swung my legs over the side of my bed and stood on shaky legs. My whole body felt sore all over, like I was covered in invisible bruises. I trudged out of my bedroom and down the hall slowly like I was moving through molasses. My head was pounding, and every little ray of light that shined in my eyes or creak of the wooden floorboards beneath my feet irritated the dull ache in my brain even more. I felt like a herd of elephants had taken turns smashing my skull to bits with their giant, heavy feet.

When I entered the kitchen, Alfred was standing at the stove. Shit. Just as I was about to back out and retreat to my bedroom, he glanced over his shoulder and spotted me. “Oh. Good morning, Master Bruce.” He looked down at the bulky watch on his wrist. “Or should I say good afternoon.”

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep in any snide remarks that wanted to slip out. “I’m hungry,” I said, my voice still groggy with sleep.

“It’s too bad you didn’t wake up earlier when I was making lunch.” He turned the dial on the gas burning stove, and a low, blue flame flickered to life.

I stumbled over to the island in the middle of the kitchen and slid onto a stool. “Why don’t you do your job and make me something?”

He looked back at me, the wrinkles creasing his skin only accentuating the exhausted expression on his face. “What would you like?”

I massaged my temples. “I don’t care.”

The corners of his lips tugged upwards into a fake smile. “Then you can have tea with me.” He turned on the faucet and held a stainless steel kettle under the stream of water. I tried to stifle a groan and rolled my eyes when his back was turned. “Wayne Enterprises called. They requested your presence at an upcoming board member meeting.”

“Tell them to have it without me.” I dismissed his statement with a wave of my hand.

He turned off the faucet. “I think it would be a good idea if you took a more active role in the company your family owns, Master Bruce.” He placed the kettle on the stove over the flame.

“And if I remember correctly, you’re my butler and not my life coach, Alfred,” I snapped back. “I don’t need you shoving your pieces of advice down my throat.”

He froze for a second, his shoulders visibly tensing. “All right, Master Bruce.” I didn’t miss the sharp edge to his tone.

An uncomfortable silence settled over us, the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. I tapped my fingers against the granite counter top and bounced my leg up and down impatiently. He opened a cabinet and rummaged through the shelves. He grabbed two ceramic mugs, and I winced as he set them down on the counter, the clang sending a wave of pain rolling through me.

My mind was a muddled mess, and I felt like I had to dig through dirt and grime to come up with a coherent thought. The gears in my head were spinning as I remembered I had found out new information about you last night. You had gone to Anders Preparatory Academy with me, Tommy, and Grace, which would explain where I had met you, but I still had no recollection of you there. At least it was a jumping off point, but I had to find you if I wanted to know more.

I looked up at Alfred, and my brain went into overdrive. Could he have any knowledge about you? I knew he would have some questions if I started asking about you, but at this point, I was too desperate to care. “Alfred, do you know anything about a girl named (Y/N) (Y/L/N)?”

He suddenly perked up. “Why, Master Bruce?”

“Just answer the question, Alfred,” I hissed through gritted teeth.

The kettle made a high-pitched, whiny sound as a billow of white steam piped out of its spout. He clicked off the stove. “Her family was an old friend of your parents.” He put tea bags in the mugs. “I believe she attended Anders Prep with you for a short period of time.”

I sat up straight on the stool. “How close were my parents to her family?”

He grabbed the kettle and tipped it, pouring hot water into the two mugs. “Well, they attended all of the same events and fundraisers.” He picked up a mug and set it down in front of me. “There you go, Master Bruce.”

I wrapped my hands around it, the heat emanating from the mug warming my palms. “Do you know where I would be able to find her?”

He leaned back against the counter, mug in hand. “Well, she’d most likely be at the charity ball for the Falcone Home and School for Orphans this weekend.”

I furrowed my thick brows. “Why would she be there?”

“Because she donated over five million dollars to them.”

My jaw dropped. So you were a humanitarian. That didn’t exactly blend well with the club kid image you had given off the other night. You were starting to make me question more and more your intentions for coming into my club. “Where’d she get her money from?”

“From her family, of course.” He took a sip from his mug. “They own one of the largest corporations in Gotham. They used to collaborate with Wayne Enterprises back when your parents were alive.”

I crossed my arms and leaned my elbows on the island. “Does she own the company now?”

He shook his head. “I think she acts as the chairman for the fundraising department.” He looked down at the untouched mug in my hands. “Aren’t you going to drink, Master Bruce?”

I lowered my gaze to the mug. I could see my reflection in the surface of the hot, brown liquid, and tendrils of steam drifted into the air. “Nah, I’m not thirsty anymore.” I pushed the mug away, the tea nearly sloshing over the rim.

He sighed, the corners of his lips twisting into a deep set frown. “I don’t know what you want with Miss (Y/L/N), Master Bruce, but she’s a good person. You could learn a thing or two from her.”

I narrowed my eyes at him and let his underhanded comment roll off my back. “Right.” I stood up, the legs of the stool scraping against the wooden floor as I did so. “I’m going back to sleep. Don’t bother me.”

“Yes, Master Bruce.” He gave me a curt bow.

I departed from the room, and a few days later, I found myself standing in the ballroom of the Falcone Mansion dressed in an uncomfortable tuxedo. The black bowtie around my neck felt like it was strangling me, and I felt confined in the tight, restraining pants. I was starting to sweat underneath the warm yellow light coming from the chandelier hanging above, and even though there was no one within a four foot radius of me, I still felt impossibly hot. I was more out of place here than I ever was in the Towers. The things I did for you.

My shiny, dress shoes clicked as I walked across the polished, wood floors. Rich, highfalutin aristocrats holding flutes of champagne and speaking with nasal voices turned their heads and looked down their upturned noses at me as I passed them, but I had expected to get that reaction when I came here. No doubt word of my late night activities had spread to the upper classes of Gotham. I guess it was probably a shock to see me back here, walking amongst the people who used to be friends with my parents and laugh with them at benefits much like this.

But I only had one reason for coming here tonight, and that was to find you. About an hour into the event, I finally spotted you climbing the grand, marble staircase leading towards the second floor of the ballroom. I immediately rushed towards you, taking in your appearance. You were wearing a knee-length dress and low heels. Your hair was slicked back into an elegant updo, and sparkling diamonds that probably cost more than most people’s mortgages hung from your ears and laid flat against your collarbone. You looked nothing like the girl I had met at the club a couple of nights ago, and I wouldn’t have even recognized you if your face hadn’t been burned into my memory.

You stopped on the landing, and I paused at the bottom of the staircase, staring up at you. From here, I could admire the outline of your form and the way the warm glow perfectly highlighted your features. My feet pounded against the marble as I dashed up the stairs. I couldn’t help the blissful smile that came over my face as I snuck up behind you as I had the night that we met.

“Found you, gorgeous.”

You whirled around at the sound of my voice and stared at me with wide eyes. When you realized who I was, your body relaxed, and a small smile graced your features. “Bruce,” you breathed out, crossing your arms over your chest, “I’m guessing this means you remember how you know me now?”

“Not exactly.” I stepped closer to you, my lips curling into a lopsided smirk. “I know that you went to Anders Prep with me for a while.”

“That’s true,” you pursed your lips and gave a short nod of your head, “but that’s not all. Do you remember anything that happened while you were there? Anything involving us?” I furrowed my thick brows and bit the inside of my cheek. I still had no memories of you there, let alone of us together. “No, but I’ll remember eventually, gorgeous. You’re a very hard face to forget.”

You laughed slightly, the sound reverberating off of the vaulted walls. “It would seem the opposite.”

“Why aren’t you down there with the rest of the guests?” I gestured to the people milling about below us.

You quirked a brow. “Why aren’t you?”

“I was searching for someone,” I was close enough to you now that I only had to lean down a little to kiss you, “but it seems that I found her.”

Your lips parted slightly as you stared at me, and I could feel the comforting warmth radiating from your body. “I needed a break.” You took a step back, and my lips twitched into a small frown. “It can get pretty overwhelming down there.”

“Why bother coming then?” I asked with a slight chuckle.

“Because I’m the one who has to convince people why they should give a shit about the less fortunate.”

I nodded slowly. “You gave a lot of money to the Falcone Home and School for Orphans.” I squinted my dark eyes at you. “Why?”

You turned your head to look down at the ballroom. The sounds of laughter and music filled the air. “This particular cause means a lot to me.” Your eyes glistened, the dim light casting shadows across your face. “I’m an orphan.”

I raised my brows. I wasn’t expecting that. “Me too, but I’m sure you already knew that.” I laughed it off and looked down at my shoes. “May I ask what happened to your parents?”

“They died of natural causes.” You took your bottom lip between your teeth.

I shoved my hands in the pockets of my pants as a silence settled over us. I broke it when I cleared my throat. “Why don’t we rejoin the party?” I suggested. “Maybe a glass of champagne?”

You scoffed. “You won’t be able to get a drink here. They don’t serve minors.”

I smirked at you. “Gorgeous, I’m Bruce Wayne.” I lifted a hand and caressed your cheek. “I have ways of getting what I want.”

You stared up at me in shock. Just as I was about to close the distance between our lips, a voice came over the speakers. “Hello, everyone. Thanks for coming out here tonight.”

We snapped our heads to see Sofia Falcone standing on the small stage across the ballroom from us. She was wearing a designer dress, and her long, black hair was sleek and shiny. She had a small smile on her scarlet lips and held a microphone in her polished hands. Even from all the way across the room, her lilted voice was still booming.

“I really appreciate everything all of you have done for the Falcone Home and School for Orphans, especially considering what happened at the fundraising dinner not too long ago...” she trailed off, but quickly regained her composure. “Anyway, I know you came here to enjoy yourselves, so here tonight to play for you is the Gotham City Orchestra.”

My gaze shifted to the right of the stage where an orchestra was set up as applause rang out. The conductor tapped his baton twice on his music stand to gain the players’ attention before the orchestra struck up their instruments and began to play. The center of the ballroom was cleared, and a few couples meandered out to the middle of the dance floor. They grabbed each other and started to waltz to the tune the orchestra was playing.

My smirk widened to a grin. “May I have this dance?” I extended a hand out to you.

“I don’t know...” You gave me a sheepish smile and rubbed the back of your neck. “I’m not much of a dancer.”

I dropped my arm to my side, lifting a brow. “You seemed like one at the Towers the other night.”

“You better not let anyone hear you say things like that. Unlike you, I care about my reputation.” The corners of your lips tugged upwards into a teasing smile. “And I think you’ll agree that the type of dancing that goes on at the Towers is considerably easier.”

“And considerably more fun, too.” I sent you a wink, and I didn’t miss the blush that crept its way up your cheeks. “But let’s not waste the opportunity, shall we?” I held out my hand to you again.

This time, you slipped your palm into mine. I hadn’t realized I had missed the feeling of your smooth velvet skin against mine until I had your hand in my grasp again. I led you down the stairs and onto the dance floor. I brought you to the middle of the floor, couples twirling around us, and pulled you to face me. I raised our intertwined fingers and gently placed my free hand on your waist.

“Put your hand on my shoulder,” I instructed, and you rested your hand on my shoulder. Your touch was soft and delicate. “Now, just follow me; I’ll lead. Move to your left.” I stepped to the right, and you stared down at your feet as you copied my movements. “Then, I’ll move back, and you’ll move forward.” I stepped back at the same time you stepped forward. “Now, to the right.” We moved in tandem to my left. “And then back to where we started.” You took a step back, and we landed in the same place we began. You looked up from your feet and flashed me a bright smile. “See? Not so hard, is it?”

You shook your head, and we started dancing again. At first, we only moved in a square, but as you grew more relaxed, we started to twirl around the dance floor in a wide circle with the rest of the couples. Every now and then, I twirled you under my arm, causing you to laugh with a certain reckless abandon. You had a careless smile on your face, and it filled me with a peculiar sense of glee. It was innocent and pure, something I hadn’t felt in a while.

Everything was going smoothly until I felt your heel dig into my foot. “Ow!” I yelped and let go of you to cradle my injured foot in my hands.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” You covered your mouth with your hand and put your other one on my arm. I felt sparks ignite inside of me at the simple touch. “I told you I wasn’t much of a dancer.”

My lips twitched into a weak smile. “That’s all right.” I dropped my foot and smoothed out the fabric of my tuxedo jacket with my hands. “You were doing pretty good up until then.” I reached my hand out towards you. “Now, where were we?”

Just as the words left my lips, the music stopped. Couples parted from each other and gave the orchestra a round of polite applause. You frowned, and it made me happy to know that you had enjoyed our dance that much. I took your hand and led you off of the dance floor, doing my best not to limp from you stepping on my foot.

“Thank you for the dance,” you said and stepped away from me.

“Of course. I’m sorry to have kept you from schmoozing with high society for so long.” My tone dripped with sarcasm.

“That’s okay. I’ve donated enough for everyone here, haven’t I?” You laughed, light and airy. “It’s getting late. I should probably head home.”

I grabbed your hand before you could slip away again. “Have dinner with me tomorrow night.” I tried to sound casual and nonchalant, but in reality, I was desperate. “I can pick you up from your place around six. I’ll take you somewhere real fancy, somewhere deserving enough of your reputation,” I taunted.

You blinked. “That’s very sweet of you, Bruce, but I already have plans tomorrow.”

My heart sunk in my chest. You already had plans? What did that mean? I was hoping it was some sort of business meeting, but I couldn’t help but think you were going out with some other guy. “That’s all right.” I forced my lips up into a smile and pushed all hostility out of my tone.

“I had a really nice time with you tonight, Bruce.” You folded your hands and clasped them in front of you. “Goodbye.”

You gave me one last glance before you walked away. “Bye, gorgeous!” I called after you, disregarding the nasty looks thrown my way. “I’ll see you soon!”

A waiter passed me, and I grabbed his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. I lifted a flute of champagne off of the silver tray he was holding. His eyes bugged out as he watched me sip the bubbly, golden liquid. “Excuse me, sir, but can I see some ID?” he asked, his voice shaky.

I gulped down a mouthful of champagne. “I’m Bruce Wayne,” I grumbled. “What more do you need?”

I couldn’t believe you had rejected me. Me, Bruce Wayne, of all people? Who did you think you were? But, I couldn’t be mad at you. I found it impossible. Whoever you were seeing tomorrow clearly had you under his spell, leaving you too blind to see that I was better than whatever joe shmoe you were spending your time with instead of me.

I have played the nice guy for too long. I’ve been smiling and sweet, polite and gracious every time you spurned me or disrespected me, but I couldn’t do it anymore. It wasn’t working. I wasn’t any closer to having you than when I started.

It was time for me to get my hands dirty.

CHAPTER FOUR

[chewie-redbird]

Unwilling Accomplice (Mitch Rapp AU Smut)* completed

Author : chewie-redbird

Word Count : 8,304

Summary : Mitch is sent to take out Aleksandra, the leader of Red Claw, a international smuggling organization. When Mitch gets to the Ruby Tiger in Sofia, Bulgaria, Aleksandra’s base of operations. He unwillingly ends up as Y/N’s accomplice to get to Alexandra and her laptop. As it’s Y/N’s job to retrieve something very special that was taken from a client.

Characters : Mitch Rapp, reader, OC villain, Stan Hurley, Irene Kennedy, Olivia Pope, Quinn Perkins, Huck (mentioned), OC organization, the C.I.A. (mentioned), Orion Team (mentioned) and Pope & Associates

*A/N : OMG I’m so sorry it took a little longer then expected, I kinda got carried away with it. But I hope y’all love it and please leave a comment about what y’all liked or didn’t like! Sorry about spelling, I try to catch them but some might of slipped by! I had a dream about this scenario and I just expanded on it, been writing it for a while, one of the few stories I'm working on. I love to come up with stories and backgrounds and characters, but have a bad habit of losing enthusiasm to continue writing. I apologize in advance, I'm trying to get over this writer's block issue thingy. Also added Olivia Pope and her people because I love….LOVE the TV show Scandal and I made her apart of the reader’s background. I still haven’t finished the series yet cause I don’t want to watch Olivia Pope go! So if there’s inconsistencies….sorry but this is an AU where Olivia and Mitch are in the same universe. Also there's a shout out to the amazing TV show The O.C.! And the beautiful Rachel Bilson’s wonderful character Summer Roberts from the show! 

Y/N's POV

As your car pulls up to the front of the club, hearing the muffled beat of the music playing inside. Your driver comes around and holds out his hand for you to take as he opens your door. You step outside with your Eloise Almond Toe Louboutin Bootie clacking onto the pavement. The pin-thin stiletto heel on the almond-toe bootie made from plush red suede and finished with that iconic red sole stands out amongst the night. As you stepped out, your famous red Paris Lace Body-Con Dress by Bardot shines under the street lights. Your bandana red and gold, glazed calfskin Small Kate Chain Crossbody Bag, featuring a gilded pull-through chain strap and interlocking logo by Saint Laurent dangles beside you. As you walk up to the bouncer, you pull out a black plastic card, with just three red claw marks on it. He runs it through a machine and it beeps and glows green, he moves aside as you strut by entering the club.

As you enter the club surveying the place,

“I’m in” you say seemingly to yourself,

“See anyone we know?” a woman’s voice comes through your earpiece,

“Just the usual for an exclusively expensive international club, mid-level goons for multiple criminal organizations, some kids of ambassadors, senators and prime ministers. Hell even some royals are partying up with some upper classers and b-list movie stars. Besides that not really anyone worth mentioning” you smile at some hot guy who walks past you as you make your way into the dancefloor,

“Ok, now what about the target? Do you see her?” another woman’s voice comes through, commanding even over the earpiece,

“She’s not on the…..what a minute…..yes. She’s in her office overlooking the dancefloor like the blueplans show” you state making your way into the middle of the dancefloor swaying to the music blending in perfectly,

“Good, we need to get her laptop Y/N, it has the information we need, you know what happens if this fails” the woman with the commanding voice states,

“Yes boss lady, I know what's at stake, I won’t fail…..” you reply but your voice dies down when you see him.

Mitch’s POV

As he enters the club, the Ruby Tiger, the base of operations for the Red Claw. An international smuggling organization run by a Russian woman named Aleksandra. She smuggles anything and everything as long as she makes a profit from it. She has been a thorn in the sides of multiple law enforcement agencies across the globe. But she’s become such a threat now that the C.I.A. has decided it’s time to end this organization.

Aleksandra hasn’t been caught or arrested as she invokes loyalty from her workers. She actually takes care of those who work for her, even going as to help fund their families; even for those who are arrested or killed in action. If she didn’t give weapons to terrorists, help cartels ship their drugs or smuggle kidnapped victims. Irene had chosen him for the job, sending himself and Stan on standby, making it his twenty-fifth mission.

As he makes his way to the bar, he feels weird like someone is watching him, but as he looks around he can’t figure out where it’s coming from. He orders a drink, turning to lean against the bar looking up at Aleksandra’s office with a cold stare. He quickly looks out to the dancefloor, feeling that same feeling like someone is watching him. With all his skills, he still can’t pinpoint where this feeling is coming from much to his annoyance. But finally giving up, he looks back up to see Aleksandra standing, watching over everyone. He ended up catching Aleksandra’s stare, holding it for a while before she turned away.

Y/N’s POV

As you shake and shimmy to the beat of the music, you continuously keep stealing glances at him, Mitch Rapp. You’ve heard from the grapevine that Stan Hurley’s new protégé was said to rival the likes of even you.

“Y/N, what is it?” the boss lady tone asks,

“Oh just that Hurley’s new puppy just walked in and is at the bar as we speak” you reply nonchalantly,

“Hurley? As in your old boss?” the other woman asks,

“Yes, and by the way his new protégé is watching Aleksandra’s office must mean he isn’t here for a party” you say as you continue dancing,

“Mitch Rapp could be useful or a pain if he gets to her first” the boss lady comments,

“Well he’s not gonna be an issue cause he’s about to be caught” you say smiling to yourself,

“What do you mean? And are you smiling?” the boss lady asks,

“He just had a staring contest with Aleksandra and now some of her men are walking around to see if they need to take him away. And yes I am smiling cause I wouldn’t have gotten caught watching my target. Much like how I'm annoying him as he was looking around earlier looking for the source of his hibby jibbies.” you say smiling still,

“Should I help him out or not?” you ask as you slow down your dancing,

“Mhmm” boss lady says,

“Boss lady, we are losing time” you say moving towards the bar,

“I’m thinking” boss lady replies,

“Think faster cause he’s a lost cause in twenty seconds” you state as slow down looking at your phone quickly,

“Do it, save him!” boss lady orders as you move to get to Mitch.

Mitch’s POV

“Babe! There you are! I was wondering when you’d get here!” he hears this silky voice drag him out of his thoughts.

Looking at where the voice came from when his jaw dropped, seeing this beautiful woman with dark brown curly hair that’s shoulder length. A simple golden A shined brightly on a gold chain, hanging just above her breasts. Her smile illuminated by her bright red lips that made them look plump and so kissable. She put her hands on his chest, her perfectly manicured red nails shined as well as her ruby Classic Square Halo Ring by Lafonn.

“Wha…..” he was about to ask confused as hell,

“If you don’t play along, you’ll be marked, dumbass” this woman whispers to him as she pushes her body flat against him running her hands down his chest.

He just nodded his head as he didn’t trust his voice right at the moment. She smiled and kissed him, being in shock he seen the two men walk by saying he’s just some boyfriend. As soon as they left he went to kiss back but she pulled away, smirking. He looked at her in confusion, wondering why she helped him and who she was.

She giggled as she pulled him onto the dancefloor, swaying to the music pulling him close to her body. He danced with her, wondering why he felt so drawn to her given they just met. He danced with this mysterious woman for a few minutes before he can trust his voice,

“Who are you?” he whispered into her ear as she spun around and pulled him against her back holding his hands onto her stomach,

“Someone who just saved your ass. You know Stan is gonna chew your ear off for almost getting caught” Y/N told him smiling,

“How do you know Hurley? How do you know who I am?” he asked confused, she just smiled,

“You never did your homework did you?” the woman turns around holding him close to her still dancing,

“Someone who’s better than you are” she smirked at him then her attention was elsewhere.

Y/N's POV

“Y/N, pay attention, it’s time to introduce yourself to Aleksandra” boss lady tells you,

“Ugh fine” you say a little irritated,

“Fine what?” Mitch asks you with that adorable confused look you seen earlier,

“I got to go to work, Mr. Rapp” you tell him then give him a kiss that he returns which ignites a fire in you but you leave him on the dance floor anyways.

You strut away shaking your ass a little more than necessary, as you make your way off the dancefloor. After you knew you lost Mitch’s sight, you made your way to thug near the bottom of the stairs.

“How do you want me to go about this?” you ask the boss lady,

“You could say…..” the other woman was gonna say something but was cut off,

“Use Mitch” the boss lady coldly replies,

“What?!” you reply,

“Use him to get to Aleksandra, tell her he’s there to kill her and when she brings him to her, use him to get to the laptop” the boss lady states,

“......okay, it’ll get done” you reply with a hint of reluctance,

“Don’t fail, or else we will lose our chance to help our client reunite with their precious” boss lady tells you,

“I know, I’ll do it” you reply.

As you got to the thug, he just looked at you through his black shades,

“I have some information for the boss lady” you say simply as he listens to his earpiece, then he motions for you to head up.

You walk up the stairs, wait outside double doors that read “Office of Aleksandra” in blood red cursive letters.

The doors open and you walk in, seeing a beautiful office decorated in wine reds, midnight blacks with a dash of silver. A couple of thugs stand on either side of the way from the door to the desk. A big red chair spun around revealing the golden brown, golden hazel eyed Russian. Her red lips turned up into an smirk that sent shivers down your spine. She tapped her perfectly manicured gold nails on her desk as she leaned forward. Her black Lace Fit & Flare Cocktail Dress by Eliza J shown off her gold Aleksandra on her gold chain.

“Итак, я слышал, у вас есть информация для меня. Теперь скажи мне, почему я должен слушать тебя, а не убивать или выбрасывать? (So, I hear you have some information for me. Now tell me why I should listen to you and not kill you or throw you out?)” Aleksandra asked you as her Russian accent comes out perfectly,

“Я знаю, что кто-то здесь, чтобы убить тебя (I know someone is here to kill you)” you say nonchalantly in perfect Russian which surprises Aleksandra and makes her slightly smile,

“But if you don’t want to hear what I have to say, I can take a hint” you turn around walking out,

“Wait! You speak as if you’re from mother Russia but your skin says otherwise” Aleksandra says making you smile as you turn back to her,

“I spent some time in Новосибирск (Novosibirsk)” you tell her,

“Come, tell me what you know” she says,

“There is an operative of the C.I.A. here to kill you, and not just any operative. A member to the Orion team” you tell her as you move closer to her desk as she thinks over your words,

“Who?” Aleksandra asks as her eyebrow raised,

“Mitch Rapp, that guy who was eyeing you earlier and who I was dancing with” you continue saying nonchalantly,

“Now why are you giving up your dance partner?” Aleksandra asks eye brow still raised,

“I want something in return, like a good business woman you are, you know no good deed is done without something in return” you say to her as she watches you carefully, she laughs,

“Ha, alright, in return for bring to light this bump in the road, I’ll grant you something in return. Now, go, fetch” Aleksandra tells you and then waves her hands at her thugs who began to walk out,

“No wait!” you say a little too loudly as she watches you carefully to explain yourself,

“You have a bar full of people, someone with Mitch’s calibur will surely cause a mess if you send your thugs right now. Let me disarm him and then bring your boys to grab him” you explain rather quickly, surprising yourself with that fast reason, she nodded her head yes as you smile,

“Besides, never send a man to do a woman’s job” you say over your shoulder as you turn and strut out hearing her laugh.

Mitch’s POV

“Ugh fine” she says a little irritated making him pay attention to her again and not looking up at Aleksandra’s office,

“Fine what?” he asks you confused as he didn’t say anything,

“I got to go to work, Mr. Rapp” she tell him then gives him a kiss that he returns which ignites a fire in himself but she leave him on the dance floor.

She struts away shaking her ass making him groan, as she make her way off the dancefloor. After he lost sight of you, he headed back to the bar for a drink. His cell began to vibrate in his pants, he pulls it out to answer it,

“Hey, I’m in position if you need back up which you shouldn’t” Hurley’s voice comes throw the line,

“Thanks for the support…..” he debates on telling him about the woman he just ran into as he took a drink,

“What is it Rapp?” Hurley asks already knowing he wanted to say something,

“There’s a woman here who knows me and you. She says I haven’t done my homework obviously and she is better than me” he replies after a minute of silence,

“What?! What woman?! What does she look like?!” Hurley sounds worried for a moment,

“Uh she’s about 25, (Y/H), (Y/H/C), (Y/E/C), body to die for, voice of an angel, seems trained well and has a confident flirty attitude” he lists off everything he noted while with the mystery woman,

“Mmmm” Hurley thinks,

“Does she sound like someone you know?” he asks his mentor,

“Sorta, but I’m not sure….” Hurley was saying but is interrupted,

“Mitch!” that voice comes floating to him as he turns to she her strut over to him smiling,

“Mitch? Is that her?” Hurley asks,

“Yes” he replies as she gets to him and kisses him,

“Mitch that’s…..!!!!” Hurley starts to say but he shuts his cell phone off to kiss her, which deepens,

“Not hear” she whispers after pulling back for air, she looks around and smiles then pulls him towards the bathroom near the stairway that leads to Aleksandra’s office. He makes a note about the stairs and the thug standing by the bottom for later.

She pulls him passing the thug at the bottom of the stairway, he is pulled into the bathroom and slammed against the door. She kisses him as she locks the washroom, her hands going back to roam his body sending shivers down his spine. She starts to push his shirt up, he leans back as he lifts the shirt off his head and drops it on the ground.

She stands back a little to admire his physique, her hands roaming his chest as her mouths fallows. Kissing all over his chest, feeling his muscles tense and relax under her touch. She kisses his nipples, hearing him release a small moan and see him twitch a little. Her hands roaming down his chest, playing with his hairs on his chest slowly following the trail down to his pants.

He hadn’t been with anyone. Not since Katrina. Yeah, he knows it’s crazy. But something about this woman brought out this part of him. He never even thought he could feel for another woman like this. Yeah he knows it’s unimaginable to be like this, he just met this mystery woman. But she has captured his heart like Katrina did so long ago. He can’t explain it but he feels like his heart beat finally after Katrina died.

(Y/N)’s POV

You continue to kiss your way down as your hands unbuckle his belt, unbutton his jeans, pulling the zipper down as you kiss his defined abs. You look up throw your lashes as he moans slightly, as you throw his gun to the left. He looks down as you pull his pants and boxers down. Your gaze goes back to your destination, as you kneel in front of him, his cock springs out and hits his stomach. You remove his knife attached to his right ankle and throw it with his gun without him noticing. Your mouth waters as it twitches with need to be touched, your hand slowly moves to grab it lightly, making him groan.

His head flies back to hit the door as your tongue licks the precum off his cock, making him release a small moan. He threads his hands through your silky hair, as your mouth envelopes his cock, you start to bob your head and your hand begins to rub what couldn’t fit. You felt so good, he couldn’t stop his moans from flying out his mouth, biting his lip trying to stop them. He looks down at you as you look up at him through your lashes, he groans,

“God, baby, you feel so good” he tells you, you hum in acknowledgement which sent a shiver through him, he could feel his stomach tighten,

“Baby I’m close” he states, closing his eyes, as he feels slightly bad but you uess he hadn’t been with anyone since Katrina. Yeah, you knows it’s insane to feel so connected to him. But something about this man brought out this part of you, a part you shut off since you lost your parents. You never even thought you could feel this love for another person. Yeah you know it’s unexpected that he brightens your world. You just met this man, this complete stranger. But he has captured your heart like nobody else. You can’t explain it but you feel like your heart beats finally alive.

You hum and remove your hands and take him in your mouth fully surprising him,

“Holy shit” he says in shock at the feeling of hitting the back of your throat, he can feel his toes curling in his shoes.

Your free hand moves up his chest as you bob your head almost releasing him and then back down to bury your nose in his curly hairs at the base. You continue your movements while your free hand moves up to his nipple, something he was too occupied to realize. As soon as you played with his sensitive nipple he released a throaty moan and his cock twitched. You stopped your moving, focusing on sucking as you milked him for every last drop of his sweet nectar.

He was panting heavily, as you stood back up smiliming,

“So are you gonna help me out of this dress or what?” you say with a seductive voice over your shoulder as you turn around with your back facing him,

“Absolutely” he states, kicking off his shoes, pants and boxers, he walked up to you as he slipped the zipper down, pushing the dress off your shoulder as he kissed your newly exposed skin.

As your dress pooled around your heels, you stepped out of it, turning around to look at him. He kissed you passionately, making you moan as your bodies hugged close to each other. His hands slid down your back and squeezed your ass, yours scratching down his back leaving red marks. He lifted you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he brought you to the sink, placing you down. He began to kiss down your neck, leaving love bites in his wake, making his way to your chest. He admired and a little bit of shocked that you hadn’t been wearing any underwear,

“It’s too uncomfortable too with that dress” you state as if you read his mind, he just nodded and continued his assault on your chest, making you moan as he kissed around your breasts. You whimpered as he was not kissing where you wanted him to be, so you threaded your fingers in his hair and pushed him against you breasts. He took the hint and enveloped your nipple in his mouth, kissing as much skin and licking your hardened nipple tugging with his teeth as he pulled back. You moaned louder as he switched breasts, using his free hands to palm and play with the other breast.

He smirked at your sounds, which was music to his ears and made his cock start to harden again. He eventually started to kiss down your stomach, along your hips, your inner thighs and licking your skin as he went. You whimpered again, not feeling him at your core, his magical tongue working to push you over the edge into bliss.

“Mitch, don’t tease” you pleaded as he smirked at your request, he did as he was told, he slowly licked your pussy up to your bundle of nerves making you squirm. He kept you still with one of his hands on your hips as the other went to open you up for his tongue, your sweet nectar dripping out. He kept diving his tongue deeper as your moans got louder, he slowly begin to slip his middle finger into you and turning it so it hit your sweet spot. You moaned loudly at that backing up to his finger, your pussy trying clench around his finger.

You can feel his smirk as he continues to eat you out, making you become a moaning mess. He adds another finger, constantly hitting your sweet spot and biting at your nub making you moan louder. He adds another finger and turns his fingers to hit spots you never felt touched before causing you to whimper.

“M-M-Mitch, I’m close” you stutter under the waves of pleasure coarse through you as he hums in acknowledgment, sending another wave through you. He looks up at you smiling, seeing your eyes close in bliss, moans never ending leave your mouth.

“Do it baby, come for me” his words while his fingers picking up pace bring you to the edge and his mouth sucking on your bundle of nerves and lightly bite you again sends you over the edge. You scream in pleasure as he continues to lap at your juices flowing down your thighs. He helps you ride out your high, not stopping his licking of you slurping up as much as he can. He doesn’t stop his assault until you whimper and try to push his head away. He stops and stands licking his fingers clean, you finally peak at him as he patiently waits for you to recover.

“You taste so sweet babe” he tells you as you pull him into a kiss, but not like before this one is sweet, slow and full of emotion. Your hands glide over his chest as his slide up your sides. You reach down to line him up, his hands on your hips,

“Do we need um….” he began to ask,

“No, I’m on the pill and I wanna feel you” you say pulling him closer by his shoulders as he pushes in you. You bite onto his shoulder to wwkeep from screaming, nails leaving red marks down his back as he fills to the hilt. He stays still to allow you to adjust, groaning as he feels how tight you are, kissing your neck. You finally nod to signal him to move, almost gonna say something when he pulls out almost completely to slam back in. Your scream at the movements only egging him on to continue, his hands on your hips leaving bruises.

He keeps rotating from fast and powerful thrusts to slow and meaningful pushes causing you to feel light headed. Darkness appears around your vision, your face contorted in pleasure. He brings your ankles up to his shoulders changing the angle and depth of him in you. You went to scream but nothing came out, voice stuck in your throat, head leaning back against the mirror. He brings his hand to rub your bundle of nerves for added pleasure, this time you release a moan.

You feel the coil tightening, your vision blurring and moans turning to screams. He kept his rhythm going, you feel his other bring your head to his in a heated kiss. He kissed down your neck, finding your pulse point and biting it, the coil tightened and snapped. You screamed in pleasure as your walls clenched around him, nails clawing at his back and head resting on the mirror. Afterwards your orgasm spurred his own on, your walls milking him off every drop he had. He helped you ride them out, stopping only when you tried to push him away feeling very sensitive. He helped you down off the sink on wobbly legs, keeping a hand on your waist to keep you up.

“Wow, that was….” you began when you looked up at him, his taller stature towering over you,

“What makes you think we are done? Unless you wanna stop?” he smirks at you while you gulp, but as he turns you around and pushes you down onto the counter you don’t stop him.

He comes up behind you, spreading your legs, lining up to you again as he rubs your back. He pushes in, you both groan in unison as slowly thrusts into you. He continues this agonizingly slow pace, making you whimper for more,

“You’re going to slow” you tease, smiling knowing he would respond,

“Your teasing me for more huh? Well baby, too bad, deal with it” he states as he continues with his slow movements.

He leaves kisses on your back, marking every inch he can with his mouth, rubbing the bruises on your hips. Your back arches off the counter as your coil tightens again, shocking you completely. He pulls your chest against his, moving his hand to your breast to palm it and kiss you again. You moan into him, his mouth leaving love bites on the other side of your neck leaving no part of you untouched.

The angle he has is now pushing you to your third release tonight, something you didn’t know you could do. Your guys heavy panting the only noise in the washroom, his lips leaving wet kisses down your neck and on your shoulders. One hand playing with one of your breasts while the other went to your bundle of nerves. The overall sensations skyrocketing you to your orgasm,

“I’m close” is all you can mutter,

“Same here babe” he grunts out going faster somehow which with one last thrust.

You scream his name, surely people outside know what is happening in here if they didn’t know already. You kiss him and he kisses back and the emotions spill out of you both. None of you question this sudden wave of emotions in you, just enjoying it while it's there. You see stars explode in your eyes and body becomes boneless as waves crash through you. They only thing keeping you up is him, but his legs are wobbling a little now after he came too after you clenched around him. You feel your mixed juices sliding down your legs, he leaves kisses on your neck. He pulls out and let's you lean against the counter as he stumbles backwards and leans on the wall.

As you finally recover enough, you smile at him and wobbly walk to your dress. You slip it on again, turning back to him, asking,

“Mind zipping it on?” you ask, voice shaky still, he just nods and does so.

You walk over to the corner, bending down to pick up his weapons and your purse he somehow missed you dropping. You place the weapons inside while he is still recovering, looking at the bite mark on his shoulder from earlier.

“Damn babe, you didn’t have to bite so hard” he says,

“I’m sorry, Mitch, but you better dress now” you say not looking at him, he finally turns to you but he sees the door open and thugs with guns walk in.

Mitch’s POV

He looks at her but she never make eye contact, leaving the washroom as he realizes he is weaponless. He is completely speechless, not understanding why she did this to him. He knows she felt what he felt and it’s confuses him to now end as to why. After redressing, they escort him to the office, as he is pushed in, he sees her talking with her, Aleksandra.

“Ah, this must be Mitch. He is much better good looking up close then from up here. Greetings Mr. Rapp, I’m…” the Russian says with a smile that sent shivers down his spine,

“I know who you are” he states codly not taken his eyes off (Y/N), who continues to ignore him.

Aleksandra sees this and smiles even more,

“Right, the whole you’re sent to kill me thing. Can we not do that? It’s bad for business if I’m dead” Aleksandra says nonchalantly,

“Why did you do this? I wanna know” he states towards her, Aleksandra looks over to her too,

“Ah, you didn’t tell him. See she wants something from me, so she traded you for a favor from me” Aleksandra smiles looking back and forth at them, as he tears up and she shutters and looks down at her feet.

“Oh this is too good” Aleksandra laughs making them both look at her,

“Two lovers on opposite sides. Pit against each other. How medieval and Shakespeare-ing” Aleksandra says while still laughing,

“What!?! I don’t love him!?!” she quickly defends herself, waving her arm at him, while the other went to rest on her hip.

“Prove it then” Aleksandra’s Russian accent came out more as she reached for a drawer and pulling put a blade and sliding it to her.

She looked at the metallic blade and then back at Aleksandra, but she reached for the blade and turned towards him. Aleksandra smiled evilly, as she walked over to me, she lean against me and whispered,

“Jump in when you know too” as she stabbed my gut making me groan, missing every important thing as she turned back to Aleksandra who accepted it,

“Well, then, unexpected, so what is it you want in return?” Aleksandra asked her missing the blade was still in me, I was confused as to what she meant,

“Well, I need the location of someone you transported recently” she asked while I caught her venom in her word and by Aleksandra’s look, so has the Russian,

“I’m sorry, all information on paid jobs are sealed and non-optional sweetheart” Aleksandra stated, as she sees the look in her eyes,

“Ah, I see, someone close to you had been, transported, and it left a bad taste in your mouth” Aleksandra says even though it sounds like a question making her hand twitch and clenched into a fist,

“Well darling, I completely forgot to ask for your name, who are you?” Aleksandra asks standing up laying her hands on her desk as (Y/N) stands her ground,

“I’m known by many names, but you can call me черная вдова! (the Black Widow!)” (Y/N)’s Russian perfect as Aleksandra’s smile faded and she her hand twitches while my smile grew as I finally remeber her now.

Aleksandra looks at me, her eyes going to the blade still in my side, she looks back at (Y/N), and realizes she fucked up.

“Kill them!” Aleksandra orders as she reaches for her laptop on her desk but (Y/N) reaches out and pulls Aleksandra’s golden hair slamming her face onto the desk.

I pull out the blade, groan and used it slash the thug’s arm on my left making him drop his pistol, (Y/N) spins around a thugs’ neck as he tried to grab her and using the momentum to push him onto the ground with her knees on his back. I tackled the thug that was on my right and use the blade to stab his throat like Hurley taught me. Picking up his pistol, I quickly dispatched the two thugs behind Aleksandra who were about to shoot (Y/N). She went after Aleksandra who tried to use a secret hallway to escape while I dealt with more thugs coming in.

(Y/N)’s POV

Aleksandra tried to run but bitch wasn’t getting away from me, I still needed her to access her laptop back in the office. We ran up this stairway, I finally tackle her before a rooftop access door. We wrestle around, punching, clawing, slapping, kicking until she lands a punch on my jaw. It dazes me as she gets up and runs towards the door she opens it. She is about to walk through the open door when a trash can comes outta nowhere and hits her. I get up holding my jaw as I feel a bruise coming, I look up defensively when a person shows. The sun is hiding the man but I relax as the person comes in and is Stan Hurley himself.

“Oh it’s you, was wondering when you were gonna show” you say looking at the unconscious Russian,

“How you been (Y/L/N)?” Hurley asks looking at her too,

“Fucking bitch got lucky and socked me good, besides that I’m great” you reply glaring at the woman.

He just laughed, picked her up and you both walked down the stairs, when you entered the office, you both almost got shot!

“Wow! Chill! It’s us!” you scream at Mitch while ducking down,

“Oh. Hurley?” Mitch asks as the man came in with the unconscious Russian on his shoulder,

“Yeah you dumbass” Hurley put the Russian on her chair, during her hands together and to the desk so she couldn’t move,

“So I see you to met. Intimately I might add” Hurley says looking between you two, making you blush a little,

“How’d…” you asked before he gave you that dad stare,

“Cause last time I seen him he didn’t have hickeys all over his neck and seeing as you are covered also. Doesn’t take a genius” Hurley tells you making you look down at your shoes,

“Yeah, she did that in order to disarm me!” Mitch complains, I just send him a glare,

“Yeah, cause your ass was made and it was the only to keep them from just shooting at you” you tell him as he glares at you,

“Then why’d you stab me?” Mitch asks you moving closer while holding his side,

“Cause that was the only way to give you the blade” you say nonchalantly lifting his shirt to see the cut,

“You couldn’t find another way?” Mitch complains again,

“If I stabbed you in the leg or arm, you’d be compromised and useless to me” you tell him, applying a cloth with alcohol, he winched when you cleaned it.

“And that’s why she’s known as черная вдова. The Black Widow. Among other similar names” Hurley states sitting down relaxing,

“Where did you get all that stuff?” Mitch asked you as he watched you finish cleaning it then put a bandage to the cut applying pressure,

“My purse” you answer him when you look up and realize how close you were to him again. Your breathes mixing as he put his hand on yours holding the bandage, you cleared your throat and moved your hand to tape it to his body.

“Wounds not deep, so you won't…..need….stitches” you tell him as he eyed your lips, the both of you very close that it just take one of you to lean a little bit more to kiss,

“You know, not to interrupt this love fest, but the Russian is awake now” the old man speaks after clearing his throat to announce himself as the two of you break away from each other.

“Wha….” Aleksandra says still a little light headed looking around,

“I need your laptop password” you tell Aleksandra as she looks at you still dazed,

“Why do you need her password? What are you doing here?” Mitch asks you,

“Cause I’m a gladiator in a suit” you look over your shoulder at him before turning back to Aleksandra,

“What?” Mitch asks still confused,

“She works for the great and mighty Olivia Pope” Hurley informs the younger man,

“The D.C. fixer?” Mitch asks looking at you,

“Pope and Associates may have started out as a problem fixing firm for D.C., but we have expanded and gone global now. It was Olivia who helped me leave Orion and the C.I.A. and because of that I started to work for her. Well that and reasons my own I left the C.I.A. for P&A.” you say,

“So, we can’t access her laptop without the correct password. It’s too protected to try a worm our way in via WiFi connection. Me or Huck would have to be physically there and even then I don’t know how long it would be to crack it” the other woman’s voice sounds in your earpiece,

“Really? Quinn, you can’t do nothing? Are you sure?” you ask looking annoyed,

“Quinn?” Mitch asks Hurley,

“Quinn Perkins, P&A’s second best hacker and first overall go to girl” Hurley states waiting for (Y/N) to continue,

“Yes, I mean, I could try to see how long the password is?” Quinn states,

“Perfect, cause this bitch is finally awake” you reply as Aleksandra looks up at you,

“Well, you got me, whoop de do! What now darling?” Aleksandra asks smiling,

“(Y/N), put me on speaker” Olivia tells you via the earpiece, as you pull it out and click on your cell,

“Aleksandra, this is Olivia Pope. Do you know who I am?” Olivia's voice comes out of your cell as you put it on the table,

“Da, everyone knows Olivia Pope” Aleksandra states,

“Well listen to me, if you do not give my associate here, the correct password into your laptop. I will let the men take you to the U.N. to be tried and charged with multiple accounts of drug smuggling, human trafficking, kidnappings, murders and weapons trafficking and most likely sentenced to a life of torture where you wished you were sentenced to death instead” Olivia threatens over the cell making goosebumps come up as you believed it. Aleksandra thought for a moment before considering it,

“The password is Ruby Tiger. Capital r and t and space between” Aleksandra offers,

“Quinn?” you ask,

“It fits, but if it’s wrong it will erase everything on the laptop including where are client’s precious is” Quinn states as (Y/N) plugs in the password as the laptop dings and it loads the desktop completely untouched.

“I’m in, Quinn?” you reply as you see the mouse moves by itself,

“I got the information. Actually, I got all of it. Every victim, weapons, drugs and cargo she ever smuggled for whatever reason and every place and ways she's uses” Quinn states as she looks over the information, as she sends it all to their server so they can sift through it,

“Great, what about her?” you ask,

“Give her too Irene” Olivia says as the said woman busts through the doors with armed men,

“Well I see you actually have things under control. Hello (Y/N)” Irene says smiling at you as she moves to hug you,

“Hello Deputy Director, when did that happen?” you ask as you pull back,

“Just recently. Hurley. Rapp.” Irene smiles and nods to the two men then looks back and forth between Mitch and you with a look,

“What? Do I have something on my face?” you ask completely forgetting the love bites all over your neck and pull out your compact and then blush when you see them again, closing it and look at her as she gives you that mom look,

“Really? Another one of my operatives?” Irene smiles and laughs a little shaking her head at you,

“Another one?” Mitch asks raising his eyebrow at you,

“There may have been an fellow operative or two in my past” you say laughing nervously,

“May have been? Hurley, what number does Mitch make?” Irene asks the older man who shares her smile,

“Uh, twenty I think” Hurley replies standing up and put his arm around Mitch smiling,

“Twe-twe-twenty?” Mitch stutters looking at you in shock,

“Hey some of those weren’t field agents! Some were desk people and hackers….” you begin to defend yourself but stop when you look at Mitch, then look down at your feet,

“People….as in not just men?” Mitch asks out loud as his mind pictures it,

“Some weren’t alone and the others were drunk nights with friends” you tell him,

“M-m-more than one person at a time….and with both men and women?” Mitch utters moving too sit down,

“See, the Black Widow name fits now doesn’t it?” Hurley states as you shoot him a glare,

“But hey! They were all just fwbs and drunken one night stands! Mitch is…..” you begin but stop yourself from continuing,

“What? Different?” Irene asks you laughing but when you look at her she stops laughing, she sees it in your eyes,

“Wow, I knew there was something I liked about you” Aleksandra says as you all look at her,

“Take her out of here!” Irene orders the men as they do that, leaving you four in the room,

“Well this has been fun, we should do it again sometime. Irene, I’ll send you a copy of the information. Hurley. Rapp. (Y/N), report back when you’re on your way home.” Olivia states,

“Olivia, didn’t know you’d be hear as with your new associate you stole. And we should have drinks to catch up sometime” Irene replies,

“Olivia” Hurley says back,

“Uh, Hi, Miss Pope” Mitch says nervously,

“Will do” you simply say,

“It’s Olivia, Rapp” Olivia tells him but the line dies.

“Why are you here Irene?” you ask realizing she didn’t say,

“Well when Hurley lost contact with Mitch, which I’m guessing was your fault” Irene looks at you, making you blush while you shake your head yes,

“Hurley called, saying how you’d shown up and he lost contact with Mitch” Irene continues as you remember his cell you pocketed earlier reach into your purse to hand it back to him as with his weapons,

“Hey! I didn’t even know I lost it” Mitch says grabbing his cell looking at you,

“That’s terrible Rapp. More training for you when we get back” Hurley tells his protege shaking his head in disappointment,

“Gee, thanks” Mitch mumbles to you,

“And when Hurley stopped talking, I assumed I had to come save the day. I was just leaving Barcelona in Spain when I turned the plane around to come here. And now what’s with you and Mitch?” Irene asks you,

“Um...honestly I don’t know” you reply then look at him,

“It’s weird, this feeling I have, it started slow when I first seen him. But it grew rapidly, especially when I kissed him, his touch send sparks flying. It awoke something in me I can’t really describe….sorta like…” you say getting lost in his eyes,

“My heart beat for the first time” you and Mitch say at the same time,

“Well, the only thing I have to say is, don’t fuck up your jobs because of each other” Irene says smiling at the two of you,

“Remember, never let it get personal. Oh and wrap it up, I don’t want any babies around” Hurley states smiling at you two,

“I agree, I’m too pretty to be a grandma yet” Irene says,

“Stan! Irene!” you say laughing as Mitch looks at you confused,

“Oh, didn’t you know Stan is my legal guardian as with Irene?” you tell him as he smiles at you wrapping his arms around you.

You both stare at each other, lost in each other’s eyes, every emotion shown. Your world brighter then it was when you first got here, then it was yesterday or a month ago. You see your future in front of you, not wanting to change a single thing. You feel he feels the same way, somehow you know it to be true, it’s in his eyes. You both lean in and kiss with all the love and passion you can muster.

“Kay, well we gotta go” Irene says sadly at you two making you tear up as well as Mitch.

Eventually, sadly you said goodbye to Irene, her having to go to New York for some meeting with the Director of the F.B.I. on some incident. Sadly you also had to say goodbye to Hurley and Mitch, both men having to had back to the Farm. Having to say bye to your only mother and father figures since your parents died made you sad. Seeing them was great, you would always love them, and they always had a place in your heart.

Now you are on your plane heading home back to P&A headquarters in D.C., as you call Olivia back leaning forward to take off your heels,

“(Y/N)” Olivia’s voices booms over the line,

“Olivia” you say smiling,

“Rapp” Olivia says nonchalantly,

“Uh...Hi…Olivia” Mitch speaks up shocked as you lean back into his side cuddling up.

Oh yeah, you couldn’t say goodbye to Mitch, and neither could he. So he tagged along with you on your jet while Hurley went alone with theirs. He accepted it, saying how he would actually get some sleep for once without the younger guy waking him up with his researching. You look at the man beside you, smiling brightly at him, as he returns your smile.

“Well, we found out where precious is being held” Olivia tells you, making you look at the cell,

“Where?” you ask as Mitch looks confused,

“Quinn found out Precious is being held in New York. Do you need me to send someone else?” Olivia says,

“Precious?” Mitch asks you,

“Precious is the nickname of Marissa Cohen, daughter of Senator Cohen of California.” you tell him handing him your profile on Marisa,

*the file*

Full Name : Marissa Roberts Cohen

Nickname(s) : Precious (by her mother)

Family : Senator Summer Roberts-Cohen (Mother), Seth Cohen (Father), Doctor Neil Roberts (Maternal Grandfather), Sandy Cohen (Paternal Grandfather), Kirsten Cohen (Paternal Grandmother), Sophie Rose Cohen (Paternal Aunty), Ryan Cohen (Paternal Uncle), Taylor Cohen (Paternal Aunt-In-Law) and Jason Cohen (Paternal Cousin)

Occupation : Human Rights Activist, Aspiring Lawyer, Aspiring Senator, Highschool Student (Harbor School; attending), Soon-To-Be-College Student (Brown University; aspiring)

Residence : Newport Beach, California

Identity : Public Identity

Citizenship : American

Marital Status : Single

Occupation : Human Rights Activist, Aspiring Lawyer and Aspiring Senator

Education : Attending Harbor School and Aspiring to Brown University

Gender : Female

Height : 5' 7"

Weight : 125 lbs (57 kg)

Eyes : Brown

Hair : Brunette with Golden highlights

Place of Birth : Newport Beach, California

*end of file*

“Marissa was taken while attending the Washington Annual Charity Gala in D.C. three weeks ago. I was put on the case when Senator Cohen came to Olivia that night, no one knew she was missing until a ransom note was given to the Senator” you say, remembering every detail about that night,

“No knew? How?” Mitch asked,

“Cause it was a Masquerade Dance, someone replaced her with a woman who needed money. So after we talked with the woman, I sent (Y/N) out to follow through which lead us to a shipping company owned by Alexandra. Which now you're caught up, you free to head to New York, she needs to attend a meeting that’s taken place and she doesn't’ have time to drop you off” Olivia tells you guys waiting for Mitch to answer,

“Uh yeah, I’ll just have to call Hurley” Mitch answers Olivia,

“Ok, you need to be at F.B.I. HQ at 1 p.m. tomorrow. Call me when you’re in the meeting” Olivia tells you two and hangs up,

“You wanna join me for a case?” you ask the guy next to you,

“Always” he replies leaning in to kiss you as you both smile into it.

Again you both feel your heart beat for the second time.

Taglist : message me if you want to be added onto or taken off the taglist @daydreamingfairy  @mummybear @obrosey-af @mrs-mitch-rapp93 @mf-despair-queen @twilightparker @bilesbilinskix @mysterysiria @fallinshawn

[applsauss]

Read My Mind

Description: “That’s strange,” you say as you push him into his apartment (with a careful hand on his chest), “because last night I…” you breathe – breathe – breathe, “had the same dream.”

Fandom: 
Star Trek: TOS

Pairing: James T. Kirk/Reader

Word Count: 1.8k+

Warning(s): None

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-


“Last night I had a dream where we were birds, and we flew up and up until we were in space, and then we kept going, flying farther and farther from the known universe and into the unknown universe, past the edge, until the black of space became a familiar blue again and we realized that we were right back where we started, only this time we were beetles.”

“Last night I dreamed I was stranded in a marketplace on a familiar planet, but I couldn’t speak the language and no one would sell to me because of it – and then the sea of patrons dissolved into a real ocean, with waves for city blocks and ships for stands and I would have drowned if it weren’t for you hauling me up and over, onto your raft.”

“Last night I dreamed I was exploring a cave, and it was so dark I couldn’t see the ceiling or walls, and I walked and then I ran, chased by unseen terrors and the sound of my own footsteps, which grew louder and louder as if running towards me, disembodied, and then I tripped and slipped and fell and I was cold and lost, completely, until I looked up and caught sight of your smile, the light at the end of my tunnel,” you slide your hand down his stubbled cheek and wiggle his chin teasingly.

“Last night,” Jim laughs and swats at your hand, “last night I had a dream where we were two olives in a martini glass at a Starfleet function, on the tray of a waiter who never showed for his shift, and so we kept each other company until the drink was warm and flat and all the guests left and as we laid there, forgotten and wholly unimportant, we never drowned and never felt bad because we still had each other to talk to – and in that moment, that was all we could ever need.”

You try and tamp down the undeniably stupid grin that wants to erupt across your face, but you’re so high on the jetlag and the being with Jim that it’s impossible. Your clock is ticking on ship time and your heart is beating with his in time and Lieutenant James T. Kirk has class in a couple of hours ‘cause you’ve looped the night, but his cheeks are flushed and he’s wearing that dimple that makes you want to kiss his face to pieces and so you don’t find it in you to care that much about anything that isn’t right here and right now.

The air is soft and still where you sit, and the voices from the heart of the party carry easily across the garden because of it. You’re off to the side, lounging on some oversized deck chair, and Jim thumbs a burn on the back of your hand and you tuck yourself farther under his arm, trying to ward off the lingering distaste and nerves that always comes with speaking at Starfleet functions, appearing in front of uniformed officials as you spout off technical terms and point at a presentation screen with deliberately smooth transitions screens.

It never fails to make your skin crawl, the posing and posturing, the dance for funding, like you have to sell yourself, convince everyone in the room that you and your work are worth it on showmanship rather than merit; your badges pinned, collar pressed, shoulders sore from endlessly standing at attention and an plastic smile plastered across your face.

Your head lab technician stepped forward to explain the practical applications of your research, and you finally let yourself breathe, eyes seeking Jim out in an indistinct crowd because he’s the glow coming from under the door in a dark room. Then you stepped off the stage.

The conversation was a constant rumble, the lights were nauseous, an admiral shook your hand, a military history grad offered to buy you a drink, then Jim was guiding you towards a table circled by his colleagues with an easy smile, “Haisrus would never let me hear the end of it if I didn’t introduce him to you,” he’d said, “he’s been obsessing over your work ever since I mentioned you were a friend,” and you laughed and followed him through the crowd because if you knew anything about Jim Kirk, it’s that he always manages to surround himself with the most intriguing and pragmatic people he can find – and then someone said something about a Mexican restaurant – and then you found yourself sitting on a couch in a living room lined with Arcturian art, trading fibs and unprofessional opinions, Jim leaning towards you, laughing in your ear – and then Jim covered your retreat to the garden, sneaking out a minute later for fresh air and a rehash of shared memories – and now he says –

“Let’s go home,” Jim runs a thumb across your cheek, and you know he’s fussing over the dark circles under your eyes, “you deserve some sleep.”

He splits off to thank the host for the drinks, you tug at the collar of your uniform to keep it from cutting into the base of your neck, fabric thick and unyielding as you begin to pick your way through the house towards the front door.

The house is far from crowded, but it’s warm and the laughter is rich and the conversation easy. Your boots hit fuzzy carpet, and you wave goodbye to your lab tech, who’s reclined against the kitchen counter with a Betazed leaning flirtatiously over her. She raises her glass in salute, Jim rounds a corner, pulling on his overcoat, then someone cracks a joke, and it’s that laughter that chases your heels down the front steps and out into the night.

Your silhouettes are forced against a building by the headlights of a passing car, and Jim hikes you higher on his back as he hops the curb onto the sidewalk. You drape yourself over his shoulders, not really paying attention or holding on to anything other than his voice as he sings some song that was popular last year. You drop your chin to his shoulder, and let your arms hang loosely around him – and then his voice cracks and you both laugh.

“Last night,” you begin without much thought, “I dreamed I found you in the ground, and when I tried to pull you out, I fell through it with you – and as we descended through existence itself, we came face to face with the beginning and the end and we discovered the true meaning to life, the universe, and everything.” You hide your nose in the hood of his coat and bite back the anticipation.

He stutters a laugh, unaware, “Forty-two?”

“No, writing scientific reports for Starfleet.”

His shoulders shake with laughter, and it’s easy for you to reap the reward, to take the leap over the edge and join him. He clutches your legs tighter around him in a direct response to almost dropping you, curls forward, giggling, and you hold onto his neck and stifle your own delirious laughter through a close-lipped smile.

“Oh,” he says as he finally slows and turns to make his way up the steps to his apartment building, “don’t remind me this late – or early. Whichever it is, I have still have papers to grade.” He stops in front of the door.

“I can’t believe you’re one of them, Jim,” you say as you pull his wallet out of his coat pocket, “we used to complain about your type, remember? The professor who always has a fresh excuse for why grades aren’t out yet?” With some shuffling, you reach around him and swipe his ID, then boost yourself with one firm hand on his shoulder and grab the door handle as he walks backwards. The heavy door, thankfully, complies, hanging open just long enough for Jim to slip in with a straight back.

“I know,” he moans then, the door hissing shut behind the two of you, “I’m the worst of the worst – I even assign group projects.”

“No! Jim!”

“I know! I know – Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Stop making me feel old.”

His footsteps echo in the empty lobby, approaching and approaching from the back wall, until they’re muted by the carpet (you can’t see the ceiling), and then he steps into the elevator and informs the computer of his floor. You pat his shoulder twice, re-adjust your legs, and he loosens his hold until you slide off his back.

You’re both still as you let the silence blanket the small space. Side by side, surrounded by something soft and physical, Jim bumps his shoulders with yours – and you’re both staring at your reflection in the metal of the door, matching grins, when your communicator chirps.

You fumble to pull it out, the elevator dings, and you follow Jim down the hallway with a hand on his back as your department head informs you that shore leave is being cut short by a week, the reasoning vague and not important; She signs off and you pocket the device.

The floor is black and synthetic, and you’re watching your feet when Jim comes to an abrupt stop in front of a door, presumably his. He reaches out, but his hand stalls in front of the keypad. You can’t see his face, a shadow falling over his expression.

“Jim?” you place a careful hand on his upper arm, “are you alright?”

His hand closes into a fist.

“Jim,” you give his sleeve a firm tug, and he turns and wraps you in a hug, arms loose, but his hands wound tight, pulling at your uniform. You close your eyes and let your hands glide around his middle, pulling him closer and farther towards you until he has no choice but to yield and hug you proper, melting like butter on warm bread.

“I’m just happy you’re here,” he says, pulling away just far enough so you can see his small smile.

Your fingers are carding smoothly through his tamed hair before you can think about doing anything else, “I am, too.” You tug him down for a soft kiss, and his lips move slow and smooth against yours.

“But I’m also happy you’re leaving in a week,” he confesses quietly.

“Jim,” you lose your voice.

You’ve loved others and love others and will love others and he’s loved others and loves others and will love others and this is nothing new – but sometimes it’s hard to see past the moment when the moment exists as something like this: soft and shared and beautiful and promising (“and in that moment, that was all we could ever need,” he says) – but you have a ship waiting for you in orbit and a yearning for something greater, “I am, too.”

He begins to grin, “good,” he punches in the code, and then the door behind him opens, “because last night I dreamed that even as I stood on the edge of the galaxy, that even though the odds were shot, you were standing there, somewhere else, far away, looking at the exact same stars I was.”

One day, you’re sure, this will all fall apart and you’ll have nothing but the notion that there are still questions begging answers, out in the deep of space, but until that day comes, you’ll bathe in whatever sunlight is offered and prepare to deal with that storm when it hits. For now, it sits on the horizon, a dark promise.

“That’s strange,” you say as you push him into his apartment (with a careful hand on his chest), “because last night I…” you breathe – breathe – breathe, “had the same dream.”

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-


A/N: I remembered that Kirk was a professor at the academy for a while and I just…. Had to write this…....

Masterlist in blog desc.

[bat-losers-inc]

Collisions in the Dark (Ch 9): Berserker

Summary: In the wake of some devastating news, Tim act out against Ra’s al Ghul in a very Jason-like fashion. 

Pairings: Jason Todd/Tim Drake & Tim Drake/Ra’s al Ghul & Jason Todd & Talia al Ghul

Chapter Notes: Berserker: A rash playing style characterized by frenzied attacking with one or two pieces, perhaps with little regard for strategy or danger

“This must be what love is: a pain so radiant it cuts through all others.” — “Beekeeping”, Sara Eliza Johnson.

Tim squeezed his eyes shut tight and tried to remember how to breathe. He wrapped his arms around his middle and felt the press of his chest against his forearms with every inhale he took. He stayed sitting that way in rigid silence until he’d convinced his body that he was still alive, despite the pain that thrummed in his chest.

Tim opened his eyes and stared at the floor. He could feel Ra’s presence behind him and the uncertain eyes of every worker in the room as they stared at the two of them in fearful silence. Tim knew that if he looked up at any one of them in that moment, he would see an earlier version of himself. It must have been what he’d looked like to Jason on that first night during dinner with Ra’s, where he was so afraid to attract the Demon Head’s eye that he scarcely looked in his direction, his eyes fixed on only Jason and his plate. Tim knew that he wasn’t that person anymore, he couldn’t be after being in Ra’s corrupting presence for so long.

“Clear the room.”

The silence was momentarily filled with the squeaking of chair wheels and the shuffle of footsteps. Tim watched their shadows slide across the floor tiles in front of him. He tilted his head, ear straining until he heard the door click shut behind the last man.

“Why did you do it?” Tim had to take a breath before saying it. He didn’t want to taste those words on his tongue… to hear the words ring in his own ears.

“Kill him,” Tim finished, hating the finality of it.

He gave a small abortive shake of his head, trying to slot Ra’s decision into some logical place in his mind. “You could have just sent him away. You won… he knew that you’d won. If you had told him to leave and never set his eyes on me again, he would have done it. So, why kill him?”

Ra’s moved forward until Tim thought he could almost see him out of the corner of his eye. “Jason was a distraction that needed to be eliminated. Permanently.”

Tim laughed. It hurt. “A distraction?”

“You and I both know that he would have lingered in the back of your mind if he still lived and breathed. Your focus would be elsewhere. I couldn’t afford to take that risk.”

Ra’s was right. As long as Tim had hope and the memory of their one night together, Tim wouldn’t be thinking of anyone else.

“And sending him to his death.” Tim turned to stare at him over his shoulder. “You didn’t think that would distract me? That it wouldn’t make me hate you?”

“You’ve always hated me,” countered Ra’s. There wasn’t any anger to his words, this was just an understanding that Ra’s had come to on his own.

Tim shook his head and pushed slowly to his feet. He turned around to address Ra’s properly. “No, I was afraid of you. There’s a difference. But now you’ve truly earned my hatred. You took him away from me.”

“No!” Barked Ra’s, some anger finally pushing through that cool demeanor. “He was taking you away from me. I was eliminating a threat. Protecting what’s mine!”

Tim’s anger flared and he didn’t bother to restrain himself. What did it matter anymore? Jason was alone and dying. The mission was done. He had no pretense to maintain anymore.

“I was never yours!” he roared. “Did you really think that any of it was real? That I could actually love you?  You don’t even know how to love.”

Tim panted, breath ragged. “I’ve seen your type before… the old bachelors at Bruce’s galas who come from old money and care only about flaunting it in everyone’s faces. You’re greedy and cold. You only want me to say that you have me. To show me off like I’m a trophy! Well, I am not your possession and I don’t love you. How many times do I have to flat-out reject you, before you understand that?”

Ra’s latched at his wrist, despite Tim’s delayed effort to pull his arm out of reach. Tim tugged futilely against his hold anyway, hating the feeling of being shackled, feeling like he did that first night when he woke up here, his wrist chained to the headboard.

“You could never make me not love you.” Ra’s declared. “Despite what you might be feeling right now, despite where you go in a month… a year from now. I will always search for you and try to prove my love to you.”

Tim’s mouth opened, but it took a moment before any words were ready on his tongue. “Is that romantic to you? Because it shouldn’t be. It feels more like a threat than a declaration of love.”

Ra’s smiled. “I guess it all depends on your mindset.”

Tim slipped his wrist slowly out of Ra’s, not yanking… no he didn’t want to make himself look like a threat. He was calm as he put more space in between them, pressing his back against the desk and planted his hands on the desktop for support.

“You want a declaration of love? How’s this… Even when he’s dead and buried in the ground, even when the bugs and rot have gotten to him and his face is unrecognisable from its former beauty, and he no longer holds the space in the back of everyone’s heads… even then I will still love Jason Todd more than I could ever love you.”

Once Tim said it out loud he knew it was true. There was nothing Ra’s could do to change that. No matter how hard he tried.

Ra’s smiled, there was anger there but also a fierce determination to change those facts to his favor. “Not even death will part us, Timothy. Not even—”

Tim couldn’t stand to listen to it anymore, knowing it was true. Despite his stubbornness and his devotion to Jason, Ra’s had an army and a lazarus pit on his side. Tim was never going to escape here.

In an unexplainable act of ,very Jason-like, suicide his hands found the wireless keyboard on the desk and he brought it around in a savage, two-handed swing. It collided with the side of Ra’s face, cracking in half on impact. Tim felt a rush of adrenaline at the knowledge that he’d caught Ra’s off guard. Ra’s stumbled, dazed, and fell to one knee.

Tim knew he couldn’t stop now. He dropped the broken remains of the keyboard and found another within reach, striking at Ra’s again, but the older man was ready this time, throwing up his arms to deflect the blow. Ra’s’ hands ripped the keyboard from Tim’s grip and chucked it across the room.

When Tim looked at Ra’s face, dripping blood into his left eye from a cut above his eyebrow, Ra’s’ face was caught in a mix of shock and anger. Tim believe he might have forgotten that his beloved “detective” held such rage in him. Tim was intent on reminding him.

He stepped in towards Ra’s and struck up with his knee. Ra’s snaked his arm around his leg and pulled, sending Tim crashing to the floor.

Then, Ra’s was over him, hands grasping for his arms to press them into the ground. Tim grit his teeth and pummeled the man with his knees and feet until he managed to kick Ra’s’ feet out from under him. Tim coughed as the air exploded out of his lungs at the extra weight on his chest, but planted his feet all the same and rolled both of them until he was on top.

Tim wasted no time in striked Ra’s in the face. Tim felt raw and unrepentant in his violent behavior. He thought at this moment that he might finally understand what Jason felt like when he was brawling in the dark alleyways against Gotham’s most notorious villains. Taking all of those emotions that had built up from nightmares and old, unhealed, wounds and releasing them through your fists. Feeling in that moment like you were overpowering it with the breaking of skin and the spray of blood.

Tim burrowed his knees and heels into Ra’s’ sides to prevent him from bucking him off. Ra’s was dazed and down but Tim knew him well enough to know that he was not out. Tim would not underestimate him again.

The commotion their brawl was making must have alerted Ra’s servants. It was hard to tear his gaze aware when that tunnel vision was starting up, but Tim looked up towards the far doors. He really shouldn’t have, the distraction was all Ra’s needed to strike. His hand shot up and grasped Tim’s neck like a vice.

Tim choked on a breath and dug his fingernails into the flesh of Ra’s’ hand, trying to pull one of his fingers back enough to dislocate it. Ra’s didn’t give him a chance, though, using his leverage to throw Tim off him.

Tim’s head cracked against the tiled floor, black spots dancing before his eyes. Tim blinked hard through his distorted gaze, shoving himself backwards even as his body urged him to stay still. He couldn’t see much, but he could make out basic shapes, like for example, the oblong shape which was Ra’s and was currently standing and moving towards him.

“I thought we’d gotten past this behavior, Detective.” Ra’s wiped at the blood that trailed from his nose.

Tim staggered to his feet and, with a cry, ran at him. They came together and traded short, sharp blows to each other’s head and torso. Tim’s world narrowed into jabs, blocks, and breaking grips. Ra’s arms clutched at Tim’s shoulders, yanking him in to deliver bruising thrusts of his knees to Tim’s sides. Tim took the beating and thrust his elbows down, breaking Ra’s grip on him. His kicked Ra’s in the stomach and then higher, across the face, sending him stumbling backwards. There was blood splattered across the floor.

Tim wanted to relish the breathing room he’d gained, but knew if he did then Ra’s would have the upper hand again. He actually wanted to figure out who had entered the room while he was getting his ass handed to him and if they were going to be a problem, but he could only deal with one problem at a time. He came at Ra’s kicking, striking at his shins and sides. He bounced back on the balls of his feet and came in again with a roundhouse kick with his opposite leg.

Ra’s trapped Tim’s leg against his hip and twisted. Tim collapsed as his balance was thrown off. The blows that rained down on him after that were quick and brutal, punching the air out of his lungs. Tim was on the floor again with Ra’s staring down at him, expecting Ra’s boot to come down on his face at any second and end this fight. Ra’s was prepared to fill that expectation, it seemed, and his leg rose.

Tim didn’t think that either of them were prepared for one of the men that had been hanging off to the side to come charging out of left field and knock Ra’s off his feet like a linebacker. Tim stared in shock at Ra’s as he slid across the tiles.

Hands were under Tim’s arms, dragging him up and backwards. Tim jerked back into awareness of his situation and tried to twist out of his attacker’s hold, but the man had ahold of his shirt and, short of undressing himself, he couldn’t get free.

“Stop fighting me. We’re on your side.” grunted the man pulling Tim towards the doors.

“What is the meaning of this!” Ra’s bellowed from across the room as three more men approached him, blocking his path towards Tim.

“Talia al Ghul sends her regards.”

Tim stopped struggling and allowed himself to be put on his feet. The same man that had been dragging Tim clutched his arm and pulled him through the hallways of the compound. Tim was aware of more men surrounding him, protecting him from all sides, but his mind was occupied with thoughts of Talia and the aid she had sent him.

He couldn’t understand why she would help him, until he thought about Ra’s and Jason’s deal. Talia hadn’t known about it. Only a day ago she had been urging Jason to flee and save himself, she wouldn’t have just gone along with a plan to martyr Jason. Well, she had definitely found out now and it seemed she wasn’t happy. Tim felt oddly proud that she had chosen his side over her own father’s.

“There’s a car fueled and waiting for you.” The man shoved a piece of paper into Tim’s hands. “You must find Jason Todd and take him to this location. You may find an ally there who could save Jason.”

Tim was out of breath and his thoughts were out of order with the whiplash speed that everything was changing at. Save Jason? There was a possibility he could still be saved? “But how do I get to him? He’s all the way in New York and I’m… here.”

Tim wasn’t entirely sure where here was, but he knew it was going to take a long flight to reach Jason. And Jason didn’t have that much time. Plus Tim had to worry about not spreading the anthrax poisoning to anyone else.

“I’m sorry but that’s for you to figure out.”

Tim was yanked to a stop as someone came charging around the corner, katana drawn. Tim was pressed against the wall, shielded bodily, as the adversary was cut down. As he was pulled along again he asked, “Why are you helping me?”

The man leading him spared him but a glance, his expression unknowable through the black fabric that covered everything but his eyes from view.

“We owe a debt to Talia from long ago. Now we are repaying her, even at the cost of our lives.”

They made it to the car park and stopped in from of a black sedan, the back seats packed full with food and camping gear.

“Exactly how far away is this place?” Asked Tim with mild concern.

“A days drive or more, but the demon’s head will be looking for you. Your travel time might be delayed if you are evading search parties and it won't be safe to stay the night in a town.”

The man handed the keys over and stepped aside to let Tim into the driver’s side. Tim slammed the door shut and spoke through the opened window. “Evading packs of ninjas. Sounds fun. Any advice?”

The man placed his hand against the side of the car and leaned in. “Drive fast. Very, very, fast.”

Tim blinked at him. “Right… That's reassuring.”

He turned the key in the ignition. The radio came to life, a foreign pop song thumping through the speakers. Tim was reminded of the last music he’d heard, a song sung by a boy in almost hushed tones to a scared little girl, separated from her mother.

“You need to leave. Now” The man urged with a glance back the way they’d come from, like he was expecting company at any moment.

“I can’t,” said Tim.

“You have to!”

“I need you to promise that you’ll do something for me. Free the scientist and his family. I don’t want them to suffer at Ra’s hands.”

The man considered it for a moment, before settling on the honest answer. “I’ll do my best, but I can’t promise anything.”

“You’re best is more than they had before, so… thank you.”

There was noise in the corridor. “You need to leave, right now.”

Tim put the car and reverse and made a quick two point turn out of the parking spot, he glanced back in the rearview mirror as he was driving away, the men that had rescued him were already turning, distracted by an influx of ninjas that burst into the car park. Tim hadn't expected to get a send off anyway.

As he was driving down the winding road that ran down the mountainside and away from the compound, Tim fumbled in his pocket for the comm that Jason had left him and placed it in his ear. He’d have to wait until he was a safe distance away before he could stop and find the correct line to call.

“Shouldn't you be calling the big man with the pointy ears for this?” The voice asked, full of concern. “I mean Ra’s al Ghul is usually a Justice League issue. Not a Young Justice issue.”

Tim was sitting with a laptop perched on his lap. The car he was driving was currently pulled off of the road and parked behind a patch of bushes, obscuring it from view.

“The Justice League is already handling the aftermath in New York. Besides… I need someone fast not someone qualified. Bart, please! I need to get Jason here as quick as possible.”

There was a long pause that had Tim biting his lip in concern.

“Alright,” Bart said, finally. “You said I’d find him in New York?”

“Check all the hospitals,” suggested Tim. “I don't know how much he was exposed to. He might have been checked into one of them with the other evacuees.”

“Be back in a flash.” Tim smiled, envisioning the wink that went with that phrase.

Tim pushed the driver’s side door open and got out of the car, eager to feel the cold air on his skin. He had driven far enough that there was no longer snow on the ground, but the temperatures towards the bottom on the mountain range were still chilly enough to require a durable jacket.

There was a gust of wind that was strong that the ones that had been blowing against the back of Tim’s neck just a minute ago. He almost dismissed it until he heard the snap of branches underfoot.

Tim turned and stared at the two figures that stood before him, one of whom was sagging sideways into the speedster. Tim’s breath caught. “Jason.”

[chingu-bohoja]

Halloween Mission

Beep! Beep! Beep!

The alarm clock rang to signal the start of another long day for the human known as Chingu Bohoja. Shutting off the alarm, he sat up and stretched his arms in the air, giving himself a moment for his body to adjust to waking up. 'Do I have to get up today?' he thought as he yawned and slowly shifted to get off the bed. Normally, the first thing he would do is go to the shower to get cleaned up for the day, but today was going to be different.

When Chingu looked up to his new computer, something was flashing on the screen. Rubbing his eyes, he got off the bed and moved to the chair in front of the computer. Chingu looked at what was flashing, which was an alert for him. A message, from Clara. What did she want now? Shrugging his shoulders he opened up the message from Clara.

Chingu blinked. A mission? From Clara? Why did she need all that candy? Couldn't she make candy herself? Anyway, it was better than doing nothing. After responding to the post, Chingu got up and went into his personal bathroom to get cleaned up. Afterwards, Chingu went to put on his normal attire, but then realized that Clara had sent him the attire he'd have to wear. He peeked out of the door to see that there was a box for him just outside his door. Quickly, he opened the door just enough to slide the box into his room and close the door back.

Chingu picked up the box and set it on the bed. It had some weight, but was still light enough. 'I hope it's not some kind of princess costume...' he thought as he opened the box up. Luckily, it was not. It was a simple werewolf costume. Chingu pulled the costume out and laid it out on the bed. "Well, can't complain about this," he spoke out loud to himself.

First, he put on a plain black shirt followed by plain black pants. Then, on went the costume, the lower half first, followed by the upper half, the shoes, and finally the head. The costume did have some heft to it, so Chingu hoped he didn't have to wear this for awhile.  With everything set, Chingu headed off to his destination. **********

Chingu would head out to a small little town not too far from headquarters. The street he was currently on was bustling with kids and their parents going from house to house getting free candy to enjoy. It looked like everyone was having a good time. “Do I seriously have to do this?” Chingu thought. He was a bit old for trick or treating, and it was going to be plain as day obvious. He sighed and tried to blend in with a group of kids kind of closer to his height. It did net him a handful of candy without notice. This was going to be slow and tedious. However, an opportunity happened to spark.

Over on the side, a young child was sitting on the ground crying. Walking over, Chingu had to inquire what was the problem. “Little girl,” Chingu said, “Why are you crying?”

The young girl wearing a princess costume looked up at Chingu. She looked frightened at first. “It's ok, I'm not here to hurt you,” Chingu assured. The little girl wiped her eyes, “There were... some big... scary people. They... were big... like you...” she spoke, trying to hold back tears.

“Well, I'm not like those people,” Chingu replied, “Do you know which way they went or where they might be?”

“They talked about a warehouse... It's past the park.” the girl said, wiping her eyes once more.

“Ok, I will find these people. Taking candy from kids is not right at all. Here, you can have what I got tonight.” Chingu dumped the candy that was in his bag into the girl's empty bag.

The little girl's eyes lit up, and her tears were no more. “Thank you sir!” She ran off back to a group of kids. Chingu watched her head off, then he would move out himself, towards the warehouse that the girl mentioned. **********

It took Chingu about an hour to reach the warehouse. By now it was getting late and most of the trick or treaters were more than likely back home sorting out their treats. Chingu knew approaching the warehouse from the front was going to be a bad idea, so he hid in a bush first to ditch the costume he was not going to need anymore. Thankfully he did remember to bring his gaunlets with him, which he put in the bag he brought with him to collect candy. He slipped on the gaunlets, and slowly approached the warehouse. Once he was at the wall signifying the outer perimeter of the premises, Chingu quietly slid along the wall until he was at a side entrance. Luckily, there was a crack in the wall, and Chingu used this to peek into the area to see if it was all clear. He saw one person, and their back was turned at the moment. Chingu quickly jumped up and clutched the top of the wall, which he climbed over, then jumped down behind a dumpster. The thud of his boots hitting the ground made the guard turn around.

“Who's there? Identify yourself!” a male's voice echoed. The guard turned around and pulled out a flashlight, pointing it towards the dumpster Chingu was behind. “I know you're there, now come out!” Chingu didn't move at all. His heart raced as Chingu began to hear footsteps coming towards the dumpster. He peeked out just enough to see which way the guard was coming. As the guard approached, Chingu moved around quietly. The guard made a quick move and pointed the flashlight behind the dumpster...

“Ah-ha!” the male exclaimed, but then looked dumbfounded. Nothing was there. “Hey... what's going on here? Are you playing a trick on me you little pun-” the guard's question was cut short as he felt a strike to the back of his head, and the lights going out seconds later.

Chingu used the side entrance to enter the warehouse. It was a small warehouse, only one room, and only a couple items in this room. There was a crate, a table, and sitting in three chairs were three gentlemen, which all turned around when Chingu had entered.

“What are you doing here little punk?” one of the men spoke up, “You're in the wrong yard!”

“Oh, I'm sure I'm in the right place now. You must be the ones taking candy from those kids earlier tonight,” Chingu responded.

“And so what if we are? What are YOU going to do about it? There's three of us, and one of you! You think you can take on ALL of us?” a second member spoke.

“You are not leaving here alive at all! You just dug your grave kid!” the third spoke and began charging at Chingu.

At first, Chingu's nerves kicked in, nervousness taking control for a moment. However, he realized that at the most, these people might just have knives. Not to mention this was the best opportunity to test out his ice gems in his gauntlets. Taking a fighting stance, the first guard lunged at him and Chingu easily blocked the strike, but took a hit to the side from the second. The third swung for Chingu's head, but he would miss due to Chingu ducking, but a strike to his back would connect from a strike from the first. The second guard grabbed Chingu and threw him across the room. At first, this wasn't looking good at all, but Chingu had to fight back. He couldn't let them surround him, or Chingu was going to take more punishment. He need to move around more. The second guard came in for another attack, and this time, Chingu would slip the attack and connect with a body shot. The first guard tried to kick Chingu in the head, but Chingu not only ducked the kick, but swept the grounded foot of the guard, making him fall flat on his back. The last guard swung a first at Chingu, who at first glance looked like he could get his hands up in time, but his gauntlets created an ice shield that covered the area that would have been hit. The guard punched the ice and groaned in pain, clutching the hand, and while he was stunned, Chingu spun and connected with a spinning heel kick, not only knocking the guard back, but knocking him out.

The other two guards looked in disbelief, “What did he just do!?!” the first guard exclaimed, looking at his partner.

“I have no clue, but that's not normal at all! We need to get help, now!” The two guards ran out the front door. This left Chingu by himself with the crate. He peeked in and saw that it was filled with candy! There had to be like 30 pounds of it, plus the weight of the crate. He need to get this out of here, and fast before he was surrounded. Thinking for a moment, he began to push the crate towards the side entrance, but while it was moving, it was slow. He would certainly get caught, but then, an idea struck.

Using his ice gauntlets, Chingu made a piece of ice that was thick enough to hold the crate, but just slightly bigger than the crate. Using what strength he could muster, Chingu lifted the box onto the ice block, then pushed the crate with the block. It slid across the room and eventually out the side door. He then pushed the block around to the front, where about 10 guards went in through the front door to see if they could trap the human in the warehouse, but Chingu had luckily moved quick enough to get out of the warehouse. Chingu continued to push the block and crate out the front of the yard. **********

About two and a half hours later, Chingu was back at HQ. The ice block had melted when Chingu reached the front doors of headquarters. He pushed the crate into the door, past the receptionist, past the break room, and down the hall towards Clara's room. The other members gave him some strange looks along the way, but they didn't bother at all. When Chingu finally reached Clara's room, he knocked on her door.

“Come in~!” Clara beamed from inside the room.

“Not happening with what I got Clara,” Chingu panted heavily.

Clara opened the door, looking confused at Chingu, but then her eyes opened wide. “Is... that all... for me~!?!”

“Yes, now could you please tell me why you sent me on this mission?” Chingu asked, looking at the genie.

“Um... isn't this what human's do around this time?” Clara asked, looking up in thought.

“Kids go trick or treating Clata, not big people like me. Small humans.”

Still looking up in thought, Clara magically shrunk herself down a bit to look like a small child. “You mean like this?” Clara teased, sticking her tongue out.

“Yes, like that. Now where do you want this? This sucker is heavy... no pun intended.” Chingu sighed heavily again. Clara looked at the crate, thought for a moment, then snapped her fingers to make her portable hole appear right under the box and make it drop into her stash of candy.

“Seriously!?! Where does that thing go? Is it like an portable world or something?”

“Maybe, I don't know. It just a room filled with all my sweets!” Clara beamed. Chingu hung his head in defeat. “I'm going to bed Clara, I'm exhausted.”

“Sweet dreams sleepy head~!” Clara said happily as she watched Chingu go down the hall back to his room where he would crash into his bed.

[killmongerthirst]

Jealous

Request: “Hey! I don't know if you do requests but it would be amazing to read a t'challa x reader imagine where he falls in love for the reader (who he meets outside Wakanda) and bucky (already being there) tries to steal his girl lol so t'challa gets really jealous and does v fluffy stuff to prove bucky that she's not his girl hahaha idk I thought it could be interesting. Thank you <3″

Pairing: T’challa x reader, Bucky x reader (slightly)

Warnings: jealousy, language, fluff 

You had to meet T’challa and Bucky in the CIA headquarters. You were working beside Ross, normally doing assistant obs like bland paperwork, organizing emails, phone calls and getting him coffee, just normal mundane stuff, but Ross was kind and the pay was ridiculously good so you stayed. Whilst Bucky was being brainwashed by the 'Doctor' you had been downstairs with Natasha and Tony, fetching them paperwork on the accords, making them acknowledge their leadership and so on, but you had been violently interrupted by the huge sack of human muscle that attacked you all. Just before the super soldier stalked towards you, T'challa had pushed you out of the way, fighting the soldier whilst you lay on the floor, panicking.

 As you where lying on the cold floor, your wrist aching as you landed on it, you selfishly admired the muscles on both the men, watching them exchange punches and pushed, but overall, Bucky had managed to land a heavy blow to T'challas cheat, making him fall back and next to you on the floor.

You both shared intense eye contact with each other, your eyes wide and full of concern, almost mimicking his as he had a slight tint of mischieve in them. He smirked at you before crawling up again, racing after the soldier as the began to fight again of the staircase before he disappeared. T'challa looked around once more before rushing to your side, hoisting you up onto the nearest table, standing between your legs as he looked you over. A small cut had formed on the side of your face from your impact, and you had sprained your wrist. It wasn't anything major or important, but he acted as if you had broken your neck. You found his concern delightfully charming as you laughed, moving your hand to his face as you brushed your fingers over his own cut.

"You ok darling?" He asked, his eyes searching yours and his lips pouted slightly; he brought his hand up to cup your face as you smile sweetly, both of you giggling slightly as you felt the sparks fly between your skin.

"I'm fine, your highness," You whispered almost, your breath faltering as you unintentionally squeezed your thighs against his thick build. You heard him grunt as he wrapped you in his arms, lifting you up from the table so you could stand, your body flush against his as you looked up into his deep dark eyes, watching them shine as you stared at each other. You felt giddy, you had only met this man and you felt like you where already fall head over heels; like you had some silly high school crush all over again, and it was with the fucking king.

You pulled back abruptly as you heard a sly cough, looking over to see one of his guards 'Ayo' as you knew her She was looking you up and down like a disaster piece, making you step back a great deal more form the king, casting your gaze down to the floor. She walked over and whispered in his ear, not being able to hear their conversation as you detected it was in an unknown language and you couldn't hear them that well anyway.

"Of course Ayo, I'm bringing a guest," He replied, obviously louder than her crude whispered. You looked up at him, surprised and confused as he was just staring right back at you, smirking as he shooed Ayo away, holding his hand out for you. You gently took it in his as he leads you back to his designated office. You walked through multiple hallways and stairs, gaining looks of all sorts from the officers, walking past Agent Ross as he raised his eyebrows at you, yourself shrugging in return as he waved you on, being slightly dragged by T'challas mighty grip.

"Your majesty, where are we going?" You asked, stuttering almost as you ran to try and keep up with his giant steps.

"Please darling, call me T'challa or King, either way, I'm gonna get excited," He laughed, quickly winking at you as he now stepped faster, walking with a purpose. You approached a door, watching him violently opening it and just as quickly shutting it as yous tumbled in, your back turned against the edge of the large wooden desk, his body sauntering towards yours. He looked so damn delicious in that tight black top, your hands reached up to place your hands on his upper chest, his hands landing on yours as they intertwined, lifting each hand beside your bodies, as you watched him lean in slowly, teasing you as his smirk plastered his face. You rolled your eyes as you pushed forward, catching your body in his as your lips clashed against each other, moving in a dramatic fight as you both teased and played with one another. You were both dramatic, frantic and desperate to get more from each other, to feel more of the electricity that flowed through you. 

"Come away with me, princess," He sighed, his eyes closed as you both breathed heavily, your chests heaving up and down as you laughed.

"Anything, my King,"

Weeks had passed, and you had been copped up in T'challas quarters by his order; most days he would walk in and out, keeping you company most of the time, but in the last few days he had been more focused on work and extra. You had already been accepted by his little sister, becoming best friends within the first hour you arrived at the wonderful city, his mother took convincing to welcome an outsider in her own home, however, her heart warmed when she listened to her son talk fondly over you. other than that, not many people spoke to you, going on about their lives, ignoring that one weird girl that stayed in the Kings bedroom all day every day.

However, Shuri had convinced you to start coming out with her down to the border side to meet Sergent Barnes; helping her look after him and tend to him when she couldn't. You enjoyed having the company of another 'outsider', it made you feel less lonely, you and Barnes got on fine, his old antics made you giggle furiously as you spent most of your new acquainted time teaching him modern day stuff, like the cultures, politics, and stuff, whilst Shuri taught him about all the technology and his new prosthetics. You found yourself sending more time with Bucky than T'challa, you knew it wasn't his fault, as he had worked as King, and with the new Wakandan Outer Reach Centre, everyone was busy, accept you and Barnes. 

"So, hows you and the King?" Bucky asked, the two of you sitting on the lakeside, watching all the birds settle on the tops of the water, the sun glowing a low orange across the sky, the trees, and nature lining the lakeside perfectly. You two often came here together to get away from all the hustle of the inner city, plus Bucky enjoyed staying near the kids, who were deeply fascinated by him, and vice versa. You let out a deep sigh as you twiddled the single blade of grass in between your fingers, your feet swaying in the cool water beneath you. 

"We're fine, when I see him anyway," You said, a small sincere smile forming on your lips as you continued to look at the ground, "He spends most of his time with the Council, and when he gets back home is flat out like a light, just crashed on the bed, an when I wake he's gone again," You looked up to Bucky, who was looking out into the water, his eyes full of sorrow and worry. Your relationship with T'challa was confusing, more complicated than anyother you had; he had brought you to Wakanda with a promise to show you the world, treat you like a queen and love you unconditinatly, and you knew it was extreme, dropping everything for a man you had met for a few days, but there was just something about T'challa that made your heart flutter and your soul sing, he was the most precious and caring person you had ever meet, and youd be dammed if you ever let him go for the sake of your selfish needs. 

"I get you doll, I really do. But I mean he's running a whole country as well as helping others, it's not easy," He said, now cupping his hand on top of yours as he ran his thumb up and down, carving smooth patterns along his wake. You sat in silence, feeling more comfortable as you rested your head on his shoulder, just watching the sunset as the setting sun reflected off the smooth surface of the crystal water. You truly felt like you were in a dreamland, it was so beautiful, and you had the best company; you always contemplated if you were really in a coma from the events at the CIA office, but all your love felt too true to be a dream.

"I know he cares for you," Bucky spoke, more quiet than usual as his arm wrapped around you, digging your head further into his shoulder as you closed your eyes, more than ready to fall asleep right then and there. You're where so wrapped up in your own thoughts that you didnt hear your beloved stalk up behind you, watching in rage as the soldier's arms wrapped around you like you where his.

"Whats going on here?" He growled, making you quickly latch off of Bucky and stand to your feet, almost slipping from the wetness of your feet. You almost ran into T'challas arms, but the angered face he had stopped you from doing so, you noticed the slight tiredness and rage in his eyes, his hands clenched into tight fists as his stance was forward, looking ready to pounce.

"T'challa? You alright?" You asked, your voice wavering slightly as you reached your arm out to touch him, but he pulled back, making your heart sink right to the fucking floor. Your mouth fell open as you let out a small 'oh' and looked down, almost ashamed. 

"Look, man, I don't know what you think this is, but nothing was happening hones-" Bucky spoke before T'challa lunged at him, pinning him beneath his figure. Bucky did nothing to stop the attack, not wanting to do any more damage than he had to the both of you. T'challa didnt throw any punches or cuts as he just stood over Bucky, growling in his face as he looked like an animal, wild and possessive. Your arms wrapped around T'challas waist, holding tight as you leaned up to his side, whispering sweet nothings into his ear, feeling his muscles relax slightly as he began to regain his composure.

"Baby, I promise," You said, all of you now standing in a circle as you held out your pinky finger, watching as both T'challa and Bucky looked down at it in confusion. You rolled your eyes and forcefully wrapped your pinky around T'challas, watching his eyes light up as your skin touched, sending bolts of fire throughout your entire body. At that current moment, you felt the need for T'challa, to have him close, near you always; it was a selfish need and you didnt want anything less.

Suddenly, T'challas strong arms were wrapped around you so tight, your body flushed against his as he smashed your lips together. It felt just as magical as the first time you lip-locked, fireworks and sparks lighting all around you as a shiver went down your spine. Feeling his own warmth against yours made you blissfully happy as you smiled into the kiss, both of you giggling slightly as you continued to make out in front of the stunned soldier. You had almost forgotten he was still standing there, looking at you both in shock. Your hands traveled to the front of T'challa chest, resting on his hard abs as you traced the outlines of all his muscles, making him groan slightly into the kiss; you pulled back quickly, need to catch your breath and regain your sanity.

"Damn I guess I'll just go then," Bucky said, holding his hands in the air, chuckling at the two of you, embracing each other like a wedded couple. The moment was beyond perfect, the sky lit up by pink and purple light, the hue glowing off of T'challas face, making him look like a god compared to every man you had ever meet.

The next couple of days were better than the passing weeks, T'challa had gone out of his way to show you his country, spending more time with you during the day and tending to you gently every night. He had moved Bucky inside the palace, he said it was so the doctors and guards could keep a closer eye on him, but it was really so he could show off your relationship in front of him. Making you scream and beg every night loud enough so Bucky could hear it; kissing you every time he walked past you together, and pulling you away from him whenever you here looking after him. You knew it was irritating Bucky slightly, but you couldn't help but laugh every time, watching as Buckys mood changed as soon as T'challa touched you in front of him. 

Whenever you confronted T'challa about it, he would always act as if he was innocent, just 'sharing the love', but you knew the hint of mischief in his eyes everytime he would see Bucky. You would always roll your eyes at his behaviour, but you liked his neediness, watching him get possessive over you everytime a man would even look at you; it made you feel like a princess, proper and loved. 

"T'challa?" You hummed, both of you just laying on the bed together, placing your book on the countertop next to you, turning on your side to admire the King beside you. 

"Yes, my princess," He replied, looking up at you as his eyes twinkled, your cheeks blushing as you both just stared at each other.

"I love you," You whispered, you head coming down to rest on his chest, tracing small patterns onto his sides as you cradled him almost. You were so happy and content, you wanted to stay like this forever, just you and him against the world.

"I love you too, my darling,"