#i smile and puff my fat cigar

[longelk]

Thank you for helping spread End Avatar Grimora propaganda; I’m glad I’m not the only one with end!Grimora taking residence in my head

YES im happy to help my queen claim her rightful place. i enjoy being fair on polls and not blindly voting for my faves but i feel so so deep in my bones she is unequivocally one of the best characters to represent the End in any media ever. i couldnt let it slide. she is The End Of The Game for the love of god

[141goblin]

Soft: Chapter two.

CW: Mention of body image, reader feels inferior to her best friend. Slightly suggestive.

A/N: Thank you for all the love on part one, i’m so glad people like my writing. It’s heavily self indulgent so it makes me very happy to know it resonates with people other than me🥰

—>Part one

After a little encouragement from Johnny and the rest of my martini, I find myself stood in front of the group of men and Amelia as her and Johnny both introduce me to his friends. I got a wink and a “Nice to meet you, lovely” from Gaz, a firm handshake and a “Pleasure” from Simon…

“And this is Price, our Captain.”

The wide man smiles warmly and gives me a nod.

“Pleasure to meet you, dove.”

I give him a sweet smile and something between and a nod and an awkward bow/curtsy. Why the fuck am I curtsying? Jesus christ, I need another drink already. I feel my cheeks heating up with embarrassment but luckily, no one mentions it. They either didn’t notice or decide not to mention it. Either way, I don’t care.

Everyone begins to engage in small talk, leaving me stood there in the awkward predicament of being part of the group, but not being part of the conversation. I feel so ridiculous and out of place, like a child that’s stood with a group of adults, unable to join in on their conversation. I pretend like I don’t care and politely excuse myself and walk towards the exit.

I walk outside and sit down on the stone bench, my feet already aching because of my stupid heels, the cold night air nipping at my skin that simultaneously feels too hot because of the amount of alcohol i’ve consumed.

I rummage around in my handbag and pull out my half-empty packet of cigs that I save for when I drink. I always insist that i’m not a smoker, yet the minute I get a few drinks in my system, i’m puffing away like a chimney, making my breath stink. I light up and inhale it deep, feeling the all too familiar burn in my lungs. The smoke curls up into the night air as I exhale, leaving a ribbon of grey in front of me.

I think back to Amelia and how effortlessly pretty she looks, how she’s able to command everyone’s attention just by walking into a room. She doesn’t have to worry about what she looks like 24/7, she doesn’t have to worry about meeting someone in person for the first time after talking on a dating app and feeling terrified of being rejected and being labelled a ‘catfish’ because they didn’t know I was fat from my pictures. I know it’s not her fault, I know that. But deep down, there’s a bitterness, right in the pit of my stomach. She’s gorgeous, she doesn’t have to even try. The bitterness festers and claws at my insides on nights like this, where i’m left alone to entertain myself while she’s off with Johnny or her other friends. I sound like a child, i’m fully aware of that, but still, I feel it. Deep down in my stomach, a dull ache for more, a longing, a yearning to be that girl. Just as i’m stewing in my own grumpiness and general bitterness, I hear the rumble of a deep voice behind me.

“You alright, dove?”

Normally, i’d make an effort to impress a man like him. He’s handsome, too fucking handsome for his own good. Normally, i’d stub out my cigarette and sit up straight to hide the rolls of my stomach that protrude when I sit comfortably. But right now, I don’t care.

“Fine, thanks.”

Clipped, short, blunt. A subtle hint for him to leave me alone. He either ignores it or is too stupid to pick up on it, because he sits down beside me. Thighs spread, one hand on his thigh, the other wrapped around a cigar.

“Not a fan of parties like this, I take it?”

I scoff and flick some ash off the end of my cigarette before taking another deep puff, letting it fill my lungs, the stench of tobacco creating a cloud around me.

“You could say that.”

He laughs, his broad shoulders shaking up and down, the sound rumbly and deep, settling into my bones. He raises his cigar to his lips and takes a drag, the brown cylinder hissing and glowing red at the tip as he sucks. His voice is thick with smoke when he speaks.

“Mm, I get it. Not for everyone.”

I’ve either had too much to drink, am at the end of my tether, or just feel way too comfortable with this man, because what comes next is an outburst, an angry rant.

“I mean, is it for anyone other than rich arseholes or people who have been dragged into it by those rich arseholes? Groups of people pretending to be something they’re not, just to impress each other. I don’t get it. Fucking ridiculous if you ask me. I’d much rather be curled up on my couch with a shit bottle of wine and a takeaway than be here but I couldn’t say no to Amelia. Pain in the arse…”

I expected him to defend the party, or make some excuse that it’s a chance for like-minded people to ‘network’ or some ridiculous bullshit. But, to my surprise, he just laughs again. A warm, rumbling sound that makes me want to press my ear to his chest. I huff and cross my arms over my chest, glaring out into the night, the grassy courtyard scattered with multiple bush-sculptures, or whatever they’re called.

“Feel better, dove?”

I huff and laugh and hum in response. He gives me a tap on the thigh and stands up.

“I’ll be inside, if you decide to stay. I hope your night gets better, dove.”

I give him my best attempt at a warm smile and then he disappears inside again. I take a deep breath and try to shake off the festering bitterness and grumpiness. I should be inside, with my best friend. I stand up, feeling the ache of my heels and walk back inside to the ballroom, putting on a happy face. I spot Amelia, Johnny, Gaz and Simon at a table towards the front so I make my way over. Amelia gives me a concerned look, a silent ask of ‘You okay?’ and I just nod, dismissing it. I’m not getting into it, not here, not now.

A waiter appears and places a blueberry martini in front of me, without me even having to ask and i’ve never been so grateful. I take a large, burning swig and turn to the group with feigned confidence.

“So, what’d I miss?”

Johnny turns to me without taking his eyes off the stage, where a few people are setting up a microphone and some speakers.

“The birthday boy is about to make his big speech. Should be a good one, better than last year.”

The lads share a few knowing laughs, like they’re all giggling over an inside joke, and i’m about to ask what’s funny when a familiar, gravelly voice talks through the microphone and out of the speakers.

“If I could just have your attention for a minute or two-“

Fuck. Sake.

“Just want to say a quick thank you to all of you for coming to celebrate my birthday with me tonight. It’s lovely to see see you all. I hope you all enjoy your night and make complete use of the bar. Behave yourselves”

If there was ever a time I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole, it’d be now. I went on a big, angry rant to the poor man minutes previously, completely ignorant to the fact that the entire reason this party is taking place is because it’s his fucking birthday. I’ve never felt more like a dickhead in all my life, and i’m certain my face is bright red. Price raises a glass and speaks again.

“To us rich arseholes, at least pretend to be on your best behaviour, eh? Here’s to a good night.”

He ends the speech echoing my previous words with a wink in my direction and I’ve never been more embarrassed in my entire life. I must’ve sounded like some entitled, bitchy woman who thinks she’s above rich, fancy parties. I knew i’d never have a chance with a man like him anyway, but now any flicker of hope there was has been completely stubbed out by my own angry words, fuelled by alcohol and bitterness towards being the ‘single, fat friend’.

I down the rest of my martini in an attempt to hide my beetroot-red face and embarrassment, despite the fact that my head is already a little fuzzy and clouded by the way i’ve been chugging blueberry martinis like my life depends on it. Luckily, no one notices my embarrassment and Price goes off to mingle with other people rather than coming back to our table, so I don’t have to confront him. I make a silent ‘thank-you’ to whoever is up there in the sky, whether it be god or some other deity.

The next few hours go by without any more embarrassments, thank god. I do my best to engage in small talk with the lads while simultaneously avoiding Price. I should apologise, I know that, but I doubt he wants to see me. Or hear my whining voice ever again. Why didn’t he say anything? Why didn’t he cut me off and tell me it was his fucking birthday to save me the embarrassment of going off on some pathetic rant about ‘rich arseholes’? Why am I such a fucking idiot?

I excuse myself from the group and go back to the bar to order another drink. Except this time, I order a glass of water along with my martini. Arguably the only good decision i’ve made all night. No, the only good decision i’ve made in a long time. I plop myself down on the same tiny barstool as a few hours previous and take a few swigs of water to try and sober up a little and cool myself down. My hair has gone from being up in a bun and cute-messy, to being free and wild, cascading down my back. I don’t even remember undoing it, but i’m past the point of caring. My face is flushed, my eyes are glassy and my lipstick is faded and the tiniest bit smudged. A whole mess.

I force my thoughts away from considering the mess i’ve become over the course of the night and I look over to Amelia and the group of lads. Before I even have time to register that Price has joined the group, my stomach drops. He’s looking right at me with a fucking smirk on his face. If I wasn’t so embarrassed I’d probably think it was the sexiest thing i’ve ever seen. My face immediately blushes scarlet and I discard the glass of water for my martini. If i’m gonna get through this night with any semblance of dignity, I won’t be doing it sober. I debate getting up and sucking up my pride to apologise for being such a bitch. But then, what if he just laughs in my face and everyone else sees how much of a whiny child I was? Yeah, better not do that.

Amelia seems to notice him staring right at me because in a matter of seconds, she’s following his gaze and then walking over to me, that determined look on her face. She knows somethings going on, and she will demand to know.

“Okay, what the fuck. Did you and birthday boy get it on in the toilets or something without me knowing?”

I scoff and roll my eyes, not meeting her gaze and pouring some more blueberry flavoured courage down my throat.

“Obviously not, Amelia.”

She shakes her head and sits on the stool next to me, determined to get to the bottom of my awkward behaviour.

“Okay, listen. Me and you are gonna get out of here and go back to your apartment with a bottle of your favourite shit wine and we can talk all about it. I can tell you’re not enjoying yourself and I wanna know what’s going on. Gimme five minutes, i’ll be back and then we’re leaving.”

Before I can argue and tell her it’s okay, she’s going back to the group of lads and giving Johnny a kiss goodbye. It’s times like these where i’m reminded why she’s my best friend. She can read my feelings without me having to say a word, and she does truly care about me, even if my stupid little brain tries to convince me otherwise.

I leave the rest of my martini and make my way outside to have a cigarette while I wait for her. It’s well into the night now and considerably colder, and i’m mentally cursing myself for not wearing a jacket. I pull out another cigarette from my handbag and take a deep, long drag. The same burn, the same stench, the same short-lived relief. Just as i’m about to exhale-

“Leaving so soon, dove?”

For fuck sake. Why does this man have to show up at the worst times?

“Afraid so.. Past my bedtime.”

Again, the man laughs. Now, I know i’ve had too much to drink because I feel the warm, rumbly sound deep in my core, between my thighs. I don’t turn around to look at him, I can’t face him. I think i’ll die of embarrassment if I do.

I feel the warmth of something get draped around my shoulders, and the scent of spices and smoke mixed with expensive cologne. I’ve been nothing but a bitch to this man and here he is being chivalrous and giving me his jacket. I say nothing, but i’m grateful for the warmth.

“Hm. Shame. I quite enjoyed that little rant of yours.”

He’s doing in on purpose, i’m sure of it. He’s giving subtle digs to make me feel like even more of an idiot. It’s now when I spin on my heels to face him. I need to apologise. Now or never.

“Listen, about that.-“

“No need to apologise, dove. I liked the honesty. Not often I find a soft, beautiful thing like you with such fire in her.”

Just like that, i’m rendered speechless. I was expecting him to brush me off or belittle me or even scold me. But no. He’s giving me compliments like it’s the most normal thing in the world. I’m stuttering and fumbling over my words when Amelia walks about and grabs my hand, seemingly oblivious to the situation and pulling me into an uber. I get in, still speechless and head spinning. Is my head spinning because of the countless martinis I guzzled or because of him? I don’t know, and I can’t figure it out.

Amelia and I make it back to my apartment as we immediately kick off our shoes and crack open a bottle of shit wine and immediately I feel comfortable, i’m in my own space, drinking my favourite cheap wine with my best friend. Not surrounded by people I don’t know In some huge fucking mansion.

Amelia sits on the other end of the couch, legs intertwined with mine as she sips on the wine and gives me an expectant look, waiting for me to fill her in on tonight’s details.

“So… I went outside for a smoke and Captain Guy followed and sat down next to me. He asked if I was enjoying myself and I said no and went on a big rant, talking about how the only people that enjoy parties like that are rich arseholes and blah blah blah…”

I conveniently leave out the part at the end where he gave me his jacket and called me ‘soft and beautiful’. Which reminds me, I still have his jacket. I make a mental note to give it Johnny so he can give it back to him at some point.

Amelia’s eyes widen and she laughs.

“No way! Is that why he started talking about ‘rich arseholes’ in his speech?”

I nod, my face contorted into shame and embarrassment. Of course, Amelia thinks this is hilarious and nearly chokes on her wine.

“I felt like such a prat. It was the poor man’s birthday and here I am, basically calling him a rich arsehole…”

Amelia’s laughter dies down and she gives me a sympathetic look and a pat on the thigh.

“Girl, don’t even worry. He thought it was funny. Seemed interested in you. Even asked what your name was.”

My eyes instantly widen at the prospect of a man like Price being interested in a woman like me. I’m not exactly everyones cup of tea, i’m a big girl, rough around the edges, basically a hot mess on a good day.

“He what?!”

Amelia sports a shit-eating grin and nods, like she’s satisfied with herself.

“I swear. He came back inside and started asking about you.”

My face blushes like a fucking idiot and I have to bury my face in my hands. Since when did I become the type to get flustered and giddy over a man? Especially a man i’ve met once, and once only. But damn, what a man he is. That voice, broad shoulders, strong arms, thick thighs, strong hips…

The topic of conversation changes away from Price to Johnny and part of me feels grateful, though his words are still bouncing around my head like the DVD symbol on a TV.

“Not often I find a soft, beautiful thing like you with such fire in her.”

They bounce around in my head for the rest of the night, from when Amelia and I tuck into a greasy kebab, to when we settle into bed a good two hours later… The words are echoing around in my skull when my phone buzzes on my nightstand. I’m instantly ripped from my fantasies about the nice man with the wide shoulders when my brain reminds me the notification is probably from my shit-bag of an ex-boyfriend. I roll my eyes and breathe deeply before grabbing my phone, mentally preparing to read more false apologies when i’m completely stopped in my tracks.

Unknown: Nice seeing you tonight, dove. Think you still have my jacket. -JP

JP. The P is for Price, that much is obvious. But J? I begin to wonder about what his first name is… Jack? Jacob? James?

My thumbs hover over the keyboard as I rack my brain to come up with some sort of coherent response. I don’t even question how he got my number, i’m too busy focusing on the fact that he even texted me to begin with, and is calling me ‘Dove’. My stomach swirls. What do I say?

I put my phone down and decide i’ll reply in the morning when the alcohol is out of my system and i’ve had enough time to formulate a response that doesn’t make me sound like an absolute idiot. Until then, his words and text bounce against the corners of my skull, well into the hours of the morning.

[ivestas]

hearts aligned

PART TWO

Summary: He keeps pretending he doesn’t know you and it’s starting to get on your nerves. 

Tags: soldier!fem!reader (call sign “hound”) x ghost (2010 version), childhood friends, grief, smoking, lowkey reader x konig, canon divergence, hurt/comfort(?), barely edited, suicidal implications

Word count: 1.4k

Note: this is kind of the continuation of the konig fic i made with that reader, though not really? like these oneshots r connected but u can still read this without reading the other, but i recommend reading that one first

He was pretending not to know you. 

He avoided your gaze, full of ire and judgement, favoring the sight of the wall behind you. 

“You’re Captain Price?” You’d asked gruffly, trying to stave away the flame that licked at your nerves. “An honor. Didn’t think KorTac would be able to contact you guys.” 

“Could say the same for you, Hound.” Price responded, lighting a fat cigar. “Though I’m more surprised about how yer still alive.” 

Price’s men—all talking among themselves in the KorTac lounge—didn’t avoid your prying stare, nodding to you before turning back to their comrades. 

Ghost hadn’t. He’s not looked at you once. 

Instead, he’s still staring at the damn wall.

“What can I say? I have the devil’s luck. I’ll share my secrets if you ask nicely.” 

Price chuckled. “Keep ‘em to yourself—in any case, how long’re you plannin’ to stay?” 

You were staring fully at Ghost now. 

He’s turned his head, now talking to the Scotsman—Soap, was it? 

“Dunno. Just gonna stick around till I feel like I’ve done my part.” 

“You always been a vagrant? Why not settle down with KorTac—or, perhaps, with the 141? I wouldn’t mind the extra set of hands.” 

“I wouldn’t mind prying my molars out with my own hands, either.” 

He sighed. “I can’t help but wonder what crawled up your ass and died. Even if you’re opposed to the 141, why not KorTac? You even have your own right-hand man trailin’ after you like a lost pup.” 

It was your turn to sigh. “You’ve noticed König?” 

Price leaned against the wall, taking in a quick puff before snorting. “Hard not to when he’s a fuckin’ giant—you don’t seem to mind, though. Didn’t think you were that type.” 

“What type?” You smiled, extending a hand.

He passed you the cigar. His voice lowered despite the fact no one was listening. “The heartless type. You’re humoring the man when we both know you’d sooner die than settle down like that.” 

You took a long suck. It’s expensive—aromatic with clear punches of spice and earth. 

Too expensive.

You handed the cigar back. “I don’t mind the shadow, the sun’s pretty harsh here and I don’t wanna age like a pig.”

“Wrong thing to worry about,” he hummed, lifting the cigar to his mouth once more.

“Let me be a little vain, Price,” you stretched your arms. “In any case, I’m gonna go ‘hit the hay’. Have fun spending the night slaving away at papers.”

“Don’t remind me...” 

You laughed at that. You shot one last glance at Ghost—whose back was turned to you, prick—before heading out of the lounge. 

It was just after a few seconds of walking you heard footsteps behind you. You recognized the light steps immediately. 

Without bothering to turn, you spoke. “Not tonight, König. I’m busy.”

“...Tomorrow?” 

You hated the power his voice had over you—how fucking soft it was. It made you feel bad. Guilty.

You turned around then, offering him an apologetic smile. Under the dim, flickering lights of the hallway, he looked monstrous, but his eyes were warm. “How about the morning, then? We can shoot at the range on the crack of dawn.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled, just enough for you to know he was smiling. “That sounds good, thank you.”

“Now, go to sleep. It’s late.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“I thought I told you before not to call me—”

He’d turned around already, walking off in the opposite direction, back to his barracks. 

I’ll talk to him about that tomorrow. You continued walking, making your way through the twisting hallways until you finally found it.

His room. 

It was an invasion of privacy in many ways, this could get you in trouble in an instant, but you didn’t give a shit. Not now.

Simon’s gonna answer to you, and he’s not gonna hide behind that shitty mask of his. Not now. Not after the past you’ve shared. 

You opened his door with ease, and inside, it was just as you expected: empty, save for the raggedy cot and personal equipment. 

There was a deep shadow cast in one of the shadows just along the wall where the door was. 

Shutting the door, you went to the corner, back pressed against the hard concrete as you just stared at where the door was. 

You were going to stay here till he comes, and you were only going to leave till he answered you. 

Until he finally looked at you. 

---

You didn’t know how much time has passed, your brain had been filled with nothing but static and air, but when you finally heard footsteps draw close to the door, you snapped out of your stupor. 

Standing tall, you crossed your arms, staring at the door as it swung open. 

He didn’t notice you—not right away, his peripheral gaze not aimed at the side where you were lurking. 

It was only when he shut the door and looked around the room that he finally noticed you. 

He froze, tired eyes sharpening with ice. 

But he wasn’t looking at you, no, he looked at your face, not your eyes. 

“What’re you doing here?” His voice was cold, callous.

“You know why I’m here, you piece of shit.” You took a step forward, lifting your chin. “Why have you been avoiding me?” 

He snorted. “Didn’t know we were in middle school again—”

“We might as well be with how much of a fucking idiot you are.” You took another step forward. 

He narrowed his eyes but remained as still as a stone. Still, not looking at you. “Well, now I’m here. Happy? Leave.”

“You—fuck, Simon—“

“Ghost.” He corrected coldly. 

“Oh, shut up, you’re Simon and you’ll always be Simon.” 

“You haven’t earned the right to say my name—“

“I earned that fuckin’ right the moment I took in your sorry ass back when we were kids.” Now you were right in front of him, looking up, trying to meet his gaze. 

And he did—fuck, he finally did, and what reflected was an incomprehensible mix of emotions you couldn’t decode—you couldn’t care to. 

Because that wasn’t enough, you realize. You didn’t just want his eyes, you wanted him. 

In hindsight, it was obvious, but at that moment, your rage was numbed by confusion. 

You stumbled back. 

Again, he was unmoving, but his hand had twitched forward.

The movement made you scoff. Your heart was on fire. 

You laughed. It was loud, harsh, grating. “You can’t just—you can’t just spend an eternity with me then run off and pretend I don’t exist—” 

“Then imagine how I felt when I found out the girl who’d been up my ass was not only a goddamn soldier, but one that ran around throwing her life away without even bothering to find me.” 

You froze. 

“You act like I’ve wronged you when it’s the other way around—I knew you, you and your little feats on the battlefield, flaunts of strength as though you had no value. As though I wasn’t a thought in your mind.” 

“I—“

“No, don’t ‘I’, shut up. Selfish little shit—so eager to toss your life, because what?—hadn’t you heard me when I said ‘I want you alive’? Back in your room when you were obsessed with video games and art? When you told me that secret, and I told you mine?” His words were straining, as though he were struggling to spit them out—to piece them together and coherently present them.

As if he, too, had been alight with anger. 

“...”

"You told me to cut off frayed links, and I did just that... so don’t be angry. I just did what you told me to—”

Your arms wrapped around him in an instant. 

Your chest was tight. Ragged. You squeezed the words out, though. “I’m... sorry.” 

Ghost—Simon—whoever this version of this man just stood, still and quiet, even when a part of you broke.

Just as when you were kids, except this time, there was no silent hope for the future, no yearning for a better past, but the cold and unyielding weight of reality slowly encompassing the two of you. 

That weight lightened the slightest bit when he reciprocated, arms around you too.

AO3

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[maskyartist]

Rewarded in Pink and Brown

more drabbles this time from my Roman Lives AU cause i've been missing them already, plus yknow me i love a good reunion scene

(small notes, Roman lost his leg due to damage and wears a prosthetic. its what he refers to with Pietro. Roman traveled to Mistral on the same train as Oscar, causing them to meet early by accident, which led Roman to join the main cast

right now we're at the Schnee party in V8

we caught up? good lets roll)

================================================

Smoking calms the nerves.

That's what Roman's told himself for years. But lately, after being off them for so long, he coughs and coughs as the smoke bellows above him, the burn unfamiliar in its familiarity.

Coming to Atlas has been strange. This whole year has been strange. Has it been a year? It feels like longer. Maybe shorter. Roman can't exactly tell anymore. Time blurred together from all the…excitement, you could call it.

From meeting Oscar by complete accident on his way to Mistral, to nearly getting killed by Red's little crew, to fighting alongside them at Haven… It's been many ups and downs since Neo's disappearance.

Now, here he stands, carefully disguised with a fat cigar between his fingers, waiting for the choking to die down like he's some kind of first-cigarette-teenager again. Out of spite, and a need to not waste these beauties found in this…very legally obtained coat, he takes another long, long drag, allowing the smoke to settle in his damaged lungs before blowing it to the sky. Better. Much better.

After losing so much, he can't lose this. A literal addiction to cover his emotional addiction is fair, isn't it?

Roman sighs. Heavy and tired, running a hand through temporary brown hair.

He's tried…he's tried so hard to hold onto hope… Mistral was a dud. So was Amina. He was hoping he'd spot her in Mantle, his old stomping grounds, but not a spot of pink and brown to be seen.

Now, here he stands. Leaning on a balcony railing, cigar warm between his gloved fingers, in the one city that Neo wanted to see the most for its beautiful snow…without her.

It's empty. Hollow. A victory unearned. Just like his survival. And after failure upon failure, hit after hit…

He's tired. One last puff has Roman tossing the cigar, letting it land where it lands on the ground below. Not his problem anymore. Red may have taught him to be patient, but not kind.

Turning around, he finally pushes himself off the railing and into the hall. May as well put that nifty leg Pietro gave him to work, since it was free. A gift from the heart, as he said.

Roman calls it pity. Still helps him walk, though.

"Alright, Roman, no more tears." He whispers to himself, combing curly hair back with a huff. "Just gotta make it another day…"

How many more "another day"s can he take? A question that's been on his mind since all this chaos began. Since he got swept up in something much bigger than himself. Then Neo. If this is what Cinder wanted, maybe it's a good thing she's not here, he muses as he walks down the hallway. Without Neo, there's no chance of her getting hurt worse. May as well count his blessings.

"Oh-!"

Roman falters when he stumbles, looking down to see a poor servant with a dropped tray and some barely-saved glasses on the carpet floor, champagne that probably costs more than any amount of Dust Roman has stolen in the past staining the fabric.

With a sigh, he kneels down and offers the girl a smile. "My apologies, I thought the upstairs was empty." He smoothly offers, helping gather rolled away glasses. That is the one nice thing about Atlas. No one cares to remember the voice of the long-dead Roman Torchwick. He doesn't need to worry too much about that.

"So, what's got you up here, anyway?" He can't help it. He's always been nosy when it comes to rich parties. And servants always have such juicy gossip. "I doubt you'll get many good tips up-"

…green eyes. That's the first thing he notices are green eyes. Piercing, so familiar, it's exactly like looking in a mirror. The young woman near him wearing a black bob on top of that that just brings too many memories back. Far too many. Too many of disguise attempts, trying to find the most bland appearance possible, before the two settled on black hair and green eyes and easy hairstyles. Easy to blend into the background with a bob, after all.

The silence between them is heavy, the woman silent as ever, and Roman taking her in. Her size, her stature, her figure…

"…I haven't used boxed dye in so long." Roman finally offers. A tidbit. A small nudge. It makes her blink, mouth falling lightly open.

Roman finally smiles. Smiles. Big and large and impatiently joyous at a fact that hasn't been proven.

"I mean…you did a much better job at my disguises, didn't you…"

It's like falling in love all over again. His heart skips a beat at the sight of shimmering pink, and leaps into his throat as it falls away like delicate raining glass to reveal a familiar face. Pink and brown eyes staring back at him, to match her hair, with messy white streaks from the amount of stress she's been through.

Roman laughs. He laughs because he finally found his hat and scarf, tied delicately around her neck and donning the top of her head like a crown.

Fit for a queen, of course.

"…Neo?"

Her name rolls off his tongue like a prayer. Neo, Neo, Neo, he's thought it for so long, he's imagined it for longer, but seeing it, seeing her…

He's not sure who launches at who first. Roman remembers opening his arms, but by the time his mind is caught up with him again, Neo's clinging to him tight, silent sobs soaking the front of his stolen attire as Roman cradles the back of her head, rests his chin atop his hat that sits so perfectly on her head, careful not to dirty her perfect appearance.

"You're just as stunning as ever…" He hiccups when he pulls away, cupping her face in his hands. Hands that are bare, gloves frantically tossed away to ensure that she's real. With real skin, and real warmth, and real wet tears he wipes away even as they continue to fall.

Real, with small hands mirroring his own, letting her feel along under his bangs, the scar that got bigger from the accident, letting her count every freckle like she couldn't remember their placement, letting her stare right into him as he stares right back.

Roman wastes no time. Her lips are like candy, sugary with lip gloss and a tad salty from tears. Be it his own or hers, he can't tell, and he doesn't care.

All that matters is that she's here. With him. Held in his arms, and sat in his lap like nothing ever changed. Like they're back at the warehouse, holding each other as they try to quiet down their adrenaline-filled thoughts after a long day's work to get some good sleep.

When he pulls away, Neo doesn't let him, yanking him right back in for kiss after kiss, making Roman laugh as he gives her everything she needs. Everything she wants. Anything. Anything at all. She deserves it. She deserves the world.

"Neo-"

peck

"Neo, doll-"

peck, peck

"Sweetheart, we need to-"

peck!

"Okay! That's enough!" Roman laughs again, straightening up enough to make Neo have to stop. He wipes his face of stray tears, amusement clear at her familiar pout. Yes. Because how dare he deny her anything. What a cruel monster her lover has become with time.

He shakes his head, gently combing fingers through Neo's hair. More white streaks. More stress. "If we keep this up, we'll be up here all night. And personally? I'd rather not have our first night back together in a Schnee manor."

Neo's face scrunches in disgust. Clearly, they're on the same page. "Besides…"

Cupping her cheek, he thumbs over newly obtained, tiny scars. Then, delicately, he removes his scarf from her neck, Neo allowing him to see the riddling of slashes. Along with newer ones, along the collar bone. Light burns and small stabs.

He sets the scarf aside to steal his hat from her head, dropping it atop his own. Even with the disguise, Neo sees him. All of him. Every inch of Roman Torchwick and his dramatics.

…they're perfect for each other.

"I really need to fill you in on what you've missed."

Roman doesn't deserve this. He doesn't deserve her. Not now. Not after what they've gone through. Not after what he's done, his constant back and forth, his changing, his differences from back then to now.

But knowing Neo? She's too stubborn to give him up.

And, no matter how much time he's spent around those damn kids…

Roman's too selfish to let her try.

[raph-fangirl]

That Which We Call Beast - chapter iv

Beauty and the Beast fairytale retelling ; original story, fantasy & historical romance, ongoing

main index - includes chapter navigation and story info

——— ⋆ ❖ ː ❛ Puffs of cigar smoke spiraled into the air, like drops of blood or wine seeping into water. Beast inhaled the tobacco and his eyes rolled back. 

        His first ever cigar had smelled just like his father—that nauseating stench. The same scent of rotting animals on the forest floor, and an old, fat man vomiting. But as he grew older, and his father died, the scent of cigars changed. Beast began to like the smell of animals on the forest floor—the smell of sudden and unforeseen opportunity, of blood. And he no longer sensed that old, fat man, but rather, someone young and innovative. Someone like Judas Morgan Chesterton.

        Chesterton twirled a cigar in-between his fingers, one leg crossed over the other, sitting upright in his chair. The man’s neat, trim hair toppled over nicely onto his forehead. It was a slick black color. Beast smelled the pomade. The pomade smelled almost the same as Chesterton’s dark brown suit. But the suit had a whiff of fresh apples on it. The man held a newspaper in his other hand, his eyes scouring over the tall paragraphs. Every now and then, the man brought the cigar to his lips, puffing out small circles of smoke. 

        “What’s the trouble today, Chesterton?” Beast asked, pointing his cigar at the newspaper.

        “Oh, mostly the same old things, Ashworth,” the man replied. He lifted his ocean-blue eyes from the papers and made eye contact with the beast. “There is one new headline, though, that I am particularly interested in. And you might be, too.”

        “Go on with it.”

        “A radical discovery in the science world.” Chesterton crushed his cigar then flipped the paper around, his long, slender finger pointing to a headline in big, black, bold letters:

DARWIN’S ON THE ORIGIN OF SPECIES CHALLENGES EVERYTHING KNOWN ABOUT THE HISTORY OF LIFE ON EARTH

        “On the Origin of Species? Is that a scientific article?” Beast asked, crushing his cigar and leaning forward. He clasped his paws together. 

        “No. A novel. Published just last November.” Chesterton read some more. His slender, oval-shaped face was focused, and wrinkles rose around his forehead and eyes. “They say that there are many who are skeptical of it, for it challenges not only previous scientific thought—but also religious belief as well.” 

        Beast tilted his head. “Really?” he said. “I must add it to my private collection then. What sort of discoveries has Darwin made?”

        “Well, for one…” Chesterton laughed and cleared his throat. “He states that man descended from apes. Not exactly ‘created’ in the image of God.”

        Beast remained silent. He crossed his large, muscular arms.

        “And you can only imagine how well that is going over with the devout.” Chesterton lifted a brow.

        Slightly smiling at the remark, Beast stood up, pacing toward the window. He folded his paws behind his back as his eyes followed along the trail that trekked from the castle gardens out into the forest. It led to the town, and then from there, one could take a train to London, where all news stemmed from. Where men sat about in rooms, smoking cigars—not unlike him and Chesterton—discussing scientific matters.

        “I wonder what those scientific gentlemen would think of me,” Beast said.

        “Well,” Chesterton’s eyes widened, “let’s just hope they never discover you. Don’t even think about it, Ashworth.”

        “They’d probably lock me in a cage, study me for a little bit, and then put me on display at some zoo. Or—for better or worse, depending on how you see things—they might just shoot me and then dissect my remains.” Beast turned, raising his paw and waving it about. He formed a museum in mid-air. “Soon, my skeletal remains, or my stuffed body, would be on display for all the world to see. They wouldn’t know where to group me when it came to taxonomy.” He chuckled. “Bison? Wolf? Bear? Lion? Ape? Man? A mixture of all of these? They would be so baffled.” Beast thought to himself for a moment and his face lit up. His rich hazel eyes dazzled in the sunlight, like the forest when it had rained and the shrubbery and leaves were all moist—and then the sun broke through the clouds and shone on all of them, accentuating their colors.

        But his grin faded away soon enough. The beast turned about.

        Chesterton made eye contact with him, curled up in his chair, a skeptical, confused look on his face. “I believe you are getting ahead of yourself, Ashworth,” he said slowly. 

        “Nonsense, Chesterton. I know exactly what they would do if they discovered me.” Beast laid his paws on his hips. “They would treat me just as any other beast or freak of nature. No matter how articulate or charming I can be.”

        His eyes widening more, Chesterton looked away. 

        “And that’s why I want to stay here. Alone. Secluded. Here, I am free to go about my business as I please. I can delve into the life of a man if I so desire, but I can also return to my natural ways whenever I want. I have no choice but to do so at night everhow.”

        Chesterton nodded his head. “I only hope it will remain that way, Ashworth. I don’t know what I’d do if you were discovered.” 

        “Ah, you’d go about life as usual. My younger brother would inherit this castle and title, and you’d still reside here with him as your companion. If I died, you’d visit my museum memorial. And if I lived, you’d visit my new abode in the London Zoo.”

        “I don’t appreciate your humor, Ashworth,” the man commented, clenching his jaw. “This is a grave matter, and you know it. Just imagine if Mrs. Kensington had, instead of telling her that you were deformed, told Miss Newall the truth?”

        “Miss Newall be damned, and truth be damned.” Beast walked away from the window, returning to his desk and taking a seat. He lit another cigar. 

        “Well, don’t come crying to me when the London Guard breaks into the castle upon the claims of a wild beast living inside.” The man leaned back in his seat, frowning. He flapped the newspaper and continued reading.

        “Oh, no, Chesterton.” Beast smirked, taking a puff. “When that moment comes, it is you who will be crying for me.”

        As if on command, a harrowing shriek traveled through the cracks in the castle walls, coming from somewhere beyond the master’s quarters. It was the high-pitched wail of a woman.

        “What a dreadful noise,” Beast said, pulling the cigar away from his lips. His wolf-like ears twitched around and around. But his face and composure remained practically the same.

        Chesterton arose, putting the newspaper down in his seat. He raised a finger to his mouth, perturbed. “Do you think it might have been… one of your family members? What if your mother—”

        “No, no, I didn’t recognize the voice,” Beast stated. 

        Chesterton rubbed his chin, then his face lit up. “It must be that young woman who entered the castle today!” he exclaimed. “Miss Bourne.”

        “Well, what the devil could she be wailing about?” said Beast, his cigar bouncing up-and-down in his lips as he spoke.

        The man turned his head slowly toward the beast, a frown upon his lips. He crossed his arms, tapped his foot, and cleared his throat. 

        “What?” Beast reared back, but then a new expression broke across his animalistic features. He laughed, the sound bouncing across the walls of the room. “Ah, yes. I forgot. For a woman, finding out that your prospective partner is not human can be quite an…unnervingrealization.” He took the cigar out of his mouth, waving it about in the air triumphantly, like a flag. “Well, this is what we expected and wanted to occur. I can finally go on being a confirmed old bachelor, living my life in glorious… unaltered…peace.” He leaned back, propping his bushy, clawed feet up on the desk, and closing his eyes. 

        Chesterton sat back down, color returning to his cheeks. He laughed at his friend’s antics, then shouted: “Right you are! We shall both go on being confirmed old bachelors together.”

        Beast raised up his cigar as if raising a glass of champagne, and Chesterton folded his newspaper before lifting as well. They both made a toast in the air and laughed together. 

        Several moments of silence passed. No other wails had sounded.

        “I wonder what is happening now,” Chesterton asked. “What if we celebrated too early?”

        “Aren’t you reading your papers?” Beast asked, his arms folded, facing the window.

        “No. I can’t focus. Not when our very lives could be at stake.”

        Beast chuckled. “Trust me, Chesterton. Nothing’s going to happen.”

        “You say that, but you’re watching the window to see if she’s going to go running out.”

        “You don’t know what I’m watching.”

        “I know you, Ashworth. We might as well be brothers.” 

        Beast grinned, chewing on the cigar. “Just relax. If she runs out, the guards will catch her.”

        “I hope she doesn’t,” Chesterton admitted. “She seemed to be calm and collected this morning. At least, that's what I could tell from the window.”

        Beast’s eyes raced around the gardens, searching for movement. He tensed, his fangs sinking into the meat of the cigar, his claws puncturing the soft skin of the chair. “What else was she like?”

        Chesterton squinted, then quirked a brow at his friend. “What do you mean?”

        “I wasn’t watching her when she arrived. What was she like?” he asked, no expression in his voice.

        Blinking rapidly, the man stared, amazed at his friend. “You’ve never asked what someone was like before.”

        “Chesterton.”

        “Alright, alright.” He laid his newspaper on his lap. “Well, she was beautiful.” 

        Beast waited, but no more words came. “Surely, that’s not all.”

        “It’s not. I just wasn’t sure how to word this.” Chesterton winced, licking his lips, deep in thought. “She was… almost off in another world—like all she could think about were beautiful things and clouds. A faraway look.”

        Beast lifted a thick, dark brow. “One ofthosewomen? Like the ones in paintings?” He placed his paws under his chin, grunting.

        “Yes, that’s it!” Chesterton said. “Perhaps, if she stays, she could be one of your models for a new portrait!”

        “Hah!” Beast exclaimed. “You know I haven’t painted in years, Chesterton. Besides, a woman like that doesn’t want an artist like me.” He paused, smirking proudly. “My portraits are so unlike other artists' of our time. I show the grotesqueness of ugly people and the ugliness of beautiful people. Whereas other painters make ugly people beautiful and beautiful people god-like.”

        Chesterton frowned. “As if I had somehow forgotten your style,” he said, shaking his head. “You could at least open your mind a little. After all, we’re not entirely certain yet if Miss Bourne has made her decision.”

        “Oh, I’m certain, Chesterton,” Beast laughed, spinning his chair about and facing his friend, “that Miss Bourne wants absolutely nothing to do with me. I know her kind.”

        “You don’t.”

        “I do.” Beast spun back around.

        “B-but your mother.” Chesterton leaned forward, insistently. “She chose Miss Bourne for a reason.”

        Beast’s eyes rose, from the windowsill to the sky. Birds fluttered about. “You’re right. She did choose Miss Bourne for a reason.” He fixed his gaze, focusing on the bars of the window that locked him inside. “But it’s not the reason you think.”

        “Then what is it?” Chesterton folded his newspaper and put his hands on his hips.

        Crushing the cigar between his teeth, Beast’s eyes blazed red. He took the broken stick out of his mouth, twirling it in between his claws. “Some say it’s because Miss Bourne has a kind heart. She would never judge others by appearances, only their character. That’s the seed her father, Mr. Bourne, has planted. And it’s taken root in this castle.

        “But, my mother knows better. The only reason she chose Miss Bourne was that she knew the girl’s situation was desperate. She hoped that—no matter if I were man or beast—Miss Bourne would still marry me to alter the course of her family’s fate.” 

        Chesterton breathed in deep, shocked. “Really? That’s it?”

        “Yes. Well, that and she believes Miss Bourne would not go around spreading rumors, as Miss Newall did.”

        “Did she tell you all of this?”

        Beast shook his head. “Not exactly. I interpreted most of it… As well as overheard some of her conversations with Mrs. Kensington.”

        “I really don’t know why you listen in on so many things. It makes me conscious of everything I do and say,” stated Chesterton, only half-joking.

        “I can’t help it,” Beast replied. “If you had the ears of a wolf, you’d do the same.”

        “I would never listen in on your mother and Mrs. Kensington!” 

        “But you certainly would listen in if your fate was being decided by them.” 

        Chesterton pursed his lips together. He took a breath to say something else, but soon let the air out. “I suppose I can’t argue with that logic.”

        Beast suddenly lifted his nose into the air, turning around. The scent of old womanly perfumes, but not the kind his mother used. An ironed outfit, with hardly any odor on it except for the stench of lemon-and-verbena scented soaps and oils. And then the perspiration of an aging lady—the smell of great oak trees when they let their leaves go. Everywhere was the clean scent of falling leaves and the wind. 

        “Speaking of Mrs. Kensington.” Beast stood at once, pouncing toward the door. He straightened his outfit and buttoned a few loose pieces of fabric together. The size and stiffness of the coat forced him to suck in. He barely fit.

        “Oh, dear. Oh, dear,” Chesterton exclaimed, gasping. He stood, frantically pacing.

        “Gather yourself, Chesterton. No matter what happened with Miss Bourne, one thing we’ll not do is panic.” 

        Chesterton nodded, wringing his hands, but standing in place.

        Beast took hold of the door handle and tugged on it, effortlessly opening the tall, grand doors of his private study. “Good day, Mrs. Kensington.”

        “Good day, Your Lordship.” The old lady curtsied.

        “Won’t you come in?” He gestured for her to come inside, and she did as told.

        Beast smirked as he shut the door, chuckling. “So… has Mrs. Bourne frightfully ran away from the castle?” He stood straight, clasping his paws together behind his back. 

        Mrs. Kensington lifted a suspicious brow as she sat down in the chair next to Chesterton. “If she had, you would know, Your Lordship.”

        Beast frowned. “Yes, I suppose so.” But his air immediately returned. “So her only response to finding out I was ‘deformed’ was a wail?”

        Mrs. Kensington paused for a moment, before taking a breath and saying, “No, not at all.”

        Chesterton leaned forward. Beast unclasped his paws.

        “So then… she knows I’m…”

        “Of course she knows you’re a beast.”

        “That’s it then!” He practically jumped up, clapping his paws. “That was the reason for the wail! I knew it!”

        Mrs. Kensington turned toward him and shook her head. “Wrong again. She did not wail when I told her you were a beast.”

        All of Beast’s snarky, confident air fell away, like leaves falling from trees and then dissipating into the ground, turning to dust. Chesterton looked back and forth between Beast and Mrs. Kensington.

        Mrs. Kensington flicked a speck of dust from her gown. “At first, she thought that you were a ‘beast of a man’. That you had a bad character. She did not pick up that you were…” Her eyes flicked up and down his tall frame. “Well, the way you are. But, once she understood, she wasn’t exactly what you would calldelighted. But she most certainly did not wail either.” Mrs. Kensington sighed, gazing down at her palms, before looking Beast in the eye. “Miss Bourne is stronger in character than you expected her to be… thanI expected her to be.”

        Beast’s mouth hung open, his eyes fixed on the floor. 

        Chesterton leaned over, his eyebrows knitted together, in shock. “So, then, what did the lady actually wail at?”

        “Well… she seemed to be upset after I informed her of His Lordship's state. A quiet kind of upset. And I told her she most certainly did not have to marry His Lordship if she did not wish to.” Mrs. Kensington pursed her lips together. “She considered turning down the marriage, but after considering it, her eyes grew a bright red and she couldn’t sit still.” The old woman mimicked the girl’s behaviors, her eyes racing about the room, a horrified look on her face. “That’s when she buckled over, falling to the floor, and wailed.”

        Beast’s ears pricked. He took a few steps back, his arms and paws reaching out and taking hold of both sides of the doorframe.

        Mrs. Kensington continued: “She later told me, after she gathered her bearings, that she wailed not because she was frightened of a beastly husband, but because she couldn’t bear the thought of her destitute family. And the blame being placed on her for not taking the offer in marriage.”

        Beast claws sunk into the door; he gripped onto the frame. 

        “So, there you have it.” Mrs. Kensington patted her hands on her lap. “Miss Bourne was too frightened of the alternative to not take this offer. She’s agreed to marry you, Your Lordship. I told her that you would be in to officially propose soon.”

        A cold, electrifying draft blew into the room. From where, Beast was not sure. It made the fur on his long mane stick up, stretching down his back. On the doorframe, there were puncture wounds from his claws. 

        Through his fangs, a whisper broke out: “Dammit, mother.”

        “What was that, Your Lordship?”

        His body reacted to the sudden cold of the room, building up heat. “Dammit, mother,” he said again, louder. 

        Mrs. Kensington reared back, blinking rapidly.

        Chesterton’s eyes widened. He stood up suddenly. “Now, now, Ashworth. Stay calm. We can fix this.” He reached his hands out. “There’s always another way.”

        Beast hurled the words across the room: “Damn! Damn! Damn!” He growled, retracting his claws from the doorframe and stomping about the room. “Dammit, mother! Damn you!” His hind paws pounding into the floor, he stomped over to the other side of the room, away from Mrs. Kensington and Chesterton. He curled into himself, stooping over, hugging his knees.

        Chesterton walked toward Beast, hesitant at first. He reached out a hand and Beast growled. Chesterton lurched back. “Now, Ashworth, don’t be like that,” he said. “We can fix this.” 

        “How?” Beast’s hazel eyes seared, bright red.

        “Well…” Ashworth lifted his hands to his forehead, looking about the room. “You could just not marry her. Your mother would never know! And— and… why…” The man’s shoulders lifted as he gasped, and his face became fresh again, as fresh as a child’s. “You could just give her the money anyway!” 

        The fire in Beast’s eyes dimmed, turning earthy once more. “I’m not so sure it will be as simple as you say, Chesterton,” he said, a low sarcasm in his voice.

        “But it will work! Listen to me.” Chesterton laid a hand on Beast’s shoulders. The fur on his mane spiked up again at the touch. “You give her the money she needs as an incentive for not telling the world the truth about your form. She leaves the castle, and you do not have to ever see her again. Problem solved.”

        Beast had a faraway look in his eyes, like a forest animal. Not looking at anything in particular, or even thinking of anything at all. A blank stare. 

        Mrs. Kensington stood up. “But, Mr. Chesterton, what about the girl’s family? They believe she is going to be married. What will they think when the marriage is called off and His Lordship gives her a hefty sum of money anyway?”

        “Oh, we’ll think of something.” He dismissed her, waving his hand. “But for now, this plan is good enough. Don’t you think so, Ashworth?”

        Beast slowly nodded, his head barely moving. “Whatever it takes so that…” he raised up a little, straightening his collar, “she won’t make another one of those dreadful wails.”

        Chesterton chuckled. “Now, that’s the Ashworth I know!” The man patted his friend on the back.

        Beast straightened out. The fur on his mane settled, falling back against the rest of his body. 

        Mrs. Kensington blinked, surprised. “I- I’ll be back with Miss Bourne’s reply.” She curtsied, then entwined her fingers and walked out of the room, quietly shutting the door. 

        After the sound of the old woman’s steps disappeared, Chesterton leaped for joy, a childish grin spreading out across his face. He turned around to face Beast. “Well, we did it! After all these years, we did it, Ashworth! … Ashworth?”

        Beast had sat down again, his paw covering his face. 

        “What’s the matter?” Chesterton walked over to his friend. “You should be joyous! Or… at least I think you should.” He rocked back and forth on his heels.

        “Nothing’s the matter, Chesterton.” Beast waved his other paw at the man. 

        “Alright then,” he said, looking off into the distance. But the man soon turned back around. “Aren’t you amazed? I can’t believe Miss Bourne would do such a thing for her family. Not even for her own self, but for her family. I thought we both agreed there were only selfish women left in the world.” Chesterton walked over to Beast’s desk, laughing. He picked a bottle of wine out of the desk drawer and popped it open, pouring himself a glass. “Would you care for some, Ashworth?”

        Beast again raised his paw, waving it. 

        “No? Alright then. More for me.” Chesterton took a sip and shook his head in delight. “We really should have some vineyards planted on the grounds. Get rid of those gardens and—”

        “No,” Beast declared suddenly, lifting his paw. A redness encircled the whites of his eyes.

        Chesterton stopped himself mid-drink.

        Beast caught himself and placed the paw back over his face. “You’d never be sober.”

        Before Chesterton could reply or even continue his drink, footsteps were heard rushing down the hallways. Beast’s ears shot up and he removed his paw from his face once more. 

        The scent of white linens and pungent oils. Of various medicines and heavy cologne. 

        Electricity bolted through Beast’s veins. He got up, sprinted on all fours to the corner of the room, yanked at his black cover-up, and put it on. Strutting toward the door, he fidgeted with the piece of cloth, wrapping it around his body and making sure it covered his beastly form completely.

        Chesterton set his drink down. “Ashworth, who is it?”

        Not a second after the man asked, the doctor burst into the room. His eyes frantically searched about the room, until landing on the black cover-up.

        “Your Lordship.” He quickly bowed, shooting his eyes back up as soon as possible. “It’s your mother. She’s—”

        A gust of wind from Beast’s coverup and cape. He blew past the doctor and ran as fast as he could on two legs toward his mother’s private quarters. As he drew nearer, there was the scent of perfume. Not the same ones his mother used, but—

        There they were. Everywhere. Lining the hallways, creeping next to the door. They glanced up at him, their pale pink faces void and distant. 

        “She’s calling for you,” they said.

        Beast paused. He sniffed and pricked his ears toward the door. He pushed past the hoards and masses of friends and family, slinking his way around hoops and gowns. 

        Finally, the scent of his mother’s perfume. And the stirring of her blood within her veins. “Mother!” He ran to her side, taking her palms within his grasp. 

        Shuffling footsteps. Most everyone left the room. The candlelight flickered, painting the room maroon. 

        Her eyes were crusted shut, but his mother soon opened them, breaking through the crust. Her pupils dilated, landing on her son. She searched through the veil, trying to find his eyes. “Vicky…” 

        “Mother…” He held her hands tighter. “The doctor said you wouldn’t wake but…”

        She brought a hand toward his face, touching his high cheekbones through the cloth. “Well, I have one more thing to ask. I can’t leave just yet.” Her lips quivered as she attempted a smile. Her whole body shook. 

        “Of course, mother.” Water built up in Beast’s eyes. His knees locked. “Anything.”

        She turned away from him, her eyes lifting toward the top of her canopy bed. In a soft tone, with crackles in her voice, she asked slowly: “Did Miss Bourne say yes?”

        The smell of candle wax and the sound of crackling, flickering flames—domesticated fire.

        The water in Beast’s eyes drew back in. He loosened his grip on his mother’s hand. The urgency on his face, the wrinkles on his forehead, disappeared. A blank stare. 

        “She said yes… mother.”

        The baroness grinned, her yellowed teeth breaking through her cracked lips. She shut her eyes. “Good girl…” 

        Beast felt her pulse slowing.

        “You’ve been such a good son, Vicky…” She gasped, fighting to breathe. “My son. A human.”

        And finally, her smile faded away. Her mouth slightly opened. Her eyes barely shut. Heartbeat, gone.

        Beast circled his gloved claw around her palm, tracing a heart. He then closed her stiff, bony fingers over her palm and put both of her hands together over her stomach. 

        The death of his mother smelled like a birdcage. It was the cold, stiff scent of metal bars. The stench of rotten bird food and waste. And the fresh, natural scent of the bird flapping its wings. Freedom trapped in a cage.

[christas-museum]

The Child Manuela: Mädchen in Uniform book (new translation)

CHAPTER 2: I

For more parts (updates are at least once a week), click #The Child Manuela translation

"Yes, my dear Meinhardis, now that is a horrible thing." The old colonel shakes the ash off his fat cigar by his little fingers. He leans back and looks at his counterpart. Meinhardis also puffs thick clouds of smoke, he blinks, and looks out of the window. He does not like to look in the face of his superior who shouldn't notice how moody Meinhardis is. It itself was quite friendly that the colonel had summoned him to inform him personally about his transfer.

"This Mühlberg is an awful garrison," the colonel continues. "The wastepaper basket of the whole German army, so to say. They're all criminals, and now they want a decent person to straighten out the vermins. Their choice there, at the green table, fell on you, of all people. Great honour, of course, and advancement and bigger salary. But beautiful? Beautiful is different."

Meinhardis makes a movement that means something like, orders are orders. And Colonel von Merkel speaks further,

"The lads supposed to have played up. They do only stupid things. Whenever somebody has done something wrong, they send him to the border—old story. Bad luck, old exotic, my heartfelt condolences. But you'll show the gang what a rake is."

Meinhardis feels he's dismissed, he rises,

"Thank you very much, Mr. Colonel, it was very kind of Mr. Colonel . . . These things happen; it could have been even worse. I'll go home and tell my wife . . . Women, for them that's just . . . Well, I don't want to become soft! I recommend myself, Mr. Colonel!"

His spurs clink together. He holds the cap in his left hand, the older one grabs his right one and shakes it vigorously.

"Well, chin up, Meinhardis! It'll be all right!"

Outside, Meinhardis buckle in his sabre, and as he sees himself accidentally in the mirror, he adjusts his collar by his hand. Now he will soon no longer wear a red collar. The uniform is off now. Now comes another. Light blue and white. Ridiculous. White collars always get dirty, and walk around in light blue is awful when one is used to do duty and ride in dark green. Riding in light blue, grotesque, he thinks moodily. The uniform is much more expensive than the old one. Certainly.And the move. Poor Käte! He buys a bunch of daisies and cornflowers from the flower woman— mother likes to have them—look so much like from Pöchlin.

Frau Käte calmly accepted this expected transfer, as she did everything that could not be changed. She knew well what it meant to move to that town, that had been on enemy territory only few years ago. Vaguely, she also had the feeling that she was not heading for happy time. But she didn't want to make her husband's heart heavier than necessarily. She had time still. He would go ahead and look for home. And then such a strange calm had now come over her. She wasn't completely there any more. She went to church even more often than she had always done, she went alone and returned every time with a deeply satisfied expression. Her eyes were looking inward, towards a goal invisible to everybody. It made her kind, patient and almost serene. With a matter of fact, she set about liquidating the house. Little Lela went silently like a shadow behind her.

Then came the last day. Thoughtfully, Frau Käte wandered from room to room. She stopped for a long time in front of the window where Ali's desk had stood. Then Lela saw her take her hat and gloves, also some flowers she had bought in the morning. "Mum, shall I go with you to Ali's?" asked Lela who was aware what time it was, but Frau Käte bent down and looked the child in the eye. For the first time she kept the deeply sad mouth, the astonished suffering look, without any attempt to give the child a tender smile.  Seriously, she said,

"No, Lela. Today I must go all alone, I must bid Ali goodbye; now Ali remains here alone, all alone. Without me."

Lela followed her to the garden door and saw Mother striding quickly and determinedly up the street, like somebody who knows they are expected.

Lela could no longer play today. She took Flink by the collar and put his head on her lap. A strange sad happiness rose inside of her. Today Mother had spoken to her as if Lela were an adult; it was a secret, and Lela would not tell anyone in the world.

[theneighborhoodpunk]

I was 16 years old when Greg and Sara moved into the house across the street from us. They were a young married couple, mid to late 20s that were starting their little family. Sara was a school teacher with a (at the time) massive baby bump that all the women in the neighborhood loved to fawn over. Greg was a steel worker by trade, real salt of the Earth kind of guy. He would often hang out in the garage with the door open, a cold beer in his hand, fat stogie in his mouth, and a friendly disposition to anyone who he saw. Most of the families on our cul-de-sac were getting up there in age, all of the kids in the neighborhood and grown up and moved out, save for me. Everyone seemed happy to have new life in the area, and you would often find the ladies in the kitchen with Sara while the men frequently stopped by the garage on their way home from work to shoot the shit with Greg and have a beer.

In truth, Greg intimidated the hell out of me. I didn't really understand why, he was always nice enough whenever I saw him. I had grown up with older brothers and was on the baseball team at school, so it's not like I wasn't used to being around macho guys or anything. Something about the way he looked at me just made me feel kind of funny. I never really understood why until one night in my senior year.

I had been at a party with the guys from the team, and someone dropped me off in front of the house late, probably around 1 AM. We thought we were being slick so I could sneak inside, drunk as I was, but I don't know how successful we were in that regard. As I watched my friends speed away, I could hear Greg chuckle from across the street.

"Have a good night there, bud?" He was still up, fiddling away on his phone and keeping a patrol of the area. His light was the only one still on on the street.

I shrugged, not really wanting to get trapped in a conversation. I didn't want to risk my parents seeing me sneak in so late at night. "I don't have any complaints."

He laughed again, taking a big puff of his cigar as he did. "I bet, based on the way your wobbling there." I didn't think I was wobbling that bad, but it was my buddy's 18th birthday, so we were drinking a little more than normal. "Why don't you come in here and have a beer with me? Give your folks a chance to go back to sleep so maybe they won't hear you when you stumble in."

Who am I to turn down a free beer? I made my way over to his house as he got up, went to his fridge just a few feet away, and grabbed a couple beers. He handed me one as I got into the garage, and I thanked him as he motioned for me to have a seat across from him. He cracked his drink open with a smile, stogie still perched in his grin. I got that weird feeling again. "You boys tear up the town tonight?"

I took a swig of my beer, enjoying the taste. Much better than the cheap shit that we had shelled out for, that's for sure. "I don't know about that. Went down to this old field off of '74, it's pretty quiet. Just a bunch of guys from the team and a few other people. It was a good time."

He nodded with a smile. "Yeah, I remember being your age. Drinking whatever you could get, wherever you could get. Good times. 'Course, there's something to be said about not having to hide anymore." He said a laugh.

I nodded, then looked over to my house. "About that. Do you think we could shut the door? I don't want my parents to look out the window and see me over here at this time of night."

He laughed and got up and made his way to the door button, pressing it to close us up in the garage. "Sure thing. But you shouldn't worry about your parent's so much. Sheila will probably just be glad to know you're safe, and Mike's been over here plenty of times. Hell, he might even come over and join us!"

The thought of openly sharing a beer with my dad was a good one, but I don't know how well that would go over. "You think? I dunno, he likes his sleep. He gets pretty pissed off when me or my brothers used to wake him up from coming in late."

"Well that's just because you woke him up, stupid." He laughed even harder at his own joke now that we were covered up, or maybe it was just louder in general. The garage was quickly filling up with smoke now that the door was shut, but I couldn't tell if it was because he was puffing on it more aggressively or if it was just that small of a place. "Trust me, I know your old man pretty well. There's a couple of things he loves more than anything, it's a cold beer and you boys. Throw in a nice cigar? He'd be here quick."

I smiled at him, although it was hard to believe. Yeah, I knew my dad loved me and all, but enough to where his neighbor would know that much? Plus, I'd only seen my dad smoke a handful of times. Then again, I guess I never really came over here with him or anything. I thought it would be best to change the subject. "What are you doing up so late anyway?"

He sighed. "What? I'm some old fart that's got to be in bed by 10pm?" He took another drink and looked wistfully at his phone. "In truth, I was on the apps. Seeing if there was anyone around that might want to come...hang out, if you know what I mean."

The apps? Was he really saying what I thought he was? As if to answer my confusion, he continued. "Hey, first rule of the garage: no judgment here, man. A man has needs. You knock up a woman a few times as see how often she wants to suck your cock then." He looked me straight in the eyes, as if daring me to say something in defiance.

I didn't know what to say, at least in judgement. I was confused and more than a bit curious, that much was true. "So what, you just have girls over here when everyone's asleep?"

"I didn't say girls." I imagine the shock on my face said it all. He leaned over his knees and took a long drag of his cigar. "Not really cheating if it's with a faggot, right?"

I wasn't sure about the logic there, but I was too drunk and stunned to protest. "I guess not." At my admittance, he leaned back and placed the cigar back in his mouth, big smile across his face. "So what, you just have...guys over then? You do this a lot?"

He laughed. "I guess I'm pretty popular. Had my share of boys on their knees in front of me here. They especially seem to like it when I have some other guys over, we can pass 'em around like a bitch." He was messing with me, he had to be. I started to smile a bit as I nodded my head, barely keeping along with him. "How about you? You ever have any of your buddies blow you before?" I shook my head, the thought hadn't really crossed my mind. "You ever blown one of you buddies before?"

That kind of woke me up, causing me to shake my head a little more forcefully. He grinned and took a huge puff of his cigar as he started to unbutton his pants. Before I knew it, he had fished out an impressive 8 inch dick from his underwear, stroking it slowly as he looked me in the eyes. "Want to try tonight?"

He blew a cloud of smoke directly at me, and I felt a little dizzy. Between the beer, the stunning revelations, his admittedly large dick and soul piercing stare, I couldn't move. He continued to slowly stroke his cock. "Come on, boy. I've seen the way you look at me. You've wanted this since the day we met. Shit, you probably don't even realize it yet, do you?" I stayed motionless, watching him stoke himself to full mast. "Always looking over here when you think I'm not watching. Your face getting flush whenever I talk to you. I know a faggot when I see one, and you, boy?" He laughed a bit, but deeper, more menacingly. "You want my dick bad. So come on. Come to Daddy."

[sashi-ya]

hello sashi!<3 if you're still accepting requests on law's bday event, may i please request a stoner!law + reader scenario where the reader (female or g/n) gifts law a fatty joint for his bday and they go crazy stupid with the munchies on all the birthday food haha

Hi babe! of course!! Let me tell you that I started subtly laughing and end up grabbing my belly because for some reason the fic turn out to be way funny on my head! I hope you like our grumpy doc having a little fun before his birthday ♥ Love u!!

Law's Birthday Week ~ Law x GN! Reader ~ I'm Hungry (and high).

A/N: Ok, it's not strictly NSFW but as you can probably tell there is usage of "drugs". I do not recommend IN ANY way you should use them. It's just fiction that comes from a funny HC we had some days ago because of Law's eyes back in Sabaody (Come on, he looked like a stoner...). It is intended to be funny. There is no gender specified nor usage of pronouns.

Wc: 844

Please enjoy! #LawBirthdayWeek2021

“Aaaand it’s 00:00. Happy birthday Captain!” you say to Law while drawing your last card and winning the game. “Thank you, (Name)-ya” he utters all so seriously. You stayed up late tonight because it was your turn to guard the Polar Tang.

“Oi, I got you a present” you tell him, smiling devilishly. “Already? Thank you” Law says, smiling subtly. “Remember when we were younger? Sabaody archipelago?” you say, giggling.

“Uhm… you mean…?”

“Yes… bitch” you tell him and take from your pocket a big fat joint. “Birthday boy first”. Law takes the cigar with his inked hands and inspects it. Sudden flashbacks of you and him eating all the Takoyaki from all the archipelago hit his memories. “Forget it… I can’t” he says.

You look at him, disappointed. When was the last time this man had a little fun? Yet, you don’t say anything. “Don’t look at me like that, (Name)-ya” he chimes. “I didn’t say a single word, Law. What the hell?” you strike back, sure that he is looking for a stupid excuse to smoke. “FINE! I’ll do it. Just a puff, ok?” he says, pointing at you acting so responsibly. “Ok…” you laugh.

But of course it wasn’t just a puff, and the joint was gone. Completely gone. And the laugh of your captain mixed with yours sitting under the vast dark sky of the Grand Line sounded like pure happiness.

“Look, look at that star! It’s so fat, it looks like your ass��� he shouts, falling back over the wooden deck. “Law, you emo son of a bitch!!” you scream and laugh at the same time. Law takes his fluffy hat and covers his face with it. He laughs, uncontrollably. He grabs his crotch, probably about to piss himself from all of the laughing.

You crawl over him and tickle the hell out of him, to which he responds by pushing you and sitting over you to stop you. “AHHH DON’T CRUSH MEEE!!” you scream. “I’M GONNA SIT ON YOUR FACE!” he shouts. Both of you, stop laughing for a second. “Let’s fuck” you tell him. “Yeah” he says. Silence… complete silence.

Law approaches his mouth to yours, closing his eyes. But before you could kiss he stops and looks at you and... “(Name)-ya, I’m hungry…”. “The fridge is full of food for tomorrow’s party” you tell him. Both with wicked smiles looking at each other until Law stands up and runs towards the hatch to go inside the submarine.

“Law! Be careful!” you tell him but it’s too late because the surgeon is already going inside missing most of the steps of the little ladder. He doesn’t even care about pain and runs to the kitchen. You follow him, laughing. If there is something that happens to Law when he is high, those are the munchies… and oh boy, those are not normal munchies…

He opens the fridge and both of you prepare to loot the insides. First he chooses the onigiris, of course. Both of you stuff your faces with them and you have to hit him on the back because he gets choked with the sticky rice. Then, some whipped cream Bepo lovingly whisked that afternoon. Your face ends up smeared with meringue and Law licks it out of it. You do the same from his nose.

The captain stands up and crawls once again to the fridge. “AHH THE GLORIOUS!” he says. “What do you mean, Law?” you ask until you see him taking out a big cake. “Law, you know that’s for the others to eat… you don’t even like br…”. You can’t continue, because Law has put the cake over the table and buried his face on it.

“Law? Captain? Law!!” you shout pulling his head out of the cake. He looks at you with his face full of yellow buttercream and a little candy melt in a bear shape stuck to his eyebrow. Sloppy eyelids, smiling wide. He goes “hehehehehe” and falls again on the cake. But quickly stands up and his hand grabs a piece of the sponge cake and throws it at you with such violence that when it hits your face, you fall on your butt.

“REVENGE!” you shout and grab another piece. But instead of throwing it, you shove it into his mouth. “EAT MOTHERFUCKER, EAT BREAD!!”. Law chokes on it because before eating any derived from bread he prefers to die.

Both of you lie on the kitchen ground completely covered in cream, laughing. You over his chest, Law spanking -sloppy as fuck- your ass.

And suddenly the lights turn on. “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU BOTH DOING?”. Your crew, everybody is there, looking at the mess you were. “YOU TWO SMELL LIKE WEED, WHAT THE FUCK?” penguin asks. “NOOO, MY CAKE!!!” shouts Bepo kneeling on the ground looking at the mortal remains of his bakery creation.

Next morning you two were obliged to cook for the night and while you were molding some onigiris Law comes up closer and whispers “Oi, we should do this more often…hehe...” ♥ ~

[change-your-instinct]

We hadn't played football since quarantine began. Our season was about to start again, and I was heading over to catch up with one of our runners, our team's football star. He was one of us lucky few to have their own workout equipment, able to keep fit and athletic during the offseason, but when I saw him sitting outside I was taken aback.

He had completely changed, nothing like the jock I remembered. His once chiseled body was now completely covered with layers of fat, his muscles replaced with soft flab. A huge round protruding belly sitting in his lap like a tub of lard, unable to be covered by his shirt.

I could smell smoke from his yard as I watched him sit there vacant, cigar in his mouth, clouds surrounding him. Suddenly his eyes lit up when he saw me walking up, a spark of excitement in his eyes. He took another drag on the cigar and spoke with a thick voice.

"You ready to play some football?" He asked, bringing his arms up into a flex.

I struggled to keep myself from laughing as I saw him pose, trying to act macho as if he still had the muscles he once did. We talked for a bit, catching up with each other, before I had to leave. We joked and laughed as I watched him puff on his cigar, his belly shaking with laughter. I left with a smile, happy to have seen my friend.

The next time I saw him was on the field, his sausage body exploding out of the jersey that used to fit him as his fat ass struggled to run during warm up, sweating up a storm. He was quickly moved onto the defense team, quickly becoming one of the biggest linemen for us. He was still the same old guy, now just twice the body.

[lumosinlove]

PREVIOUSLY ON RELIC KEEL

Dorcas meets up with Marlene at Marlene’s house and Luke is there—we figure out Marlene and Luke are cousins. Luke, as it turns out, has a neglecting mother (as well as a father who has been taken to jail, Marlene’s father doesn’t want her dating Dorcas because she’s from Salazar, and Marlene still hasn’t told Dorcas that she got into college.

Saint goes to wait for Logan at The Carrows in Salazar, where he restocks his Crucio supply.

Lily and James are painting one of the Potter’s old boats together. Lily is confused and frustrated—and in love with James. James, already hurt and trying not to cause himself further harm but also not wanting to lose Lily entirely, lets Lily kiss him but ends it there. They’re both nervous about college.

Instead of Logan, Saint runs into Luke first, who, as a last resort, is going to the Carrows for Crucio. Luke seems to have some surprises up his sleeve—a love for books that Saint shares, perhaps. When Saint does spot Logan, he makes Luke get into his car so as to not alarm him, and steals his dad’s gold watch in the process.

When Saint goes to fetch Logan, they run into Amycus Carrow, who tells Saint that Logan owes them for using their stash of Crucio without paying—but they won’t tell Saint or Logan how much Logan owes.

As a result, Logan gets it into his head that he can pay off his debt if he finds the treasure of The Voldemort, the one that Leo’s dad died looking for. Logan tries to get Saint to help by asking what he wants most, and when that doesn’t work, asking what he hates. Perhaps Saint is one for revenge, rather than need.

Sirius and Dorcas finally get Saint talking about Logan and his time at Saint Clair. Saint reveals that there were harsh punishments for bad behavior in Saint Clair. He also reveals that, for reasons he can only guess at, when kids turn 18, the age at which they could leave the orphanage, they decide to stay. Saint believes Crucio has something to do with it. He has memories of being extremely tired at night, and having vivid dreams—he doesn’t say what these dreams were about. Saint believes that many of the kids, if they arrived young enough, don’t know how to tell the difference between a Crucio-filled mind and a Crucio-free one. The scene ends with them receiving an invitation to a party at James’ house.

Logan finds Leo at his family’s workshop and says he wants to help him find The Voldemort. Leo wants to finish his father’s work, Logan needs the money—Saint shows up, seeming to have found his motivation, too, whatever it may be.

***CW: mentions of taking drugs and being drugged, brief mentions of blood, brief mention of death of a father***

part vi

In his dream, Finn was in a house. There was a woman sitting at the table, a man at the stove, and a boy leaning against the counter. Everything was murky at the edges, even their laughter.

Finn knew what family was. He’d read about it. He’d thought about it. With Logan, he’d felt it.

What he didn’t know, what he could never be sure of, was whether he’d seen it. What it looked like. What his looked like. Every time he thought he did…he’d wake up.

They had begun as pills—vitamins. But pills could be kept on the tongue.

Powder couldn’t be kept from food.

Finn, sweetheart, the woman said in his dream. How was school today? Is Logan still coming over for dinner?

Your boyfriend, the other boy teased, smiling. The man turned from the stove and laughed, reaching over to tussle Finn’s hair.

Yeah, Finn heard himself say. He is.

He looked at the woman—his mother, maybe—and she looked different than she had a moment ago.

We can play pick up, the brother said—but he wasn’t anymore. There was a sister, and now a brother again, now two brothers. And then his mother was at the stove and his father coming in from the yard, and then there was a younger sister sitting on his lap, and then he was the younger brother and his dad was coming home from work, briefcase in hand, closing the front door, giving his mother a kiss—

Finn woke up. His throat was dry and his eyes were, too. He used to wake up crying when he was younger. And Logan had been there, both of them not understanding.

Finn didn’t know if Logan understood now. Finn hadn’t figured it out until after he’d gotten Logan out, not entirely. Not about the Felix. Just about the kids that weren’t leaving. Something was keeping them here, and all he had wanted was to protect Logan and himself from that. Now that he knew that it was Felix that kept them here…Finn couldn’t see why they wanted it so bad. He didn’t want these false glimpses of family. He didn’t want Felix. He wanted Logan. Logan was real. His only comfort was that Logan was free of it. Of this place.

Finn blinked slowly up at the walls of the solitary room. His eyes were heavy. His head, his limbs. He hadn’t eaten anything in almost a week now.

And the dreams still came.

Maybe it wasn’t anything but his own head that was doing the imagining now.

He knew what was real, and this wasn’t it.

~

Luke looked across the deck at his mother in her lounge chair and pinched the Felix, within a small plastic bag within his pocket, to make it sift back and forth. A sound only he could hear. That, and the ice cubes in his mother’s whiskey. The sun was hot on his bare chest, drying the water droplets left from the pool quickly. He couldn’t stop rubbing the place where his father’s watch had been. Just thinking about it, about Saint and his quick fingers, made him snarl.

His mother’s ice cubes rattled.

“I want to start going through your father’s things,” she said airily from beneath her floppy sun hat. “There’s just so much of it. His papers, and all those fat books he has. God, that stupid treasure obsession.”

“It wasn’t stupid,” Luke replied as evenly as he could. “And he’s not dead. He’s coming back.”

His mother laughed. “Oh, sweetheart.”

She had cut her hair very short after Luke’s dad had been taken away. Luke couldn’t get the images out of his mind. Her, walking back through the door the next day, with her long blonde hair cut to her chin, curling just beneath her jaw. She had smiled at him and given her head a shake. Like it, mon lumière?

My light, she called him. When he was little she’d kissed him goodnight with that nickname every day, turning on the small nightlight that he kept—he still kept it. He’d tried not to, but every time, every night, the dark was just too dark. He was almost mad at her for giving it to him in the first place. If he had just gotten used to the dark…maybe he would be more prepared now.

Since his father, she’d been moving about the house like nothing had changed. Or, rather, like something had changed, and she was all the better for it.

His father’s leather chairs were gone from the living room, replaced by two baby blue couches that made Luke sick to look at. The pirate ship wheel was gone from the wall, too.

Luke didn’t know this mother.

Not even the island knew this woman. They knew the bake-sale-bringing, strict-rule-making, no-nonsense-grounding mother that Luke had known his entire life. He’d spent so many nights furious in his room after she’d caught him sneaking out or drinking.

And now, here his mother was, offering him a glass of whiskey at eleven in the morning.

Luke pinched the Felix between his fingers more harshly.

“No, thanks,” he said, and squinted back out towards the ocean.

“If you’re sure,” his mother said. “Well, I just said so because I’m tired of looking at it all.”

“Don’t get rid of it,” Luke said, trying to keep the pleading out of his voice. “I like his office. Mom, it reminds me of him.”

Luke had spent hours in there, laughing with his father, talking about history and literature, sneaking the rare puff on his cigar.

Then, they had taken him away, and his mother had gotten a hair cut, and suddenly Luke didn’t know anything anymore.

“Excuse me,” Luke mumbled, and left his mother in the sun with her drink and the pills that were no doubt already within. She was getting high more than he ever had now.

Luke could barely see anything inside the house after the bright day outside, but he didn’t need to see. He could have found his father’s study, and everything in it, blind.

He was still damp when he sunk down shakily into his father’s desk chair, the plush leather smelling of cigars, and took the bag of pinkish powder out of his pocket.

Just to see him again.

Just for something else to have happened.

Just not this.

~

Remus met Sirius in James’ kitchen again. The large glass doors were flung wide, opening out onto the porch and the pool beyond where a projector and screen were set up, along with chairs and blankets. Lily had set out the floating lanterns that the Potters put in the pool during their dinner parties and they floated idly back and forth in the evening breeze, giving out a soft yellow glow to mix with the dusky blue that came in from the ocean. The palm trees leaned over the house’s surrounding gate, swaying.

The counter between Remus and Sirius was covered in food. Pizza and nachos from Thomas’ family’s restaurant, chocolate chip cookies, chips and salsa, sodas and liquor.

“If you’re gonna do it, do it in the house,” Mrs. Potter always said.

Sirius looked the same, but fresh out of the ocean. His dark hair was damp, dripping onto the collar of his faded t-shirt. He looked like the ocean had the same effect on him as it did on Remus. Sirius’ eyes looked brighter. His shoulders looked more relaxed. He looked up from where he was pouring some whiskey into a cup and even managed an easier smile than usual.

“Hey,” Remus said, taking a paper plate from the stack. “How’s it going?”

Sirius’ eyes found his, then he looked down, stoppering the bottle. “Pretty good, you?”

“Pretty good,” Remus said, and then took a breath before testing the waters. “Had a nice sail this morning, clocked a shift at the museum, can’t complain.”

Sirius glanced up quickly, and Remus suppressed a smile as he loaded his plate.

“Oh,” Sirius began. “I mean, yeah, I saw.”

“You like sailing?”

Sirius nodded. “Kris lets me take one of his out sometimes.”

“Kris?” Remus questioned.

“Oh,” Sirius cleared his throat. Remus watched some of those ocean washed walls begin to go back up. “Yeah, he runs the boat rental shop over in Rowena. I guess you wouldn’t know given that you have…you know.”

Remus tried to side-step the awkward shift. Sirius seemed to have ideas about him already. Remus wished he had some clue about Sirius, beside his ocean-eyes and guarded expression.

“Well, that’s cool of him,” Remus said.

Sirius nodding from over the brim of his cup. “Yeah, it is.”

“Hey, well—” Remus shrugged. “I mean, I’m sure you do it on your own all the time but…you know if you ever wanted to…”

Sirius raised an eyebrow. Remus hadn’t finished his sentence.

“I mean, if you ever wanted to,” Remus began again, and was suddenly nervous. Sirius didn’t even like him. It looked as though he didn’t like Gods in general. He’d probably think this was charity. He’d probably hate Remus for offering. “Go out.”

Sirius’ eyebrow raised further.

“On my boat,” Remus said, all in a rush. His cheeks were hot. “Go sailing on—my boat.”

Remus didn’t know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t for Sirius to do nothing at all. He stood there, frozen and off guard.

“Only if you want,” Remus said hopelessly. “I get up pretty early.”

“So do I,” Sirius said, and there was the slap of flip flops from behind Remus.

“Look who I found at the kid’s table,” Saint’s voice came, and he leaned on the counter beside Remus in his tank-top and shorts, taking a nacho off of his plate. “Hello, Remus Lupin. You’re looking flushed. Sirius, are you making him blush?”

“Um,” Sirius said.

Remus just shook his head and reached for a soda. He felt idiotic, and now more so, after being interrupted. He could hear the others talking and laughing over the movie and wished he was over there—wished he hadn’t tried to hit on Sirius Black, of all people. He didn’t know if Sirius liked men. He didn't even know Sirius.

“Re, Saint, Black, someone bring me back a drink!” Marlene’s voice came over the chatter. She was tangled with Dorcas on one of the blankets, leaning back into her chest.

“Why do you look like you’ve done something?” Sirius said, drawing Remus’ eyes back to him.

“Well, I haven’t yet,” Saint replied. “But just watch.” He leaned closer to Remus. “Fruit-Loop, I need you to get me into that museum of yours.”

Remus looked at him warily. “How do you know I work at the museum…”

“A friend,” Saint said.

Remus looked at the hand Saint was resting his chin on. He was fairly sure that was Luke’s father’s watch.

“Get you in?” he asked. “Why not just go?”

Saint looked at him like he was entirely put upon, like he couldn’t believe Remus hadn’t caught on yet. “Because I don’t think what I’m looking for is on the floor, as they say.”

“Saint,” Sirius said incredulously. “What…what?”

“Can you help?” Saint looked at Remus. “You know, I could just take it.”

“Let you take something from the museum?” Remus laughed. “No.”

“Fine,” Saint sighed and pushed up from the counter, taking Remus’ plate from him and beginning to walk away. “I was just giving you the option to make this a little easier.”

Remus stared after him, then looked at Sirius, who shook his head before Remus could even ask.

“No idea,” Sirius said.

~

Saint didn’t actually know that many movies.

The movie theater was fine, but old. Grimmauld didn’t have a TV. It definitely didn’t have a large projector screen and James’ laptop. There was dancing on the screen. The actors were some place warm. He didn’t recognize it.

Books, on the other hand. Books, he knew.

He spied Luke resting on his forearms, long legs stretched in front of him on a blanket near that back of their group, and smiled.

“Deveaux,” Saint said as he sat down, placing the plate between them. “Pleasure to see you again.”

Luke rolled his eyes. “Oh Jesus, who invited you.”

“The peace keeper named James Potter,” Saint replied. “Not sure what sort of peace he thinks there is to keep. I, for one, think he’s made it all up in his head.”

Luke grabbed Saint’s wrist, the gold of his watch beneath his rough palm.

“This is mine,” Luke said. “You little thief.”

“Is it?”

“Saint,” Luke’s eyes were dark in the dying light and flickering screen. “Give it back to me.”

“What will you give me?” Saint asked, and leaned in.

Luke snarled and let go. “I’m not bargaining for my watch. You stole it.”

“I steal a lot of things. Your mother has good taste, by the way. So does Mrs. Potter. Unlike some of these God mothers. Do you think they know their husbands buy them the fake stuff, and save the goods for their mistresses?”

“Fuck off.”

Saint broke part of a cookie off. “Those are your two favorite words.”

Luke just shook his head, his jaw tight and angry, eyes remaining on the screen. Saint chewed slowly.

“What’s this?” Saint asked, jerking his chin towards the screen.

He felt Luke look at him. “You don’t know?”

“I just asked, didn’t I?”

“What?” Luke scoffed. “It’s Mamma Mia. You’ve never seen this movie? Where the fuck have you been?”

Saint looked at him steadily.

“Right,” Luke nodded. “Fucked childhood, and all that.”

“That’s one way to look at it, thank you, tweedle.”

“What else haven’t you seen?”

Saint flicked the hand with the watch on it. “How the fuck should I know?”

Luke’s eyes followed the gold for a moment, and then he looked back out towards the others. Saint did, too, laughing softly. He could practically feel Luke trying to decide how to get the watch from his wrist.

“Irish wrist watch,” Saint whispered. “Irish wrist watch, Irish wrist watch…”

James was sitting with Lily. Marlene and Dorcas were to the side, dancing along to the music with Thomas. Sirius and Remus had followed him out of the house and were, to Saint’s surprise, sitting awkwardly beside each other. Sirius seemed to be asking about the movie, too, and Remus explaining it to him.

Fucking Gods, Saint thought as he looked around at the glowing pool, the mountain of food in the kitchen. Fucking Gods and all their careless lives.

He wondered if maybe he should have brought Leo along, if his sob story about his dad might have gotten Remus to help.

Remus works at the museum, Leo had said. Me and Logan heard him say, him and Layla—her family owns it. If there’s any chance of seeing another copy of that map, it’s the History Museum.

“I’ve never seen you be quiet for this long,” Luke’s voice interrupted.

“You’re the one who ruined it.”

Luke reached between them for the plate and plucked up the other half of Saint’s cookie. “I was just saying.”

“I’ve never seen you not glower for this long—oh, there it is.”

“Give me my watch back.”

“For what?”

Luke paused, then said, “Books.”

That made Saint look at him. Luke’s eyes were on Saint’s wrist, but Saint remembered him in the car, reading James’ copy of Shelley. Saint felt stormy again, a familiar building in his chest that always simmered.

“Excuse me?”

“Give me my watch and I’ll give you—”

“So, you are bargaining.”

“You seem to like hand-outs,” Luke bit back. “You take books from James, don’t you? Not to mention this,” Luke shifted towards Saint. “You take a lot of things from people you claim to hate.”

“Ouch,” Saint said, and it really had hurt. Waste of space. He smiled.

“I can do you better,” Luke said. “Tell me what you want.”

“You mean your daddy could?”

Luke’s expression went cold all over. Lightning, over the strike of green in his right eye, nestled among the deep brown. “What’s his is mine now.”

Saint wondered if Luke had Crucio in his system right now. He didn’t have the tired look of it. Come to think of it, Luke never had that look, not like Logan did. He must take it at night, Saint thought. To sleep, maybe. Some people used it like that. Some people thought it let them control their dreams.

Saint didn’t think anyone could control their dreams, their wants and wishes—waking or asleep. Even if they wanted to.

“Was this his, too?” Saint looked at the watch face.

“God, just—” Luke broke off, shoulders tense, and rubbed his eyes. “What the fuck do you want? Money? Just tell me and give it back.”

Saint checked the time, then looked back at Luke.

“One-thirty. My bedtime. And I don’t need shit from you,” Saint said breezily, and patted Luke’s thigh before pushing himself up from the blanket.

“Saint,” he heard Sirius say faintly, but nothing from Luke, and he kept walking through the Potter’s house.

~

Sirius was almost angry at Saint. Or, maybe, he was angry at himself for wanting to stay at the Potters. He knew why he had been invited, why James had wrapped an arm around him, told him to help himself to the food, why Remus had talked to him, sat beside him, offered…well, he wasn’t sure what Remus had offered.

Pity.

At least, he thought he knew.

Though talking to Remus had felt far from pity. Remus laughed with his eyes squeezed shut, and it had taken Sirius off guard each and every time. He was angry at Remus Lupin. He was angry at him for his words when they were eleven.

Are you okay? Sirius, right?

As if he didn’t know Sirius’ name, and of course Sirius wasn’t okay.

But now Remus Lupin was talking about his boat, and this movie, whatever it was, that Sirius had never seen, and smiling at him as though he’d done nothing wrong.

Or, at least he had been, before Sirius had followed a blank-faced Saint out of the house.

“What are you doing?” Sirius asked Saint’s retreating back as they jogged down the steps to the driveway.

Saint had merely held up something that jingled over his shoulder. The car keys glinted as much as the watch on his wrist which Sirius knew wasn’t his own.

“Taking Luke’s car.”

“Saint, come on,” Sirius sighed. “I mean—that looked pretty fucking civil. Non?”

Saint turned on him. “Oh, yes, and you could hear every word? Non.” Saint kicked one of the tires. “Fuck the Gods, and fuck their shiny cars, too.”

Sirius shook his head. “What’s this—museum stuff? What’s going on? Saint, just talk to me—”

“You took Lupin’s side,” Saint breezed as he chirped Luke’s car. “You don’t get to know.”

That stopped Sirius in his tracks. He took a step back. “Since when do we do that?”

Saint slammed the door, sitting in the driver seat.

“Not tell each other things?” Sirius pushed forward. “Since when?”

Sirius watched him through the rolled down window as he ran his hands over the dark leather of the seats, the shiny black of the dash.

“There’s a lot you don’t know,” Saint said softly. “There’s a lot I don’t know.”

“What do you want from the museum?” Sirius tried again. “Is this about…Saint Clair? Logan? Ever since he showed up—”

“Orphan!” came from the house just moments before the front door blew open. Luke zeroed in on Saint behind the wheel instantly, sandy hair casting shadows over his forehead and eyes. “What the fuck is up with you and taking my shit?”

“See you at home, sweetheart,” Saint said to Sirius, and started the car. Luke brushed past Sirius and tugged fruitlessly on the locked door.

“Hey,” Luke only just managed to bang on the back window as Saint screeched out of the Potter’s drive. “Saint!”

Sirius watched as Luke stood there in the humid night, watching his own taillights disappear. He cursed again, running a hand through his hair, and then turned.

Luke looked at Sirius. They stayed a few feet apart in the driveway.

“Do you know where he’s going?” Luke asked, breathing heavily.

Sirius did not like Luke Deveaux.

“No,” he said, and turned back into the house to find Remus.

~

Leo looked over at Logan. They were sitting on the curb outside The Lion, waiting for word from Saint, and Logan was quiet. Not that Logan wasn’t usually quiet, but this felt different. He was picking at an old scab on his knee, taking his hat off and putting it back on again.

“Are you okay?” Leo asked, and Logan didn’t look up when he nodded.

“Is it,” Leo hesitated. “Finn?”

That snapped Logan’s head up. “How did you…”

“You said his name to me,” Leo said softly. “The first night we met. You were…” but Leo didn’t really know the word. High? Hallucinating?

“I know what I was,” Logan sighed.

“Do you want to talk about him?” Leo asked. “I mean, you don’t have to I just…I know it helps to talk about my dad sometimes.”

“Finn isn’t dead,” Logan said harshly. He took his hat off, pushing his hair back, and put it back on again.

“I know,” Leo said. “I know, I just meant—never mind.”

Leo, in a way that Logan would probably hate him for, was dying to know more about Saint Clair. Saint had been around long enough that Leo sometimes lost track of the fact that he’d escaped. Others were around the island, doing work and looking normal enough that Leo could forget about them, too.

But he couldn’t forget Logan. Logan, who was tortured and rough and missing someone in a way that Leo could feel, that Leo could recognize.

Beautiful, with his green eyes and rare smiles, that Leo knew he should steer well away from. Because Finn. Finn sounded like—

“He’s my—” Logan began, then shook his head. “I don’t know what to say. Boyfriend sounds—small.” Logan shifted, looking at Leo. “He’s all I have. He’s all I’ve had for a long time. Since I can remember. My entire life.” Logan ran a hand over his face, and when it came away, he looked exhausted. “I’m just repeating myself, but do you get it?”

“Yes,” Leo said. “I get it.”

“And now he’s—and I’m out here, and…”

“And you want to get him out, too,” Leo finished for him. Logan looked stricken.

“He got me out,” he said softly. “When it came down to it, he chose me. But I didn’t have time to choose him. It was all over so fast.”

Leo rubbed the colorful bracelet on his wrist. Boyfriend. “And when you say you’re looking for him…Waiting for him…”

“I know where he is,” Logan said. “And the waiting part was a lie. I’d be stupid to wait. I need to get him. He—“ Logan swallowed. “There’s a courtyard. Where I can usually see him. But he hasn’t been there.”

Leo watched Logan’s throat bob again. He was picking at his nail beds, at the scab. Leo lay his palm over his restless fingers, and Logan looked up, eyes bright.

“He needs my help.”

“Okay,” Leo nodded. “Okay.”

“Lovers on the wharf,” came a voice, accompanied by thumping music. Saint pulled up in a sleek looking car—that definitely wasn’t his own. He leaned out the window, grinning. “Deveaux has terrible taste in music.”

“You stole this car,” Leo said dryly. “Didn’t you.”

“Yes I did, Knut. Yes, I did.”

“Let's go,” Logan said. He sniffed and picked up his backpack.

“Who’s got shot gun?” Saint asked.

~

Remus stopped in front of the gallery heading that read Madness On Hogwarts.

He hadn’t asked his mother about it yet. He wasn’t even sure how to ask. But, there it was. The name Lupin was there. He didn’t have to look far. It was there, telling about the slow demise of the mind.

Part of Remus had always wondered when his own would begin.

Another part of him felt like it already had.

He was, after all, standing beside Sirius Black on the dark museum floor, looking for a rogue orphan from Saint Clair.

“It seems pretty quiet, to me,” Remus said. “You really think he came here tonight?”

“He stole Luke’s car, didn’t he?”

Remus snorted. “Yeah, but…”

“So, that’s very get-away-ish of him. I mean he blamed it on hating Gods but—“

Sirius cut off, swallowing, realizing what he said.

“It’s okay,” Remus said and smiled a little. “I…it’s okay.”

Sirius cleared his throat. “It’s just that ours doesn’t always start up.”

Remus’ tried to ease the tension. “Get-away-ish?”

Sirius just shrugged and ducked his head, but Remus thought he was maybe smiling, too.

“Why didn’t you tell James where we were going?” Sirius asked instead, shining his flashlight over a model of a great merchant ship, its sails molded to seem like they were filled with wind. Remus could practically feel it.

It was Remus’ turn to duck as they walked around the exhibits, listening. “James Potter and sneaking anywhere? I don’t know about that.”

Sirius did laugh this time, and he looked almost surprised with it. “I guess you’re right.”

“Besides, he and Lily looked cozy.”

Sirius nodded. “Yeah, that’s been almost happening ever since I can remember.”

“Right,” Remus laughed. For a moment it felt like they did know each other. As though they had been going to school together since they were little. As though Sirius hadn’t left school one day and never returned.

“Can I…ask you something?” Remus said hesitantly.

Sirius made a non-committal sound, and Remus figured that was as good as he was going to get.

“When you left school,” Remus began, then hesitated. “Well, I guess I mean, how? Didn’t your parents…or the police, even…”

“My parents don’t want a son like me,” Sirius replied easily. “As far as the law goes…I’ve never been bothered. I assumed they told the Academy I was being homeschooled. When I say someone like me, I guess I mean they don't want anything to ruin their reputation.” Sirius sighed. “Whatever that may be. Otherwise, I don’t know.”

“But you weren’t homeschooled,” Remus said. “You’re in The Hollow?”

Sirius’ smile was a little challenging. “Surfing every morning. Hanging out with my friends every night. I get work where I can, but I don’t need much.”

Remus nodded. “I guess that doesn’t sound too bad. I guess you’re not going to college, then.”

“That stuff isn’t for everyone,” Sirius replied.

“Oh,” Remus began. “No, I wasn’t, like, judging, I was just—”

That was when they heard a thump and a curse. They jolted, looking at each other.

“The archives,” Remus whispered.

“He did say it wasn’t on the floor.”

Remus took off towards the back rooms, Sirius on his heels. He fumbled with his keys for a moment, then shoved the correct one into the lock and pushed the door open.

“Saint,” Sirius panted.

Remus looked from the pried open window, to the boy peaking his head through the glass—Logan, he remembered—and then, finally, to Saint, crouched on the floor and pulling flat drawers open, one after another.

Saint just looked over his shoulder at them, flashlight between his teeth, then back to the file drawer he was rummaging through.

“If you were hoping to catch me, maybe don’t leave your big flashy car out front, Lupin.”

Remus narrowed his eyes. He hadn’t even thought of the car.

“Look, I can’t let you steal something,” Remus said.

Saint scoffed. “Look, if it means that much to you, I’ll put it right back, we just need to look at it.”

Logan dropped in through the window, then, hissing as he cut his forearm on what looked like a stray nail. He looked up, seemingly mindless of the blood dripping near his fingers.

“We’ll just take a picture,” Logan said. “I promise.”

“Who says I’ll let you?” Remus said.

“Because I’m limber like that,” Saint said. “I can get in and out of here, and I can certainly slip through your sailor hands.”

“Yeah, is that something you worry about?” Sirius said, and Saint’s head snapped towards him. The light fell over Sirius’ face. “Being able to make the escape?”

Remus thought the words sounded menacing, at least he thought Saint thought that, but Sirius’ expression was softer. Worried, even.

“Very funny,” Saint finally replied, and his smile had a bite to it around the light. “Ha, ha.”

Saint Clair, Remus realized. Sirius was talking about Saint Clair. He looked at Logan again. Logan was watching Saint almost eagerly.

“What are you even looking for?” Remus asked.

There was a grunt as a third boy piled in—Leo, from The Lion.

“Leo?” Sirius said, looking between the three of them. “Jesus, Saint, what’s going on?”

“We’re looking for something,” Saint’s words were marred by the metal between his teeth. “Merde, aren’t you listening?”

“I told you no,” Remus said.

Saint pulled open another drawer. “And I told me yes.”

Remus and Sirius looked at each other. Remus shook his head, at a loss, and Sirius sighed.

“At least tell us what it is,” Sirius said, and went to crouch beside Saint.

Remus watched as Sirius put a hand on his back, low and firm. It was a familiar and comfortable gesture, and Remus thought Saint maybe pushed into it a little.

Remus tilted his head, looking at the soft splay of Sirius’ fingers.

“A map,” Leo said, and Saint all but hissed at him. “What? We’re not taking anything. I don’t even know why we broke in, really, we should have just asked—”

Saint took the light from his mouth. “I’m nothing if not a showboat.”

“Anything?” Logan asked, peering closer to what Saint was looking at. Saint had two papers in his hands, but he tossed them down roughly—too roughly for Remus’ liking.

Saint ignored Logan with a long sigh, and turned to Remus, bumping one of the flat drawers closed with a hip. “We are in need of a treasure map, Lupin.”

Remus blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t tell me the mad-house you grew up in didn’t have tales of The Voldemort.”

Remus felt his blood spike, heat draping itself around his neck. “Don’t fucking—”

“What Saint means,” Leo stepped forward, eyes apologetic. “I…my dad was looking for it. He was close and…and he’s—Saint and Logan agreed to help me find it. I didn’t know we’d be doing this. They know how much it means to me—”

“If your dad’s close to finding it, why not just use his map?” Remus asked.

Leo glanced up at him, then down at the drawers. “It went down with him and his boat.”

“Oh,” Remus stuttered out. “I…”

Leo just shook his head. “I remember what it looks like. I’ll know it when I see it.”

Saint waved his hand, and Remus noticed Luke’s watch again. “What’s it going to say, Knut, the ancient treasure lies here?”

“It’s not to The Voldemort,” Leo said. “It’s to a trading post, a stop point just off of Hogwarts. In the Cradle. People thought that it might have been a sort of cover operation, that maybe someone found the gold and was using it as a way to smuggle it out unnoticed—”

“So, it’s not even there?” Logan asked.

Leo splayed his hands helplessly. “I don’t know!”

Remus looked at Sirius when he laughed. “You’re kidding.” Sirius knocked Saint’s shoulder. “You’re looking for the fucking Voldemort? Since when?”

“You’re the one who wants to leave this island,” Saint said lowly. “To do that you’ll need money.”

Sirius’ expression changed in the dim light. The moon was high now, and he looked silver and shadowed—and surprised.

“What?” Sirius said faintly. Saint wouldn’t meet his eye. “But you don’t want—”

Logan stepped forward, eyes still on Remus. “Look. We’re not crazy. Leo wants this for his dad, and I—I need to help someone. I told you when we met, didn’t I?”

“You said you were looking for someone,” Remus replied.

Logan nodded quickly.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Saint said and rose, turning to Logan and pointing the light towards his chest like an accusing finger. “Hold every single one of your horses. This is not about Saint Clair, and this is not about Finn. This is about your stupidity and The Carrows.”

“No,” Logan said. “This is about getting Finn out.”

“The Carrows,” Leo repeated, looking at Logan. Logan glanced at him, then rubbed a hand over his face.

“Then help me with Finn,” Logan said, louder this time. “I made a mistake with The Carrows, fine, but are you going to be my next one?”

“No,” Saint all but snarled back.

Logan shoved him, hard, sending Saint crashing back against the files, making them rattle.

“Hey,” Sirius said lowly, and then he had a hand wrapped up in Logan’s shirt, pushing him back.

“Stop,” Remus said, putting his hands out. “Jesus, not here. Maybe you all don’t give a shit, but everything in here is old. It’s precious.” He turned to Leo. “A map, you said a map, just tell me so we can all leave.”

Leo bit his lip, gesturing towards the drawers. “These are labeled?”

Remus nodded and watched them all warily as Leo took the light from Logan and crouched to read the writing on the drawers.

Saint and Logan were still staring at each other. Remus could practically feel some unsaid words between them. Sirius had let Logan go, but Remus didn’t want to keep the three of them in this room together for much longer.

“Here,” Leo said suddenly, and the sound of one of the rattling drawers filled the room. “It’s—oh.”

“What?” Logan asked, shoving around Sirius’ body towards the drawer. Remus followed, glancing back once. Saint and Sirius had their heads close. Sirius had his hand on Saint’s neck, and they were talking softly but quickly to each other.

Remus looked away.

The label read, Cartography. C. 18th. Commerce Port, but in place of anything that the label suggested, was an index card with neat handwriting on it.

On loan: Victor Deveaux

“Deveaux,” Saint said, clucking his tongue. “Deveaux, Deveaux, Deveaux…”

“No,” Remus heard Leo breathe.

“That’s Luke’s dad,” Remus said. He stared at the name. “Oh. That’s…”

“What?” Logan asked. “What do you know?”

Remus shot him a look. He seemed even more on edge than a few moments ago.

“I’d sort of forgotten with everything. Everything that happened to Luke this past year, but,” Remus said. “Luke was always sort of obsessed with the treasure. Only because his dad was, though. When we got older, me and James sort of made fun of him for it, but when we were younger, Mr. Deveaux used to hide little trinkets or candy for us somewhere in the house, and then write out clues for us to work through.” Remus smiled at the memory. It was happy, and it was sad. It seemed like too long ago. “It was fun.”

“So, he has the map,” Logan said. “Can you take us there?”

“Can you relax, speed racer, thanks,” Saint snapped.

“We need the map,” Logan barked back.

“It’s almost three in the morning,” Remus said.

“All the better,” Saint replied and closed the window they had come through before opening the museum door.

“Can’t this wait until morning?”

“Luke won’t just hand it over,” Sirius offered.

Remus turned to him. “What do you care?”

“Saint cares.”

Remus blinked. Sirius was all walled up again, eyes silver.

“Lead the way, Sailor,” Saint said.

~

Luke’s house was large and pristine, but it looked abandoned somehow. Saint stared up at the white walls, the stone chimney that he couldn’t imagine ever got used. He wondered if it was as grand as the Potters’ house inside. It certainly looked that way, manicured and vast. But it lacked the warmth. It seemed to shift in the night wind.

“We can’t just knock,” Remus broke the silence.

“We should wait,” Leo said somewhat nervously.

“I’ve got this,” Saint replied, chin tilted up towards the large house’s windows. “Which one’s his?”

Remus laughed. “You’re not serious.”

“No, that’d be him,” Saint said, clapping Sirius on the back—who rolled his eyes. “Now, tell me.”

“What are you going to do, climb up the drain pipe?”

Saint shucked his flip flops into the grass. “Yes, sir.”

“You could fall,” Sirius warned.

Saint looked at the windows, set deep into the house’s frame. The rough painted sides and stray vine climbing the surface. He looked at the tilted roof. “I won’t. Now which room is his?”

Remus, behind Saint, was quiet for a long time. Saint kept his eyes forward, squeezing his hands into fists, and then letting them out again. His heart beat hard in his chest, as if remembering a memory his mind wouldn’t.

“He keeps a light on,” Remus finally sighed, and pointed. “That window there.”

The metal and stone were cold beneath Saint’s feet. The pipe was sturdy, but every time it creaked he could hear the others whisper from below. The higher Saint climbed, the more the wind picked up. He closed his eyes letting it push his hair off of his forehead. The summer night was humid, and the moon was high.

“Saint?” he heard Sirius whisper from below.

Saint didn’t respond, just kept climbing. That was how climbing worked. Maybe, if you were lucky, you could rest, but the real part was pushing through the aches and the fear.

What do you hate so much that you’re helping us? Logan had asked him in the car on their way to the museum, and Saint had said something silly, as he always did. He’d smiled. Logan hadn’t laughed, but anyone else would have.

Saint thought of Sirius’ hand, low on his back in the archives rooms.

But you don’t want to go, Sirius had been about to say when Saint told him why they needed the gold. But you don’t want to leave.

If they had been alone, Saint might have actually told him the truth.

But you do, he would have said. If there was anything that wouldn’t be wasteful, it was getting Sirius Black off of this island and away from his own, terrified self. Saint might be a waste, but Sirius wasn’t.

Saint reached the roof and crouched, breathing hard. He could see the light from Luke’s room below him, the slates of the slight, pointed arch above the window frame. It was a short drop. He made it soundlessly, glancing down at the dark shape of the others as he swung himself onto the wooden sill. He could see the source of the light now.

It was a small bulb, plugged in low on the wall by the bed. Simple and cheap, with some sort of picture lit up. A sea shell, Saint thought. It didn’t illuminate much, but Saint could see Luke’s face. He was turned towards the window, on his stomach with an arm beginning to fall over the side of the mattress. He was bare to his waist, where the sheets pooled along his lower back.

Saint pushed at the top of the window until it cracked enough for him to curl his fingers beneath the frame. Luke didn’t stir, not even when Saint let the humid night air meet the AC, and set his bare feet softly on the hardwood floor.

Saint still didn’t know if Luke was a snoop, but he certainly knew that he was.

The floor was stacked with books. They were shoved over to the sides of the walls, near the desk beside a tangle of laptop chords and phone chargers. The bedside table was littered with old water glasses and coffee mugs, clothes occupied more of the floor than the open closet. There were small, empty plastic bags littered throughout the room. Saint picked up one, looking at the few grains of remnants.

He let it flutter back to the floor.

Everyone needed to control something, or at least think they did. Saint, for one too many times since Logan arrived, let himself think about Saint Clair. They’d taken clarity from him. He didn’t know how The Voldemort would get him that back—maybe nothing would. It would certainly take Sirius away, the only constant.

But everyone needed to control something. Or at least think they did. If Saint was going to be alone, he wouldn’t let it sneak up on him. Not again.

Saint was as good at tricking himself as he was at tricking others. And he liked gold. Part of him liked Luke, too. Stubborn. Mean. Beautiful. That would never change.

Saint looked down at Luke’s sleeping form. He looked younger in his sleep. He was dreaming. Saint could tell, there was a flicker beneath his eyelids. The bruise on his cheek was slowly fading, but a faint purple still graced his cheek.

“Tricky bastard,” Saint said aloud, and Luke stirred, cracking an eye open.

There it was. The sleepy look of Crucio, the haze. The lack of will, or maybe the abundance of it.

“You,” Luke mumbled. “You’re…”

His eyes flickered over Saint’s shoulder. Saint wondered who he was seeing. Saint crouched beside him and stroked a hand through his hair. Luke leaned into it. A loved one, then.

Luke blinked at him, and his expression shifted. He scrambled backwards, cursing.

“Saint,” Luke said, blinking. Saint laughed. He sort of liked that Luke couldn’t tell if he was really there or not.

“Hello, tweedle,” Saint said, and held up Luke’s father’s watch. “I need something from you.”

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Imagine

Soft boi Erik

It’s Y/N and Erik’s honeymoon. They have the perfect get away in the Virgin Islands. During sex Erik is staring at Y/N and he’s so overwhelmed with how beautiful she is/her body is and he arrives to the station “early” lol.

Warnings: Teasing, FLUFF, SMUT, pre-mature cum, SoftBoi

A week away in the Virgin Island for the newly weds. Y/N was a Stevens now. They climbed out of Erik’s Private jet, a welcoming party already there waiting for them both. Their personal driver, Ramone, grabbed their bags to put away. Erik held the door opened for his wife, helping her inside before he settles in next to her.

“Newly Weds?!” Their personal driver asks, “How long you two staying here?”

“Two weeks!” Y/N squeezed Erik’s hand, “Two weeks in paradise. I’m so excited. Aren’t you excited, babe?”

“Two weeks with you is paradise enough for me,” Erik couldn’t keep his lips under control as they trailed down his wife’s neck, “My Wifey. Damn, you’re officially all mine.”

Y/N giggles, Erik’s plush lips tickling her neck. He was on top of her now in the back seat, trailing his loving and desperate kisses down the middle of her chest before they landed on her belly button. Y/N squirms, her knees coming up to hide her stomach away from his feather-like kisses.

“Baybeee,” Y/N whimpered with a small laugh.

“I can’t help myself. Your so damn addictive,” Erik takes his hand to run up her tropical wrap skirt, “Can Hubby take a peak?”

“Oh, Babyeee,” Y/N whispers, “We aren’t alone-“

“I need you. Two weeks of paradise includes two weeks of fucking. I’m fucking you, Wifey, every damn night.”

“Oh, goodness,” Her skin blushed, “Will I ever get a chance to sight see?”

“We can, and we can fuck on the beach. Pull you in the back of a shop and fuck you against a wall. Go to a reggae club with VIP and fuck you right there. Fuck you everywhere, Baby.”

Erik’s lips passionately clashed with Y/N’s in the back seat. Tongues twirling, lips smacking, sighs of pleasure. Erik pulls away, stroking Y/N’s cheek with his thumb, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Y/N replies before leaning forward to peck Erik’s lips.

“Show me that ring,” Erik smiles. Y/N giggles, rolling her eyes playfully before showing off her ring. It was a Pear-cut Champagne Brown Diamond Engagement Ring. It has white accent Diamonds. 18k white gold ring sporting a diamond halo around the main stone. That didn’t include the diamond wedding band she also has. Erik grabs her hand, admiring the extravagant jewelry before placing a kiss over it.

“Seeing this, has my dick hard as fuck right about now,” Erik drags that same hand down so she could feel exactly how hard he is. How rigid his dick is in his shorts. Y/N bites her lip, looking up at Erik slowly before sticking her tongue out to lick across his lips. Erik’s body shivered. He captured her tongue between his lips, sucking it, before covering her mouth with his lips. Y/N moaned into his mouth.

“We are here, lovely couple!”

A beautiful vacation villa in St. Croix, U.S Virgin Islands. It was up on a hill, surrounded by the tropics with a trail to the beach and a private pool with a jacuzzi. It was wide open with a patio that wrapped around the villa; large floor to ceiling windows and the perfect furniture fit for an island getaway. Y/N spotted so many places she would love to lounge at while she was here. The hammock on the front porch was big enough for two. Then there was a large cream colored pit sofa with tropical pillows.

“WOW.” Erik pulled his RayBands on top of his dreads, “Remind me to buy our own Villa so we can escape and come here whenever we want to.”

“I promise I will,” Y/N began walking in her Birkenstock’s up the stairs behind Ramone. He carefully carried the luxury suitcases. Erik carried the shoulder bags. Finally up the stairs, Y/N pulls out her cell to take a picture of the outside of the villa.

“I don’t think I want to go home, babe,” Y/N turned around to look at Erik, “fuck work and responsibility. Let’s live here.”

“I don’t think your mom would be happy with me if I kept you here,” Erik kissed Y/N’s forehead before following Ramone into the Villa. Y/N took a few pictures before joining them both inside. The Aloe Vera plant garden made Y/N smile. She planned on using it for her hair and skin. She was happy her and Erik were alone. She could walk around naked all day every day.

“The fridge is fully stocked but there is a produce market down the back trail. All the fruits, vegetables, oils, butters, and cigars you need. Much much more too.”

“Thanks Ramone,” Erik pulls out his wallet, tipping the elder man generously, “If we need you again, we can just call you?”

“Absolutely! Thank you! Thank you!” Ramone accepted their cash, saying his final goodbyes before leaving Y/N and Erik alone.

“EEEK!” Y/N ran up to Erik, jumping into his arms and straddling his waist. She wrapped her arms around his neck while Erik spins her around. Y/N leans back, kissing Erik while grasping his face.

“Let’s look around,” Y/N spoke against Erik’s lips. She hops down, grabbing his arm to drag him along. They looked at the living room, kitchen, and dining room area. Up the steps they went, Erik slapping Y/N’s ass while she tried to run away from him. He chased her a little before wrapping his arms around her waist, keeping her close to him while they checked out all the rooms. The bathroom was their personal favorite. Erik promised daily bubble baths and sex in the shower. Finally, they both made it to the master bedroom. It also has a wrap around patio.

“Perfect, I am in awe of this place,” Y/N was carried bridal style towards the bed, “You really outdid yourself, handsome,” Y/N bats her long lashes at him.

“Hmm,” Erik gently places his wife onto the bed, crawling towards her like a wild cat. She bites her fleshy bottom lip, curling a single finger for him to come closer.

“Why not start off fucking now, huh?” Y/N takes off her white tee that she wore wrapped in the front to expose her stomach. Nothing but beautiful round breasts awaited Erik’s drooling mouth. Now, Y/N was removing her tropical wrap skirt. Once that was gone, the only barrier left was her burnt orange thong. Erik went flat on his belly, crawling towards her on his elbows. Y/N opened her legs wider, a single finger in her mouth to seduce him. Erik’s lips kissed up her feet, calves, inner thighs, then over her warm mound. Erik uses his teeth to pull her thong down slowly, his primal eyes watching the way her pink tongue licked around her lips. The thong was down past her feet now, Erik releasing it from his mouth. His large hands pulled Y/N’s legs towards him before bringing them up and over her head. She was wide open for him. Y/N sat up on her elbows, a naughty smile on her face.

“Eat me?” Y/N pulls her pussy lips apart, “Eat my pussy, Hubby?”

“Fuck yes,” Erik licks her slit in one strike, “You taste just like pineapples down here.”

“Mm-uhhh,” Her eyes rolled shut, “Damn, that dangerous tongue.”

Erik gave her more tongue. Y/N’s head fell back against the pillows. His tongue made her inner folds puff up lick he wanted them to. Her hand reaches out to remove his shades from his head, tossing those on the other side of the bed before grabbing a fist full of his dreads to bring his lips to her pussy.

“Give me some of that mouth...good, Daddy,” Y/N’s body grinds into his mouth, “So...good.”

“Mhm,” Erik mumbles into her pussy, “Mhm.”

“Yes,” Y/N’s mouth fell open, “Yes, right fucking there.”

His lips sucking on her made Y/N’s toes curl and back arch from the bed. Her eyes connected with Erik’s, watching him pleasure her. Y/N’s hand came forward to stroke the dreads that fell in his eyes back. She held his hair back for him, her eyebrows knitted together with immense pleasure while she mumbled how good she felt. Biting her bottom lip hard, Y/N uses all the power in her hips to fuck Erik’s mouth. Her hips buckled into his mouth, toes pointed to the ceiling. Erik could feel her cream mixed with her juices drizzle down the side of his lip to his chin.

“Ahhhhhh, ahhhhhhh, mmmm, Umph, oooooh, ooooo, Mhm, Mhm, mmm-uhhhhh,”

She was a moaning mess. Her ass shook along with her thighs. Her breathing came out in a desperate rhythm now. She was wheezing almost. Erik didn’t stop. He kept on going and going. Y/N’s eyes rolled cross-eyed before her hand left his hair to grab both of her breasts, squeezing them and twirling her nipples. Erik looked up just in time to see her lick one of her nipples. His dick hurt from how hard it was. Boundless and vast dick so long, fat, and solidified that it throbbed against his thigh. Her sugary fluids coated his tongue yet again. She was spilling in his mouth. Looking up at her from between her legs, watching all the faces she made, Erik couldn’t control the urge to cum. He needed to be inside of her.

Erik’s lips popped off her labia and clit, his lips glossy and his chin hair soaked with her cream. He didn’t care to wipe his face as he stood from the bed, yanking off his shorts and tropical buttoned shirt. Fully nude and looking powerfully built, Erik got back on the bed in a hurry, pulling Y/N’s legs over his shoulders. Her breath rushed in and out, eyes low with lust as she watches her husband position himself without a word. He yearned for her. He longed to sink deeply. The sudden impulse aroused her further. He will be so happy to find that his wife is even more wet for him. Erik grabs the base of his dick, deep, shuddering breaths escaping his mouth before he pushes his thickness inside of her. Y/N fought for her breath, pushing back against the carved oak headboard. The minute he was inside of her, was the minute his body rocked. She could hear her slippery walls and his dick entering her tightness. She could hear their skin slapping. He was stretching her out to even wider depths.

“Daddy, you’re so big,” Y/N grabs his balls before stroking the base of his dick while he fucked her, “Mmm, God, Daddy, I am so stuffed!”

Erik fucked her harder when she said that. He couldn’t even form a word. All Y/N could make out was his irregular breathing and ragged sighs. He had his his eyes on her from time to time then he would look down at the way he fucked that good puss. That warm, heated puss. Her breasts bounced and swayed like two beautiful fleshy pillows. Her stomach would flex each time he went in deeper, her face...That beautiful, breathtaking, gorgeous face. She blinked up at him with shock at how good he pounded her. Her mouth hung open while her lower lip pouted and dangled. He couldn’t control the urge to empty his balls and shoot off in her cunt deep.

“Fuck me, baby, fuck me just like that, get it baby, yes, Daddy, fuck it just like that. You getting that shit, Daddy, you know how to fuck me, you know how I deserve to be fucked. Ohhhh, God, Shit, baby. Big. Fucking. Dick. Gawd-“

“UGH, GIRL!”

Erik could feel his dick ripple and propel his cum into her pussy. Y/N tightened around him, pulling more cum from him. Erik lets out short, heated breaths before collapsing on top of Y/N. His face was hidden in the crook of her neck. Y/N reached up to stroke the back of his head.

“Baby?” She called his name in that voice that he loved, “Baby, look at me.”

Erik couldn’t do it. He was embarrassed and pissed. He never came pre-maturely, ever.

“It’s okay,” Y/N whispers soothingly into his ear, “I understand. It felt so good for you, it’s okay, you just felt so good, that’s all.”

He could cum again from those words.

“I want you to look at me.”

Erik lets in a shivering inhale before lifting onto his elbows to look down at her. His jaw was tightly clenched but his whiskey eyes blinked down at her. The tips of his ears were red and Y/N knew that was a sign of embarrassment for him. She kissed his lips, her eyes open as she kissed him. Erik looked from her eyes down to their joined lips before falling into the kiss. They French kissed for a little before Y/N broke the kiss, taking her thumb to wipe away spit from his chin.

“Don’t ever feel embarrassed about that. This is your pussy, you enjoy your pussy, okay?”

“Yes,” Erik gave her a weak smile, “I couldn’t control it-“

“Shhh,” Y/N pushed Erik down onto the bed, straddling him, “don’t talk, just feel.”

She began to grind her hips while his dick was still compressed by her walls. Like her pussy was made of angel dust, Erik’s dick came to life once more. The way she pulled on him had him grunting and running his hands all over her body. Y/N pressed her hands in the middle of his chest, moving her hips over him at a slow pace.

“You feel my pussy grabbing you nice and tight, Daddy?”

“Hmph, yes,” Erik bites his lip.

“Can I show Daddy how I fuck this dick?”

“Mmm, yes, girl.”

Y/N rode his dick. She used his pipe to her advantage. Erik’s ass cheeks clenched and his balls jumped. He was experiencing so much pleasure that it was all too much at once. Y/N took his dick and used it. Now, she was fucking him reverse. Her ass bounced and popped. He could see her fat pussy lips and tight hole wrapped around him snuggly. The skin of her wet hole was squeezing him. Erik reaches out to whack her ass. He held her cheeks apart while Y/N did her thing. He couldn’t believe it, he was going to cum again.

“FUCK,” Erik looked at her ass angrily, “LOOK WHAT YOU ARE ABOUT TO MAKE ME DO!”

Erik sucked in lungfuls of air as spasms of delight rocketed through him.

“UMPH! DADDY!” Y/N was squirting on him. Squirting and creaming. She didn’t stop her rhythm. The bed jumped beneath them like a trampoline.

“Ugghhhhhh, SHIT IS RIDICULOUS, Fuckkkk!”

Erik came again right after Y/N. He grabs her ass to pull her pussy off of his sensitive dick. More cum spilled from Erik and stained Y/N’s dripping wet cunt.

————————

POP! SIZZLE!

Erik drank from the champagne bottle while some of the fuzz spilled down his neck and onto his naked chest. Y/N was right by his side in a pair of black panties, titties out as they sun bathed. Erik tips the bottle over her breasts, coating them with champagne. Y/N rubs it into her caramel skin. She looked up at Erik through her shades and straw hat, smiling at her man.

“Welcome to the good life!!!” Erik sings T-Pains song.

“Welcome to the good LI-I-I-IFE!” Y/N sings.

“Now throw your hands up in the sky!!!!”

“Aye-“

“AYE-“

“Aye-“

“AYE-“

“IM GOOD!” They finished together.

“I miss that Kanye,” Y/N says while applying sunscreen to her thighs.

“Me too,” Erik picked up his cigar, “We’re living the good life though.”

“For sure.” Y/N smiles with contempt.

“Look.”

Y/N lifts up on her elbows to look over at Erik. He had an obvious tent in his trunks. Y/N laughs, falling back against her beach chair before grabbing her Rum Punch.

“Your dick is always hard, baby,” Y/N giggles.

“Always hard for you,” Erik grabs one of her titties while rolling her nipple, “Come suck on Daddy.”

“So you can cum again in two minutes? I’d be glad to.”

Y/N got up from her seat, kneeling in front of Erik on the sand. She removed her straw hat, pulling Erik’s trunks down to his thighs.

“Ha-Ha. So you got jokes now?” Erik smiles.

“Just teasing. I can’t help the fact that I have amazing pussy.”

“That puss is more than amazing. That thang is magical.”

“Aww, babyeee,” Y/N grabs Erik’s fat dick, “Thank you. Thank you so much,” She wraps her lips around him and went to town.

“DAMN,” Erik’s head went back.

“Mhm,” Y/N mumbled with her lips wrapped around him.

“Shit,” Erik grips the back of her head, “You’re a nasty thing, aren’t you?”

“Mhm,” Y/N looked him square in the eyes while sucking his dick, “mmmm.”

“You love me. I can tell by the way you suck me.”

Y/N gurgled around him.

“Look at that rock on your finger wrapped around my stick,” Erik bites his lip, “My wife is the best freaky love.”

Erik whispered Oh God, and Don’t stop. Y/N went fast and hard. He was so huge and firm in her mouth. Her jaws had to hurt at this point. He rested back on his elbows, russet skin draped in sweat under the scorching sun. Erik’s fingers dragged over his chiseled abs. Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. He couldn’t believe this shit. His dick was ready to bust again.

“What the fuck?” He asked weakly, “what. The. Fuck.”

Erik’s hips lifted from the beach chair while his nut empites into Y/N’s mouth. She couldn’t see his eyes behind his shades but she could see the frustrated crease in his brows and the slight mug on his nose and lips. His body went slack against the beach chair while Y/N stood up, licking her lips clean and wiping cum from her bottom lip.

“Are you doing this shit on purpose?” Erik asks between deep breaths.

“No, Daddy,” Y/N drinks some of her Rum Punch, “You just don’t have control,” Y/N smiles wickedly, “Let me know when you need me again, babe.”

Erik pulled up his trunks over his flaccid penis, “Uh-huh, yeah, okay.” He was irritated. Erik has something for Y/N.”

—————————-

The rest of the evening was spent preparing dinner, unpacking, and sleeping. Erik wanted to hang more but his body wasn’t having that. They both woke the next day around 12 PM. Brunch was prepared by Erik on the patio. They ate in complete nudity while talking about what activities they could do. Snorkeling, jet skiing, ride ATV’s, go on a tour to see the tropical animals, enjoy the nightlife, go shopping, all of those things were their plan.

After the big breakfast, Y/N decided to take a bubble bath while Erik went for a run before working out in the gym at their Villa. This gave Y/N time to read a book while sipping on her Sangria. She still felt like she was living in a fairytale. The rings on her finger, the man who married her, the Villa and the beautiful island. All of it seemed like a dream to her. When Erik returned, he took a shower and sat in the hammock with Y/N while she retwists his new growth with beeswax and mango butter. She braided it back afterward. They both took a nap on the hammock, waking up a few hours later. That night Y/N and Erik decided to go out for drinks. The place they found played amazing dancehall music that had them both dancing. The club reminded Y/N of a scene from Dirty Dancing. Sweaty bodies connected and grinding on eachother. Her and Erik were dripping with sweat. They weren’t even drunk because they both sweat out the alcohol.

“THIS IS SO MUCH FUN!” Y/N yells at Erik as they danced, “LOOK AT YOU MOVE, BABY!”

“Nah, look at you,” Erik twirled Y/N, “Best fucking dancer I’ve ever seen.”

“Oh, yeah?” Y/N gyrated her hips on Erik, “I can move, baby?”

“Shit moving like jello, ma,” Erik slaps Y/N’s ass, “tig ol’ bitties bouncing around. You got these men wanting some. You mine though,” Erik licked Y/N’s neck.

“Mmm, Don’t start nothing you can’t finish.”

“What did you just say?” Erik whispers in her ear.

“Don’t start nothing you can’t finish.”

“Can’t finish, huh?” Erik brings a hand around Y/N’s neck, “come talk that shit in the car ride home and watch what I do to you.”

“Uh-huh,” Y/N says with a smile.

“You think I’m playing. Your pussy might be heavenly and all but I got that ass now. I’ll have you cumming in minutes. You know how Daddy does it, Wifey.”

Y/N turns, her sweaty face near Erik’s, while his hands cascades down her back to palm both her ass cheeks, “I guess I need a reminder then. I seem to have forgotten,” Y/N licks Erik’s top lip with a flick of her tongue, “we got a lot of time.”

“With that ring on your finger we got all the time in the world, right?”

“Damn right,” Y/N puts her hand out in front of her, “look at it glow.”

After dancing a few more times and settling at the bar for another hour to make up for all the drinks they sweated out, Erik calls for an Uber back to the Villa. They were both wasted and would rather be wasted in their vacation villa instead of in public since they weren’t familiar with the area. In the Uber home, there was slight traffic. It frustrated the hell out of Erik because his dick was damn near crying for pleasure. Y/N just removed her shoes and threw her legs over Erik’s, looking around her in silence or staring at him with her beautiful eyes. Erik ran his fingers up and down her exposed leg. His actions looked like they were putting Y/N to sleep.

“How much further?” Erik asks the Uber driver.

“Just up this hill and we are there my man.”

Sure enough, they both made it back. Erik stirred Y/N awake while grabbing her shoes. He got out and came around to her side opening her door and picking her up to carry her. She wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. Erik thanked the Uber driver before taking the stairs to the villa. He dropped her heels off on the patio and walked inside. Erik laid her body out on the pit sofa, dimming the lights in the Villa with just a clap of his hands. She was knocked out cold. Erik stood above her, removing his clothes. Each piece fell on the floor in a wrinkled pile. Fully naked, Erik got down on his knees in the middle of the pit sofa, gently removing Y/N’s dress. She stirred a little but she didn’t wake up. Her nude body looked magnificent in the middle of that large sofa. They could sleep here tonight. Erik places his wife onto her back, spread her legs nice and slow, before lowering his head between her legs again. Eating her pussy was his favorite thing to do.

As soon as his lips found her wet and sticky mound, Y/N’s hips jerked, eyes closed but a crease formed in her brow. Erik brought her legs back swiftly before pulling her pussy lips apart, using his tongue to wiggle inside of her. Y/N’s eyes opened, her sleep ridden body jolting from the sudden intrusion. She looked so confused but at the same time she felt so much pleasure. Her shaky moans and bewildered eyes drove Erik insane. She looked so shocked with each gasp that escaped her mouth.

“Baybee?” She questioned, “Daddy?”

Erik didn’t respond.

“Mmmm,” She moaned.

Her pussy tasted even sweeter than the previous day. She was really really wet down there for him. So wet that she stained the pit sofa. Erik leaned back to admire her pussy. Labia and clit all puffy and wet, her honey pot oozing with its sweet treat. He leans back in, taking his time to suck on her. That’s when she fully sat up on her elbows. Her hand reached out to hold his head but her limbs were so weak her hand shook on the back of his head.

“Umph, Daddy, daddy you’re making me cum. Keep going, don’t stop,” her hips bucked in his mouth, “Umph, fuck, Yesssss.”

With one big inhale, Y/N came in Erik’s mouth. Once again, his chin and lips were covered in her release.

“Daddy about to give you this monster,” Erik strokes his rigid and meaty pipe, “Assume the fucking position.”

Y/N didn’t take her instructions lightly. She pointed her ass in the air, face pressed into the soft suede of the pit sofa. Erik spanked her hard a few times before thrusting forward into her pussy with just his hips. Y/N’s body fell forward slightly from how much force Erik put into that stroke. She tried reaching behind her to push at his chest but Erik didn’t want that.

“Mm-mm, arms reaching out in front of you, DONT touch me.”

Y/N reaches out in front of her. Erik admires her body in that positon and it made him caress her sore ass cheeks.

“You are stunning, baby girl. Just beautiful,” Erik strokes her slowly, “So lovely laid out in front of me like this. This is mines for the taking.”

“Yes, Daddy,” Y/N hisses, “Daddy, why are you so deep in my pussy like that? I can feel you in my soul, baby.”

“Should I go faster and make you feel it some more?”

“Please,” She quietly begged.

“Please what, Wifey?”

“Please, Da-“ Y/N couldn’t even finish her sentence when Erik started picking up the pace to beat her walls up. She felt her pussy spasm around him and convulse.

“Oh, shit, I’m cumming,” Y/N spoke into the couch cushion, “Daddy, keep beating it right there I’m cumming! YES!”

Y/N came on his dick, “YES! YES!” She whimpers.

“Keep cumming on me. Cum as much as you like,” Erik spoke with a whisper. He reached beneath her to rub her clit in circles. Y/N started fucking him back when she felt him do that. The noise of her ass ricocheting off of him echoed across the living room.

“Oh? That’s what that pussy kat doing? She leaking on me again?” Erik was surrounded by nothing but wetness that poured and poured from her.

“Damn, baby,” Y/N was frozen with shock.

“Should I keep hitting that thang?”

“I can take it,” Y/N started fucking Erik’s dick herself, “So big and fat in my little pussy.”

“Shit, yes the fuck I am,” Erik spreads her cheeks to see for himself, “I’m in that puss.”

“If you keep stroking my G-spot like that,” Y/N clawed the couch, “Umph, Erik, ima squirt-“

Y/N felt it pouring before she could even finish her words. A weak sigh spilled from her mouth. Now that he made her cum three times, it was his turn to bang her pussy until he bust a nut. Erik strokes faster and harder. Y/N reaches under her to grab his sack, massaging it with her fingers while he hammered her walls. She could do nothing but moan. Erik could do nothing but moan. Both of them enjoyed the feeling and made sounds of pleasure. Erik mumbled some words that Y/N was too weak to understand. All she felt was Erik’s dick swelling to cum inspiring proportions. Her pussy stretched even more, her walls unable to take more of his fat dick Erik always got fatter and thicker when he was about to cum. You had to be a big girl to take the dick he delivered. Y/N was still learning.

“Baby, I feel that fat dick pumping inside of me.”

“Goddamn, girl!!” Erik erupted inside of her, “FUCK FUCK FUCK.”

“Give me all of it, Daddy.”

“Shit, girl,” Erik felt her popping her pussy on his dick.

“Is there more for me? I want some more. My pussy is greedy for Daddy’s good cum-“

“THATS HOW IT IS?” Erik slams into her, “that’s how it is, ma?” Erik fucked her like his dick wasn’t sensitive, “Stay still while I fuck you since this is what you want,” He grabs her wrists, “Stay still.”

“OH, My God,” Erik didn’t hold back. He punished her pussy.

“That’s right, Hubby! That’s how you fuck your wife! That’s how you fuck me!”

“Your Lil’ ass got me cumming again,” Erik spanked her ass, “this is what you do to me.”

Erik grunts deep, more of him exploding from the tip of his dick. He slowly takes his dick out. Y/N flips over to get on her knees, sucking the rest of him off. Erik watched with a pout of lips, eyes closing. She laid back, spreading her legs to show him all of his cum dripping from her pussy. He watched her push it out, the thick nut oozing down the crack of her ass.

This was going to be a beautiful two weeks.

[daddyfuckinlonglegs]

What Happens In Connecticut...

Okay, this started as a kinktober entry but it was too good not to continue, so I’m gonna make it a longer fic.  The journey was longer than they could have expected. The safe route to DC took two weeks at the best pace, and they weren't making close to time. There'd been raiders. A gang of mutants that took out two of the caravan guards. A brahmin bitten by a wandering mutt, now lame and too slow to keep up, so the packs were split, the animal shot, what meat they could carry salted and wrapped. That night, the smell of blood attracted ferals, and MacCready ducked behind a building for shelter, picking off what he could from a distance while the others wrangled the remaining frightened brahmin and cleared the ghouls. Three days on, crossing the Connecticut river, one of the ration packs had been lost, and the caravan was starting to come apart at the seams. They had to detour around through a bigger market town in Wethersfield, falling another day behind, to restock and rest. One day turned to two, to three, to a week, as a radstorm hit like a tornado, tearing up the roots of a smaller settlement, and the community desperately needed help moving supplies to replace the ruined housing. MacCready settled in to the corner of the little hotel bar. Nothing like the Rex, but the beds were dry, and the beer was... well, warm, as ever. He crossed his knees, slouching in the chair, tapping the beer bottle thoughtfully against his chin. They'd earned a couple of nights free board, but those nights were past, and the truth of it was, the caravan was fast running out of caps. Mac shoved his hand in his pocket, felt the little pouch. Maybe 70, 80 caps in there. No two ways about it, they'd have to take on some extra work. Some building needed clearing out, with any luck, at least they'd get to pick the wreckage. Passage for a couple settlers, more likely, though that meant another detour.  Fuck, this was so much harder than the journey here. How the hell were they gonna make it back with... He sighed and took a swig of his beer, closing his eyes, rubbing his temple. No point dwelling. The winter would have passed by then, the weather settled back to a reasonable number of furious radstorms and flooded rivers. Just push on. Get through tonight. Get through tomorrow. Get back on the road by the end of the week. A voice beside him startled him from his thoughts. "Is this seat taken?"

MacCready glanced up, at the long, slender hand resting on the back of the chair, the smooth, black sleeve of a neatly pressed jacket. He looked at the stranger; the man was lean and a little taller than Mac, but only an inch or so. Thick rimmed glasses, and an almost clean white shirt, a thin, paisley scarf hanging about his neck. His skin looked dry and patchy, like it was... scarred maybe, or... what was that thing called, where you had extra pigmentation, vertili... something? No, that was the other way, when you didn't have... shit, whatever. Doesn't matter. Money. That's what his outfit said, loud and clear. Money. MacCready cleared his throat, shaking his head and sitting a little straighter in his chair. The stranger sat down primly, smoothing the front of his shirt. "New face, aren't you? Did you come in with that caravan from Boston?" Mac nodded, looking at the stranger's drink. Wine, it looked like, in a chipped tumbler. He held it elegantly, little finger extended reflexively when he lifted it to his mouth. MacCready nodded, swung his bottle to his mouth with his fingertips. The stranger nodded. “It was good of you to lend a hand here. It's not often you see such kindness from such... rugged people.” MacCready snorted into his bottle. “Rugged? Nice. “Scruffy” is usually how people say that where I'm...” he paused, “...from.” The stranger shrugged, raising a palm to the air “Well, who am I to judge? The 'Cut is... vicious, and not everyone is born into the good fortune of a house with running water.” MacCready looked at the man, snorting and raising his eyebrows. “No shi- For real?” The stranger smiled. “Oh yes. Not... quite what it used to be, my grandfather had a number more plumbers in his employ than I do. But we have the robots, and they do a stellar job really.” “Sounds impressive.” MacCready sighed. “Been a while since we had anything but a dip in the river. And that, uh, it wasn't exactly intentional.” The stranger's eyes drooped sympathetically. “Ah yes, I heard about that.” He sipped his drink, shaking his head. “That must have been truly a trying experience. And with only these... limited facilities to clean up in.” MacCready laughed. “Trust me, I've lived a lot longer in a lot worse. This is almost luxury.” “Oh?” The stranger arched an eyebrow. MacCready nodded, but said no more. The man sat back, folding a hand neatly in his lap. “The strong, silent type I see.” MacCready smiled lopsidedly, resting his beer on the edge of the table. “Not what I'm known for, exactly. But I'm... it's been a long... few weeks.” The stranger nodded, and laid his hand gently beside MacCready's, fingertips brushing against his knuckles. “Well, should the need arise, I could certainly be convinced to offer the use of the bathroom...” He looked at MacCready over the rim of his glasses. MacCready's eyes narrowed. “...and perhaps the spare roo– how many of your party are there, exactly?” MacCready answered slowly, bringing his beer to his mouth, moving his hand away from the other man's hand and pulling a crumpled cigarette from his pocket. “Five.” “Ah. A little short of space then; I only have the four rooms without occupants. Can't very well go sharing my quarters with any old ruffians travelling from out of state. Can't be too careful, you know what these rugged types are like. Even if they are... somewhat dashing.” The stranger adjusted his glasses and looked off over the room. Mac chewed the cigarette butt, rolling it gently between his teeth. He was getting the picture. And considering it. He sniffed, took a drag of the cigarette. “Are you getting at something? You got an offer, you oughtta make it outright, save me the trouble of misunderstanding.” God you sound like Nate. Man's rubbing off on you. The stranger tipped his chin high, unfolding a neat purse from his breast pocket, and laying it on the table, keeping his eyes fixed on something at the far side of the room. “I always find it a little vulgar, talking money at the table, but if you will be so insistent. Two hundred caps, or rations and water to that value, from the storehouse. Beds for your party. Four hundred, if you'll… indulge me, a little." MacCready reached for the purse, and the stranger groaned impatiently, his mouth tightening and downturned at the corners. “Please, don't count it here. I assure you it's all there.” “And what's...” he exhaled in a fast stream, heart racing in his chest. This was fucking crazy. “...what is it, exactly, that you're looking for?” “An hour or two of your... time. If you find the offer agreeable.” He blinked slowly. “And if not, well, you're welcome to walk away. I shan't hold it against you.” MacCready looked around the room, nervously. His stomach was a flurry of nerves, and his palms were starting to sweat. Man that's a lot of money. Man that's a lot of money. How bad could it be? Mac cleared his throat, his voice dropping low, barely audible. “Uh, if you’re…  top or bottom?” His face coloured at the question, and the other man tensed visibly. “Please. Be discreet. I've no desire to make the details public. Accompany me for a stroll; I assure you, you're welcome to leave if you decide against it.” MacCready finished his beer, took a deep breath, and hopped to his feet. “Alright. Alright, let's take a walk.” They crossed the town to the south west, only a short walk, and into a park that the stranger called Mill Woods. He pulled a crisp tin of cigars from inside his jacket, and lit one with a gold lighter, offering one to MacCready. Mac took it, eagerly; he'd only ever smoked these twice, once when he was fourteen and Knick-Knack had gotten some from…god knows where, and once when he and Nate had found some inside a safe in the lounge of an old bar. The stranger took a delicate puff, the fat stogie looking strange in his thin mouth, and spoke, clearly but quietly. "Andrews. The name. Benedict Andrews. And you?" MacCready hesitated. "Uh, RJ. Most people call me Mac." "Well, R. J." Andrews extended his hand, "now that we've been properly introduced, I should make myself clearer where my request is concerned. I have… Two initial requests. And one that I would rather leave until we are more… Readily acquainted." MacCready looked at him, cautious. "Okay, I'm listenin'. What's your job?" Andrews cleared his throat. "The first part should be easy enough for you. You are to accompany me to my home, under the guise of a mercenary hired to help with our musk-rat problem. We have a small brook running through our grounds, you see, and the rats are awfully territorial; several of their pairs have borne cubs recently, and they're eating what little healthful vegetation still grows in the grounds. Not to mention they are smelly, noisy beasts. One hundred caps for the elimination of six breeding pairs and their litters. The meat is passable, and the furs are valuable and warm,  you may keep them and sell them as you wish. "The second part of this job is where I begin to require your discretion. My wife can't abide the creatures, nor it seems, can she abide me. Suffice to say, the feeling is mutual. If you would be willing to… demonstrate your more…” He paused, smiling “...rugged masculinity about our house - spitting, uncouth laying of feet upon furniture, chewing with one's mouth open, etc. it would irritate her terribly. And, the real coup de gras of this set piece,  is that you would “accompany me” to my bed, later in the evening." MacCready sputtered, laughing and slapping his side. "Oh man, that is killer. You're really not a fan of the broad, huh?" Andrews looked at him seriously. "if you had lived with this loathsome woman for as many years as I have, you would feel similarly, I assure you. These marks about my face, they are the beginning of - such an ugly word - "ghoulification". I do not intend to live out the rest of my many days wed to her. But for now, these small torments bring me, I must admit, a perverse sliver of joy. " He puffed the cigar. MacCready nodded, digging a hand in his pocket, still grinning. "Sure. I'll take your word for it. She’s not… you don’t share the bedroom then?" Andrews rolled his eyes, tight lipped. “A small mercy; no. Not for a number of years.” He swallowed. “An hour together, after dinner, in my boudoir, as it were. You’d be free to do as you please afterwards, of course. Preferably lounge in the parlour sans accroutements, smoking a fine cigar and sharing a brandy.” He smiled mischievously at MacCready. “As long as she believes the deed is done.” MacCready laughed, and held out his hand, shaking vigorously when Andrews took it. “Got yourself a deal there.”

[kristopherwritesstuff]

Chapter 1

Touch starved wasn’t a term Jamison was accustomed to. In the Outback, touch was reserved for scrapping, if it came down to it, or quick, dirty rutting against thighs it spit slicked hands.

Hygiene wasn’t common, but neither were the diseases typically present throughout the rest of the world, transmitted through dirty holes uncleaned. They knew better.

His vocabulary wasn’t lacking, either, not with all the travelling he’d done once he was out of the Outback and off the Australian coast, but “touch starved” was simply something that had never been brought up to him before, or explained if it had. Touch wasn’t something he actively sought, either, wasn’t something he knew he wanted until he agreed to Overwatch, Mako an automatic extension to the agreement and the only one who actively had looked out for him, even after the payments had ended and he had saved enough to do what he wanted.

Even then, touch wasn’t something they had actively participated in, other than Mako holding him down by the back of his neck with a firm hand, large fingers stroking over his thighs and hole and coaxing him into calm submission, soothing his jittery anxious energy.

There was nothing soft about it, though. Nothing caring, although Jamison knew Mako cared. Nothing just gentle and light, just a firm roughness that was used to get the Junker to shut up and sit still instead of getting caught up in his own head, going crazy again, another bomb spree meant to kill himself and everyone around him.

Touch wasn’t something he was aware he wanted, needed, until he met Jesse McCree; thick dark hair and a thicker body, relaxed and charming and handsome in a way Jamison hadn’t really seen in far too long, at least in a way that interested him. He didn’t hide his interest well, either; all wide golden eyes sober and calm without the anxiety of the Outback to have them flickering nervously (although they still did, when Mako wasn’t around, on edge and giggles threatening to bubble up his throat), arms crossed around his hollow stomach and deadly still, silent as he watched. Quiet as a damn mouse.

Too big for a mouse, though, and too dirty, too twitchy, too nervous, too dangerous for one. That’s what people think of rats, after all. Dirty and twitching and dangerous. They thought of Jamison the same; that’s how he got his name, earned it: just a rat in the junk, dirty and twitching and dangerous, and a part of him, niggling the back of his brain, scratching deep in his gut, told him that’s what everyone else thought, too, at the Watchpoint. Told him they hated him, mistrusted him, didn’t want him, would just stab him in the back and leave him to rot.

It was different with McCree, though. The cowboy, man, despite his low, whiskey rough voice and overbearing demeanour, was surprisingly warm and gentle, easy laughs on his lips and a wink in his eyes for practically everyone. He made everyone feel welcome, even Jamison and his bodyguard, and even though everyone had a soft smile and a kind word for the young, lanky man, it only really felt genuine from Jesse. He'd ruffle the dirty blonde mess on Jamison's head, would swing his arm around the man's shoulders and nudge him close under the watchful eye of the huge bodyguard usually nearby, and always had a kind word and light greeting whenever he spotted Jamison around the base, and it never failed to have the man softening up, relaxing, yearning for their interactions more and more.

He didn't confess this, never said anything, but that didn't stop Mako bringing it up two months into their joining of Overwatch, voice low and chest deep as he watches his boss fuss and fidget in front of the mirror, scrubbing at the ash and soot imbedded under his eyelashes like makeup.

"...Going to see the cowboy?"

"Roadie--"

"Gonna tell him?"

He's being glared at in the mirror, just the softest dusting of pink on Jamison's cheeks, and Mako just gives a small shrug. He could read him better than anyone, sometimes better than Jamison himself, but even the crush was clear, probably even to Jesse himself. Jamison just had trouble keeping himself to himself, a good counter to the stoic man he had employed and befriended.

Other than the glare, there's no answer, and Jamison returns to the mirror, fussing and huffing and scowling before giving up five minutes later.

He'd showered, tried to clean up a little, but the soot was still in awkward places, like under his eyes and in the curves of his earlobe and under his nails, but the rest was fairly clean, hair now a soft, fluffy mess on his head, light and pretty without ash and dirt and grease shaping it messily into flaming spikes. He almost looks good, especially with a clean pair of shorts on, loose tank top a few sizes too big with his unhealthy lank, and he straightens himself up a little, brows furrowed as he fidgets. Even his arm and leg have been cleaned.

"...You look fine."

Ignored again, other than a quick glance in the mirror, eyes thankful before Jamison turns and hobbles out the room with quick ease, good practise after years of using the peg leg.

Jesse's at the target range, and Jamison can't help but wonder why. His aim is damn near perfect, if not completely so, in the field, let alone against the robot dummies lazily patrolling around. He hears Jamison approach but says nothing, doesn't move, just fires another shot as the blonde man watches from behind him, chewing up his lips and trigger finger twitching with each shot.

"...Are ya gonna join me, darlin'?" The smooth, low voice makes Jamison start, fingers jerking, a bomb being sent flying towards one of the dummies and exploding on impact, taking out half of its head.

"Easy, 'rat. Didn't mean to startle ya." Jesse is turning, gun in its hollister at his hip, and easy grin on his face and a cigar, as usual, between his lips. "Haven't seen you all mornin'."

"Busy," is what falls from Jamison's mouth, body falling still under Jesse's gaze as the man eyes him up and down curiously.

"Nice to see yer takin' care of yourself. Didn't clean up 'specially for training, did ya?"

Jamison just nods after a slight pause if hesitation, biting his tongue for once, babble ceased in front of Jesse. If the pause is noticed, he doesn't say anything, just nods back, grinning, and takes a low drag from his cigar, exhaling the smoke almost lazily. It makes Jamison's nose twitch, watching the smoke swirl and twist in the still air, mouth dry at the now-familiar scent, and Jesse just hums at the red tips of his ears before he turns to empty his gun into the broken dummy currently whirling around in circles before collapsing from the sudden attack.

"Ya want a puff?"

"Nah, mate, Roadie says it's no good on my lungs, reckons I'll end up like him if I do." He gives a nervous laugh (at least Jesse thinks it's nervous, it's hard to tell with Jamison) and shrugs, almost a little helpless. "Don't like the taste, either. Smell ain't bad, but reckon that's all the smoke I've been sniffing over the years."

His voice isn't as high and crazed, like this. Still lilted up, but less excited, less shouting. Still a slight roll of the r's, but...it's calmer. Less Junkrat, more Jamison.

"Sure, sugar. Whatever ya want." Jesse shrugs, slumping down up against the wall, and Jamison slowly sinks down next to him, legs pulled to his chest, metal arm wrapped around them as he lets his gun rest next to him and flesh fingers idly rubbing the floor, careful not to touch Jesse. It felt good, being this close to him, being able to sit with the cowboy while he smoked and sent Jamison's head reeling with the smell of cigar smoke and unwashed leather and something earthy, and he simply rests his cheek against his knee, eyes flicking between his hand and Jesse's face. Jesse just keeps on puffing his smoke, head tipped back and hat dragged over his face a little, and it gives Jamison plenty of opportunity to stare and admire, stomach soft and warm in his gut. He's seen the old pictures of Jesse, back in his Blackwatch days, back even before that, and he could easily compare them to the man before him now, mentally noting the differences.

Broader. Chubbier, is what Jamison likes to think, because he likes the softness of Jesse's personality enough he wants it to match his physical appearance. Taller, obviously. A proper beard on his chin and jaw, although a little rough and patchy in some places, like he's had to shave without a mirror and it had grown back awkward. Robotic arm. Plain flannel shirt, a deep blue today. A low lazy voice that instantly sets people at ease.

Still handsome, though. Still attractive enough to claim anyone he wanted, cowboy get up or not. He just didn’t seem to want anyone.

"Can I help ya, sugar?"

Jamison flicks his eyes away quickly, trying to focus on how long he'd been staring, mouth dry. All he gets is blank, though, blank and Jesse's tanned skin and scruffy beard and chapped lips curled around the fat cigar nearly finished.

"Jamison?"

"I'm fine. It's fine. Don't worry, mate, just lost in thought, ain't no reason to worry." He can feel Jesse looking at him, curious and slightly amused, and he shuffles into himself, hiding away, trying to be smaller than he actually is. Trying to seem like a mouse instead of a rat.

"Sure, darlin'. Sure." There's a pause, a moment of relaxed quiet, Jamison's ears burning. "...Ain't gonna train? I could join ya."

There's a slight lilt to his tone that makes Jamison want to flush but he pushes it back, just shakes his head, stumbling to his feet. "Nah. Should probably go see what's cooking."

"Alright, whatever you want. I'll see ya later, yeah?"

Jamison fumbles, tongue thick in his mouth, hand fumbling to grab his gun.

"Yeah. Yeah, sure, mate."

He's scampering away before Jesse can say anything else, but he can feel his eyes on his back, burning into him like he'd just pressed his cigar there.

Jamison is so fucked.

[clareguilty]

A Coming Home Present (McAshe)

Commission for @dareperks! A birthday present for a friend of his! McCree/Ashe Word Count: 1980 Rating: Explicit | Warnings: Public Sex, Slight Coercion, Rough Sex

The sun beat down hot on Deadlock gorge as Jesse rolled through the open doors to Deadlock’s base of operations. He expected at least a little opposition. Someone should stop him or recognize him or even shoot him on sight.

But the low-level gang members milling about the front of the saloon and the garage didn’t even look up as his motorcycle slowed to a stop about a hundred feet from the Propane store front. It was as good of a welcome home as he could have expected from the no-good lowlifes Deadlock kept around. He would have to make some real changes to how things were run now that he was back.

The gorge looked the same as it always had, faded paint and rundown buildings that hadn’t seen honest business in decades. It felt like home to Jesse.

He killed the engine on his bike and strode purposefully to the middle of the street. Now he had the attention of the gang. Several of the men began whispering urgently to each other as they finally recognized who had waltzed right into their gorge.

Just as he hoped, one of the men scrambled towards the tunnels, off to the deliver the message of the Deadeye’s return.

Jesse held his ground, thumbs hooked in his belt and an easy smile resting on his tanned skin. This was easier than he expected.

“ASHE,” he bellowed, scaring several of the wide-eyed gang members who were frozen in various places around the gorge. Goggles and beady eyes peered from the windows and catwalks, curious and terrified as Jesse waited confidently in the road. “Won’t you come and greet your guest?”

A distinct, familiar snarl echoed from the stone tunnels in the canyon wall. Jesse’s mouth curled up.

Ashe stalked into view. She was dressed down; Jesse had interrupted her few hours of relaxation. Without her hat, vest, and armor, Ashe still managed to look very angry and very threatening. Her shirt was unbuttoned at the top, tie hanging loosely around her neck, and Jesse marveled at her pale skin in comparison to the usual dark tan that desert dwellers acquired. She gripped Viper in her perfectly manicured black nails, glaring at Jesse with that same venom he had always admired since they were teens.

“What the hell are you doing here, Jesse?” Ashe demanded. The familiar looming form of Bob shadowed behind her, looking decidedly unthreatening as he waved and cocked his head. Bob was always a good friend.

“I’m taking my gang back, Lizzie,” Jesse drawled. “I thought that was pretty clear.”

“Over my dead body,” Ashe spat, cocking viper.

“I sure hope it doesn’t come to that,” Jesse said. He reached into his pocket and fished out a cigar and lighter. No one moved as he flicked the lighter and puffed until the cigar was lit. He took a long drag and raised an eyebrow at Ashe as he exhaled, shifting his weight.

The sun had risen directly overhead. Ashe glared at McCree, her perfectly painted lips twisted into a deep scowl. Jesse took another puff from his cigar. If Ashe wanted a shootout, Jesse would give her a shootout, but a part of him figured he could resolve this without firing a single shot from Peacekeeper.

Nearly a minute had passed, and Ashe had yet to make a move. She hadn’t even pointed Viper in his direction. This was going to be much easier than expected.

Tossing his cigar to the side, Jesse walked towards Ashe. He had one hand on Peacekeeper - just in case she suddenly got trigger happy, but it mattered none. She stayed rooted to the spot.

Jesse strolled right up to Ashe, stepping into her personal space and grabbing her by the crimson tie that hung from her neck. Ashe let out a choked whine as Jesse pulled her in close, forcing her to meet his eye.

“How have you been, Lizzie?” Jesse asked.

Ashe’s eyes were wide with fear, pupils dilated so much that the bright red of her irises was barely noticeable. She clawed uselessly at Jesse’s hand, trying desperately to pry his fingers from the silk. He didn’t move.

“I missed you,” she finally said, looking away as her face flushed bright red with shame. Her bottom lip disappeared between her teeth.

“Then prove it,” Jesse let go of her tie and Ashe stumbled as she tried to keep her balance. Her eyes snapped to Jesse’s as she tried to understand the meaning of his words. Her brows shot up as she finally realized what he was demanding of her. She shook her head, just barely. She couldn’t do that – not while the whole gang was watching.

Jesse raised an eyebrow. He wouldn’t ask again, and he wouldn’t wait long. He adjusted his stance, widening his feet just enough to emphasize that he wasn’t messing around.

Ashe sank to her knees, eyes shining with tears and cheeks so red they looked like they burned. Jesse was appeased by her compliance, and he rested his hands on his hips as Ashe shuffled to place herself between his boots.

Her nimble fingers fumbled with his belt buckle, the bold letters mocking her as she pulled the leather from its loops and unfastened his pants.

Jesse’s cock slipped from the waistband of his boxers, half hard but already impressive in size. Ashe stroked him gently with one hand; she still felt the same as she had years ago, and Jesse smiled at the familiar rhythm of her wrist. She looked up, fear and shame and embarrassment warring with unabashed lust as she pleaded with Jesse. She was asking for everything at once, release from this shame, from the humiliation of sucking her rival off in front of her entire gang, but she was also asking for permission, permission to wrap her lips around the fat head of Jesse’s cock and please him just as she had done when they were young bandits with nothing to lose.

The feeling of a dozen set of eyes burned into Jesse’s back, and he could only imagine how humiliating this was for Ashe, reduced to nothing but a cock whore in front of all of her own men. The thought made his dick twitch, and Ashe’s eyes snapped to the motion.

She couldn’t resist any longer. Her lips closed around the shaft of his dick, stretched wide around his girth. Her tongue swirled around the tip, and Jesse let out a soft groan as she demonstrated that time had not lessened her skills.

He was fully hard now, and Ashe was stroking his base as she slowly worked her lips down his shaft. Jesse let Ashe have her fun for a bit, watching her sink down inch by inch. But impatience soon got the best of him, and he wound his fingers in her thin, silver hair and began moving her head up and down as she tried her best to keep up with his quick pace. Drool and precum began running down her chin as he began thrusting deep into her mouth. Rather than protest and try and pull away, Ashe let out a long, low moan that only spurred Jesse on.

One of the gang members gave an enthusiastic whistle as Ashe’s eyes rolled back and she moaned and gagged on Jesse’s thick cock. If she heard the noise, she didn’t react. She was too far gone as Jesse fucked her face with ruthless intent.

Drool had dripped off her chin and left transparent spots on her white button down. Jesse marveled at the sight, briefly wondering if he could soak the fabric enough to cling to her perky little tits. The thought nearly made him come, and he dragged Ashe off his cock to keep from spilling too soon. There was still fun to be had with Miss Calamity.

Jesse hauled Ashe to her feet by her tie once more, tearing her shirt open with his metal hand and grinning wildly as her alabaster tits bounced in the high noon sun. Ashe made a slight noise of protest, still clinging to that last bit of shame.

Jesse dragged her by the tie to the front of the propane shop. A familiar red bike was parked on the curb, and the Deadeye threw Ashe over the seat, bending her over her own bike as he groped her ass.

“Damn, I’ve missed this tight ass,” Jesse said as his hands wandered over the firm flesh. He yanked her pants down to her knees and landed a swift slap to the soft skin he exposed.

Ashe yelped in surprise, still glassy-eyed from being face fucked. Jesse’s thick, rough fingers slipped between her legs, feeling just how wet the fearless leader of the Deadlock gang had gotten from being taken in full view of the entire gang. She was dripping, slick running down his fingers and over her thighs.

“You’re a good little whore, aren’t you?” Jesse asked. “Always so wet for the Deadeye’s thick cock.”

Ashe moaned and twisted her hips against the leather seat of the bike. “Everyone knows your place now, don’t they? You’re nothing but a little cock slut. Tell them,” Jesse ordered.

There was no response from the bitch bent over before him, so Jesse brought his hand down on her ass once more. “Tell them.”

“I’m a cock slut,” Ashe whimpered. “I’m your good little whore.”

“That sounds about right to me,” Jesse said, lining his cock up with Ashe’s slick pussy and sinking himself to the hilt. She howled and writhed on the bike, trying to get used to being stretched so tight all at once.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” Jesse groaned as he began fucking Ashe relentlessly. “You probably haven’t been fucked since I left this damn gorge years ago.” A chuckle from one of the men nearby led Jesse to believe that his words were true.

He grabbed Ashe by her waist and slammed into her, not caring for whether she came or not. From the sounds of her helpless moans, she was clearly enjoying the feeling of Jesse’s dick inside her. Some things never changed.

Jesse used Ashe as nothing but a cocksleeve. He dragged her hips to his over and over, growing rougher and rougher as he came close to the edge once more. Ashe seemed to be getting close too, clenching tight around Jesse and shaking and crying as he fucked her faster and harder.

His orgasm came before hers. Too bad. He thought as he pulled out and spilled over her ass, marking her with his come. Ashe cried out in frustration, beating the side of her bike with her fist as tears streamed down her face. God, she looked wrecked. Eye makeup trailing down her cheeks and lipstick smeared six ways from Sunday. Jesse walked around to the other side of the bike and held his softening dick in front of her face. His smile was smug and expectant.

Ashe glared up at him, venomous as always even after she just had the life fucked out of her. Jesse met her gaze; this was a game they had played before. Jesse always won.

Sure enough, Ashe caved first, leaning forward to clean Jesse’s dick with her tongue. Once he was satisfied with her performance, he tucked himself back into his pants and re-buckled his belt.

Without a second glance, Jesse turned on his heel and strode right into the saloon, yelling for someone to get him a whiskey. Ashe stayed draped over the seat of her own bike, wrecked and sore, frustrated and marked with Jesse’s come.

A few lingering gang members watched her with hungry eyes, leering at the new sideshow attraction of the Deadlock gang. Ashe snarled at anyone who came to close, struggling to pull herself to her feet.

“Bob,” she called weakly, “do something.”

[riverthewriter-blog1]

Something Wicked

A short story requested by anonymous, read beneath the cut. Involves an immortal, a zombie, a vampire, and a circus full of secrets.

The girl was filthy.

Amarante tried to keep from staring-concentrate, she told herself- but couldn't help it. The girl had greasy black hair that reached her ankles and wore a frilly black dress with a matching hat. She wandered through the crowded fairgrounds with a belt made of fireworks strung loosely about her waist. Amarante peered over a burly man's shoulder to get a better view, but quickly turned around and began rummaging around in her purse when the little girl noticed her.

Don't come over here, she thought. Please don't draw any attention to me.

Her prayers were met by a swift poke on the shoulder. She whirled around and gasped when she saw the girl grinning at her.

It was almost too much to take in at once. She noticed the smell first; the putrid scent of undead creatures that hadn't bothered to put on any perfume. The girl's eyes, which were blank and white, were rimmed by a layer of dark and messily applied eyeshadow. Hanging loosely from her mangled yellow teeth was a fat cigar. She exhaled a puff of smoke and blew it into the girl's face.

"Why, hello," the girl murmured gleefully in what Amarante thought was a French accent. "What do we have here?"

"What do you want?" Her voice was cold and sharp with fear.

The girl let out a high-pitched giggle. "What everyone here wants; to sell. We're offering a discount for circus week. Buy my explosives, and I'll light them under you."

"Why on earth would I want to do that?" she asked, horrified.

The zombie girl shrugged. "Some like the thrill. Me, I like to watch them burn. But it wouldn't harm you, anyway; you're one of us."

"One of us?"

The girl waves a hand lazily. "Oh, you know. Monsters. Beasts. Supernatural beings. Whatever you want to call us. What are you, I wonder?" she eyes Amarante gleefully. "An elf? No, you don't have the ears. Perhaps a siren? Although I don't feel any attraction."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Amarante snapped. "Who are you, anyway? And what's this about a circus?"

She blew another puff of smoke. "I didn't introduce myself? My apologies. I'm Adreanna, and I work for the Circus of Souls. We're in town this week. Hadn't you heard?"

"Circuses aren't really my thing," Amarante responded.

Adreanna shrugged and gave a short giggle. "I have a feeling you'll change your mind. When you do, meet us here at midnight. My mother will be here to greet you; I'm sure you'll find her... Charming."

The zombie girl giggled again and gave Amarante a tiny wave before using the tip of her cigar to light the end of her fireworks. Before she could respond, the girl had shot into the sky. She exploded into small pieces and disappeared with a twinkle.

This is insane, Amarante thought with a scowl as she approached the fairgrounds. And probably dangerous. Why am I here?

But she knew full well the reason she'd followed the strange undead girl's instructions; she was curious. And what harm could a little fun do once in a while? She was immortal, after all.

She frowned as she reached the fairgrounds.It didn't look like any sort of circus was there. The wide grassy field was empty and unlit. A solitary mirror stood to her right, but otherwise it was deserted.

"Perhaps the girl was lying," she muttered. I wouldn't put it past her.

The mirror sparked her attention. She strode over to inspect it, and saw a small piece of paper taped to the top. 'ENTER HERE FOR CIRCUS OF SOULS', it read in huge block letters.

She frowned. "Enter? Through a mirror?" With a shrug, she stepped forward. "I suppose I've seen stranger things."

Amarante reached her hand out tentatively. The mirror shimmered, and her hand disappeared through what felt like cool water. She took a deep breath and walked through.

When she opened her eyes, she was mesmerized. The fairgrounds, once dark and deserted, were now bright and teeming with life. Strange animals performed tricks and teenagers tried to win dragon paws in booths that smelled of popcorn and cotton candy. People in strange costumes wandered about, sampling foods and gawking at the performers. A man made of stone smiled eerily at her from the ticket booth. Across from him, a hellhound ripped a shackled prisoner in two as people cheered.

"What is this place?" she asked, horrified.

"I see you made it," called a rusty, smoke-charred voice from behind her

She whipped around to see a tall, beautiful woman with blood red lips grinning at her. She had sharp, silvery incisors different word? that poked out of her mouth slightly. In between them was a burning cigarette. Her outfit, a reflective black dress that was just a little too short, made Amarante wince and avert her eyes.

"Allow me to introduce myself," said the woman. She removed her cigarette, discarding it before extending a pale hand. "My name is Cressida. I run this show. My daughter told me you'd be coming. We're all so glad you'll be joining us."

"Your... Daughter?" Amarante asked. Her head was spinning with all that she'd seen. "The zombie?"

The woman tilted her head back and laughed, showing her sharpened teeth stained red. "Interesting, isn't she? She's actually part of the show. You'll see her at the end of our tour. I think you'll find her act quite amusing."

"Wait," she said with a frown. "What do you mean, joining you?"

Cressida cackled again and grabbed Amarante's hand. Her long, delicate fingers curled around the girl's. She shuddered at the sudden chill that passed through her.

"Come with me," the vampire hissed gleefully. "I'll show you around."

Trapped by Cressida's firm grasp and beginning to regret her actions, Amarante allowed herself to be dragged toward a large aquarium lit up with sparkling neon fish. At what must have been 50 feet above the tank, a beautiful girl with long green hair and bright scales stood atop a diving board. She held an ornate bubble pipe in her mouth, and she was grinning.

"Who is that?" Amarante asked, horrified.

Cressida waved a lazy hand and pulled them closer. At the sight of her, onlookers immediately pulled back a respectful distance. "Oh, that's just Alunna, our mermaid. She's supposed to do water tricks, but she can't seem to handle even a small jump."

They watched as she clumsily tipped herself over the edge and fell face first into the water.

"Her boyfriend-"she pointed to a man in a scuba mask waiting at the bottom of the tank- "is supposed to do the act with her, but he isn't much better at it. The only thing she's good for is that silly bubble pipe. The customers seem to love it."

She watched as Alunna swam around the aquarium, followed by the strange-looking man with pointed ears. Every so often, she would puff on her pipe, and children would squeal as it formed a bird, or a lollipop, or a cat.

"If she's so terrible, why is she performing?"

Cressida's expression turned sour. "She's one of the more... dull choices. Some people don't think before they come to visit. They call this the Circus of Souls for a reason."

Amarante frowned. Nothing here made sense, especially the woman's strange way of talking. "What do you-"

"Time to move on," the woman interrupted. She grabbed her hand in her vice like grip and pulled her along.

They wandered past booths filled with questionable-looking candy, raw meat, and strange objects that looked sort of like oysters. The stench made her gag and cover her nose.

"Many interesting creatures come from all over to see our performances," Cressida said. The odor didn't seem to affect her at all. "We're quite extraordinary. I don't mean to brag, of course. It's just that no one else does what we do."

"And what do you do?"

The woman gave her a strange look. "I thought that was clear. We cater to the interests of supernatural beings everywhere. They come to be fulfilled, and in return we take what we need from them. It could be their youth, their laughter, their wisdom, their gifts. Their energy- their life- it fuels the circus. A small price to pay, really, for such wonders."

Amarante put a hand to her mouth. Her normally rosy cheeks were pale, and her hands had the slightest tremble in them. "I think I want to leave now."

Cressida cackled. "But the tour has only just begun. You must see our other acts. I insist."

Filled with dread and the understanding that there was no good way out of this, she let herself be led toward what looked like a stadium.

As they got closer, Amarante saw two tiny creatures facing off inside. Sprites, she thought. They're fighting to the death.

"Quick little buggers, but they put up a good fight," Cressida said cheerfully. "And the crowd seems to love them."

She was right. The stadium was packed with eager onlookers who roared and pounded their fists every time one of the fighters drew blood.

"It's barbaric."

"Everything is, if you look at it the right way. It's the beautiful thing about being a monster; nothing is beneath you." The vampire's sharp fangs glittered in the moonlight. "We can do anything."

And somehow, Amarante believed it.

Their next stop was a man covered in nothing but tattoos that appeared to be twisting and writhing as he moved. He arched his neck back and opened his mouth wide to let loose a burst of flame. The crowd roared, and he did it again. More tattoos appeared.

She stared in horror at his body. Those weren't tattoos. They were burn marks. "He's burning. It's burning him alive."

"It's an interesting story," the vampire said. "He was born a mortal, and lived a long and happy life until a wizard cursed him to burn forever in hell. Unfortunately, the state of our world right now is so hellish that the curse couldn't see the difference, and he's been burning ever since. A useful addition; the crowd loves a good bonfire."

"This is awful."

"Oh, darling, this is just the beginning." Cressida cackled again, and they were moving on.

A winged man in shackles slumped against a pole. His strong legs were tied together and there were feathers strewn about on the ground. Someone had clipped his wings.

He raised his head, and Amarante saw a faint glimmer above him. "He's an angel," she whispered in awe.

As if sensing her presence, he looked directly at her and shook his head slightly, as if to say get out. His eyes conveyed a thousand miseries in the space of a second. Soon, they would be hers to endure.

I can't, she wanted to scream. She won't let me go. But Cressida was already pulling her along.

"He grants wishes," she said with a bored wave of a hand. "Heals wounds, reads futures, soothes hearts. All of that boring nonsense. Now, this is an act I think you'll enjoy."

I doubt it, she wanted to say. She opened her mouth to accuse the vampire of being a barbarian and a monster, but her words died in her mouth as she saw what lay before her.

It was a spectacular cannon. Large and painted the blackest of black, with silver streaks along the side. And inside of it was the zombie girl Amarante had met earlier. She still held a fat cigar between her yellowed teeth, but she had smoked it down to almost nothing.

"You can't shoot her out of that thing," she protested, her heart racing. "She's got explosives strapped all over her. She'll explode."

"They always manage to put her back together nearly as well as before," Cressida said with a dismissive wave. "Besides, she doesn't seem to mind."

"That's your daughter," she said. She struggled to pull her arm free, wanting to save the girl, but Cressida held firm. "That's your daughter they're shooting out of a cannon."

"It's a good marketing feature, don't you think?" the woman asked. "This is a family business, after all. Now, excuse me; I have a job to do. And don't go running off on me, either. You're still needed here."

Her heart pounded wildly as she watched Cressida take the end of her cigarette and bend over to gracefully light the match. She stepped back as the flame raced toward the cannon. Amarante covered her ears, shut her eyes, and sent out one last prayer for the girl before she was blown to pieces.

Boom.

The sound sent her stumbling backwards as it reverberated through every bone in her body. Energy crackled audibly as Adreanna shot through the sky. She soared over the trees before exploding into thousands of tiny pink dots. The fireworks strapped to her body rocketed through the air before exploding in glorious tendrils of color.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Cressida asked from Amarante's side. There were tears in the vampire's eyes, but she had a feeling they weren't from sadness. "Such a marvelous sight."

"It's sick," Amarante spat, twisting her arm out of the woman's grip. "All of this is sick and twisted. I'm leaving."

"Oh, but you can't leave yet," Cressida purred. Something dark and wild sparked in her eyes. "You haven't paid your ticket yet."

"Fine," Amarante shouted. Others turned to stare at her, but she didn't care. "Take my youth or my immortality or whatever the hell you want, just let me leave this place."

"I'm afraid that won't be necessary," said Cressida with a smirk. "You see, there's only one thing I want from you, and it's something I'd rather have you give freely. You, my dear, are very special. You're an immortal."

Amarante took a step backward.

"Don't think I don't know who you are," she cooed. "I know all about you. You're not just any immortal, either. You're one of the endesje- the ones who cannot be killed. At least by anything we have. It makes you quite an interesting spectacle, when in the right circumstances."

Amarante's eyes widened as she realized what was happening. "You want me to join the circus."

"Finally, you've stopped being so dense. There are plenty of monsters who would pay good money to see what you have to offer. Once our angel is through with you, you'll be glad to oblige them."

"You can't do this," Amarante pleaded, stumbling backwards. Strong hands gripped her forearms and she twisted around to see the angel staring at her with his dead eyes. "I have a family, I have-"

"You don't need a family," Cressida whispered, grinning. She leaned forward to trace her jawline with a cold, pale finger. "You have us now."

Her vision faded and her racing heart stilled to a slow, steady thump. Her thoughts- useless things- were scrubbed clean and replaced by a new purpose. A twisted, monstrous, glorious, purpose.

"Welcome to the circus," the vampire said.

Amarante smiled. She was home.

[spiral-eyes-21]

He had won a radio contest in his small town for a walk on role in the reboot of Hawaii five-O. Rhe entire town was at the airport to see him off. Just another wide eyed innocent chasing his dreams

When he arrived at the LA airport, he was shocked to see thete was a young man about his age holding a a sign with his name on it. He was kinda shicked when he realized the driver was in a leather uniform and had the biggest cigar in his jaw he'd ever seen

He walked up to the driver and told him who he was. The driver smiled hornily around his big cigar"Very good Sir. If you'll come this way please" He was amazed that the driver apoke so clearly around the big cigar.

He followed the driver out of the airport. They walked to the loading zone where a black Lincoln town car sat. It was being watched by a couple of cops. They also had big cigars in their jaws. He noticed there was thought but wasn't sure but it looked like they were wearing leather uniforms as well

He wanted to take a closer look but the driver was holding the door open for him. He shrugged and got in the car. When the door was shut it was like he was in a soft supple cacoon

The windows were tinted a dark black and the seat was leather so soft he just wanted to sink into it. He noticed a strong scent coming from the seats. He didn't know what it was but he thought it was nice. It was maduro smoke infused into the leather.

He didn't realize that the scent was making him horny and hard. He cupped his hard cock and when he did he let out a long gutteral moan. Clamping his mouth shut as soon as he did

He just hoped the driver hadn't heard him as he got in the car. The car pulled away from the curb and nerged into traffic. Soon the car was filled with thick clouds of maduro smoke. He didn't want to ask the driver to roll the windows down or to stop smoking it altogether

He tried rolling down the closet window but it wouldn't bulge. He leaned over and tried it. Same result. It wouldn't move. He sat back up. He coughed a couple of times and closed his eyes.

After a few minutes the driver spoke:" Can you hear me pig?""Yeeesssss""How ya feelin pig?"Mmmmm feel good""Feel horny pig?""Sooo horny!""Pigdick hard pig?""So so hard!""Pig why don't you get it out and show me that pigdick?"

He didn't say anything or move to free his cock"I said fucker show me that fuckin hard pigdick!!'"K" He moved slowly. Robotically unzipping his pants and fishing his hard cock out. It was a impressive cock. A little over 9" long and 4" thick with a 3" overhang of foreskin

When the driver saw it he whistled and said:"Damn pig!! Thats a nice pigdick!! Do you know how to use it pig?"" What do you mean?”" I mean have you fucked any body with your pigdick?"" Oh no me and my girlfriend are saving ourselves for marriage"

"Don't worry pig. Master will have you fucking pig pussy in no time.!! Now why don't you show me how you stroke that fucking big pigdick but you can't cum until your Master tells you"" K"

Soon the car was filled with the pop pop sound of his foreskin moving back and forth over his cock head. He continued stroking until the driver opened his door. He got out of the car. His hard dick hangimg out of his pants

He was led into the house and to the inner sanctum of his new Master. The Smoke Master of Hollywood Nick Jonas. The Smoke Master took a deep draw on his big maduro and blew the thick cloud of smoke over his newest pig

The cloud completely hid him from view. In a few seconds he started moaning and a even bigger thicker pigdick came jutting out of the cloud. There was a 0 guage PA hanging from the enlarged piss slit. It was glinting in the light from the constant stream of pre pigcum that was coating it

He moaned again and a long fat maduro poked out of the cloud. A maduro that was creating its own cloud from the deeo puffs the almost pig was taking

The cloud drifted away to reveal the transformed body of the smoke pig. His nips sat on his musclar pecs looking like mini cocks. With thick silver rings hanging through them

The almost pig walked over to his Master. His big maduro and bigger pigdick leading the way. He turns and bends over grabbing his ankles. Offering his virgin pighole to his Smoke Master

Master Nick stood up. His huge pigdick swinging in front of him. He walks behind his newest pig. Puts his CHP gloved hands on the waist in front of him. Pushing his Master cock deep into the open pighole in front of him. Fucking him deep and hard. As he was being fucked more and more ink was appearing on his body

The two pics were taken of the gearpig when he was face tyming his family and friends. When they asked him about the big cigar he told them that it was something he'd always wanted to try. He did he liked it and was going to be a daily maduro smoker and that he was going to stay in Hollywood and try to make it there

They wished him luck. He invited his buds to come out and see him

He told his younger brothers that once he gets settled he's going to send for them to come and visit. What the people he was face tyming with didn't know was he was getting his pigdick sucked by his pig bro the driver while his Smoke Master fucked his pighole deep and hard