#i will not stand for people turning it into something they can compare ship pairings to

[eileensdress]

I may not be in my Maurice era anymore but that shit fundamentally changed me. I’ve never been more defensive of a silly little 80s movie about love

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

The Most Impossible Battle

Pairing: Young Robert Baratheon x Targaryen!Reader

Warnings: soft dubcon, NSFW, gradual consent, rough sex

Words: 3020

Summary: Robert hated all Targaryens. Wise words from those close to him though make Robert Baratheon give in to the idea of taking (y/n) Targaryen as his bride.

By the Gods Robert, have mercy on the girl.” Ned pleaded but was immediately shut up by Robert’s roaring voice.

“Mercy?! MERCY?! Did that Targaryen whore’s brother show your sister mercy when he raped her?!! The Targaryen don’t deserve mercy Ned!” Young and callous, Robert Baratheon’s beautiful blue eyes were now tainted with his fury and anger. He stood a few inches higher above the his Stark brother. Even with that fact, Ned refused to stand down on the matter.

With a stone face, he goes on “Her brother is to blame. She has done nothing wrong.”

That made Robert scoff. “Except let the others escape. She’s fully aware of her family’s guilt. Have you so quickly forgotten what her father had done to your brother and father? The whole family is taint and should be eradicated.”

Yes, young (y/n) Targaryen had made sure her younger siblings were well out of harms way. At the moment she had been captured she had sent her younger brother Viserys and newborn sister Daenerys away on a cargo ship. To where, she refused to say. Brave, Ned admired that much about the girl. In that moment he was reminded so much of Lyanna. Brave, beautiful and stubborn.

Ned couldn’t let Robert execute her. He didn’t want anymore blood shed thanks to this stupid war.

He gives Jon Arryn a sideways glance, asking for his help. Jon Arryn, Lord of the Vale, purses his lips together for a moment. “Think rationally Robert.” The older man did always have a way in reining him in. Both men viewed him as a surrogate father and in that aspect resonated a great deal of respect. “Even though there were a great deal of people who hated Aerys, there an even greater many who loved Rhaegar and (y/n). Those supporters are already upset at the death of Rhaegar, as deserving as it was. But (y/n)? She’s but a sweet maid who has done nothing. Those families might do something hasty if you were to execute her.”

“Then I’ll kill them. I’m king now and if a see someone that isn’t obedient I can surely have them executed. The whole lot of those Targaryen loving scum.” Spitting he stomps over to a large window to look over his new dominion of King’s Landing. Hands splayed on the windowsill he glares out over the city.

“Be reasonable Robert.” Jon tries again. “That will just earn you more resentment from the people you now govern. Otherwise you’d be just like Aerys.”

That made Robert’s broad shoulders go rigid. The last thing he wanted was to be compared to the Targaryen king. No, he didn’t want to be anything like Aerys. “Then what do you suggest I do with the girl?”

The room was quiet for a moment, as if Jon was afraid to even say the solution. One encouraging look from Ned gave him the strength he needed. “Marry her.”

Ned gaped at the Arryn lord, he hadn’t been expecting that as a solution.

Robert spun on his heel, dark mane of hair flying as he did so. “Marry her? Have you lost your mind?!”

“Not as much as you have.” Jon speaks truthfully, staring down the young man who used to be his ward. “Think about it Robert. If you marry her, then those who still support the Targaryens will have no choice but to support you. She’s well loved among the people. That would give you good reception, having her as your bride.”

Gritting his teeth, his blue eyes narrow. “No. Never. I will never marry her. It would be a disgrace upon the memory of Lyanna. Lyanna was who I was supposed to marry. And now because of that Targaryen bastard, she’s dead.”

“What’s done is done Robert. You cannot turn back time. But you can attempt to move on.” He tries to sound a little sympathetic. Robert had been deeply in love with Lyanna, but even Jon Arryn knew that his love only ran so deep. It hadn’t stopped Robert from sleeping with dozens of other women.

Sighing, Ned places a hand on Robert’s shoulder. “He’s right. You’re king now. You must do things that you don’t necessarily want to do. Keeping the peace by marrying her… It needs to be done Robert. There is still unrest all throughout Westeros. Her father and brother may have been bastards, but she was beloved by all the realms. It would do you good.”

“Damn you Ned. Damn you and your sensible words.”

*

Were they okay? You hoped Viserys didn’t lose his temper with the newborn Daenerys.

Your fingers made circles in the dirt that you called your bed.

They should be safely out in the open water. People would have a hard time finding that ship.

Fear and worry and the echo of Viserys pleading with you to go with them. But there wasn’t any time. Not for you at least. You had to delay Robert’s soldiers. That was the only way that the ship would be able to leave the port in time. Daenerys’ shrill cries still haunted you as you stared at the walls of your cell. You never thought in a million years that you would wind up there, in the dungeons of your ancestors.

You didn’t know what would be worse, you rotting away in the dungeon or Robert Baratheon having you executed. You understood why all this had happened, you weren’t that much of a naive girl. True you had been sheltered most of your life, you knew how the world worked. Your brother had been a fool. It was his fault for stealing the Stark girl although you didn’t believe one bit that he had raped her. That was not in Rhaegar’s nature. Neither was war. Now you were paying for the price of it. You knew that if the soldiers had caught Viserys he would have been as good as dead. He posed a threat to the usurper as now being the next in line for the Iron Throne. The last male heir of Aerys. What would your fate be?

You hadn’t anticipated marriage being an option.

Guards had dragged you out of your cell, filthy and stumbling as your eyes tried to adjust to the bright light that suddenly blinded you. You were lead to the reception hall that was once filled with the skulls of your family’s dragons. There in the back, commanding authority was the Iron Throne. On it now sat an imposing Robert Baratheon. It was an odd sight for you, seeing a man that wasn’t your insane father on the throne. One that lacked the Targaryen violet eyes and snow white hair. Robert’s thick hair clashed against your own; violently dark opposed to your gentle silver tresses. He looked every part of king, much more than your father did. During the last few years, Aerys’ body had begun to deteriorate greatly as his body thinned and became frail. Not Robert. His body was taught with muscle, ready to strike. His thick beard betrayed his young age, making him look so much more older than you knew he was. The new King of Westeros.

You had thought you were there to hear your death sentence. What came out of the stag king’s mouth nearly made you lose balance.

“I will take you as my queen. You have no say in the matter and will act accordingly unless you want to meet the same fate as your brother and father.” Stating with no compassion in his heart, rich blue eyes glare at you. “It seems fitting since he took my bride away.”

Opening your mouth you realize you didn’t know what to say. Surely you could oppose but what would that do to help you? From his voice it was clear that the last thing he wanted to do was marry you. The feeling was very much mutual. Even though your brother had been an idiot and had been in the wrong, you still hated Robert for killing him. You realized you might want death rather than this. To have to bed the man that killed Rhaegar… It made you sick. Rhaegar was an idiot, but he was your idiot. Dozens of memories resurfaced that nearly had you weeping.

“I… I am to be your bride?” The words were laced with venom. “A usurper’s queen?”

If he hadn’t been perched on the throne you knew he would’ve slapped you. Instead you noticed the subtle whitening of his knuckles as he gripped at the throne. “Watch your tongue, whore. You should be grateful that I don’t crush your skull in with my hammer.”

Dragon fire flushed your face. “I would rather you do that than subject me than your disease ridden cock.”

There was a collective gasp in the hall. A beloved princess you were, but that didn’t mean you let people step over you. You were blood of the dragon after all.

“Your grace,” broke in a voice next to you. A solemn looking man took to your side. The sigil of a direwolf displayed proudly on his vest. “Please, I know this must be difficult for you but it is the best course of action for you to take. You’ll still have your life and your people.”

“And what of my respect? My dignity? I lose all that to the Baratheon usurper.”

In a more hushed tone, the young Stark lord bends a bit to whisper in your ear. “I promise to you, if you go through with this I’ll make sure your siblings remain safe. To the old Gods and the new, I swear that they won’t be harmed.”

You soften. The Starks kept good to their word, everyone knew that. How could you say no when it ensured the safety of your siblings?

“Okay… Okay.”

*

By the Gods she was beautiful. Disgustingly beautiful with her Targaryen traits. Robert hated it. Hated her and her entire family. But he couldn’t deny her beauty. Especially when she stood there in front of him, her Targaryen cloak around her shoulders about to be replaced by the Baratheon yellow and black. She looked every bit a queen should. Full pouting lips, dark eyelashes that kissed at her cheeks when she fluttered her eyelids. The trail of her neck that led down to a prominent collar bone (probably from having been denied food for days).

It should have been Lyanna there in her place. Jon Arryn was right in one thing though, he couldn’t go back. He couldn’t dream of mending the past. Nothing would bring Lyanna back to him. Robert would take Rhaegar’s sister as retribution; watch the fallen prince turn in his grave as he married her.

Robert couldn’t deny his immense attraction to her though. More so now that she stood in front of them in their wedding chambers. The Bedding Ceremony was about to commence. Violet eyes hold onto blue as she stands her ground.

“Turn around.” He growls out. “I don’t want to look at your face.”

“The feeling’s mutual.” She hisses back and turns around. Her silver hair had been done so meticulously in luscious braids and curls that even Robert couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and grabbing her hair. Catching himself, he gives it a good yank making her suck in breath at the pain. His other hand goes to the laces on the back of her dress, easily ripping them to reveal her flawless, bare, back. Such beautiful skin. Robert’s fingers glide along her back before tearing off the rest of her dress so that it pooled around her feet. (y/n) continues to stand tall with her back straight. Grabbing the back of her neck, Robert bends her over the bed so that her face was pressed into the mattress; her small hands curled tightly into the silken bedsheets. Preparing for whatever Robert had planned for her. Surely she must know what he would do. Treat her as harshly as Rhaegar must have treated Lyanna. His thick thigh pushes her legs apart and Robert nearly sighs at the sight. The sight of her exposed and bent over was enough for him to salivate over. What a beautiful cunt she had. Possibly the most beautiful he had seen. He wanted to run his tongue along her slit and taste her.

(y/n) struggled slightly to move her face into a better position for her to breathe. As she did so she unconsciously wiggled her ass, an ass that begged for a smack.

That’s just what he did. Reeling his hand back and smacking her ass. “Stay still.” A vivid red handprint starts to bloom on her rear. His large hand grabs her pussy and with his fingers spreads her lower lips apart in preparation for his cock. He was a little bit too excited to fuck her. He shouldn’t have felt the thrill of it rush through him. In the end he was just as weak as any other man. As much as he wanted to be rough, he also wanted to enjoy it. Ever so slowly he pushes his cock inside of her inch by inch. Each slow movement of him entering her made (y/n) tremble and dare he say, even moan a little bit. Finally he was completely sheathed inside of her. Robert let his head roll back, eyes closing at the sublime feeling of her wonderful cunt. It was unlike anything else he had felt before. And he had fucked many maidens. Many virgins as well. None had felt quite so good though. His pace was slow at first, enjoying each contraction her cunt made as he slid his cock in and out. Using his hands, he tilted her hips up even more and hitting the right place, (y/n) lets out a shaky moan. It made him pick up the pace and pound into her. The sound of his pelvis smacking against her ass as he went balls deep into her was maddening.

“Fuck.” His deep voice groans out. He wanted to see her face. Wanted to see her tits as he fucked her senselessly. With such ease he flips her onto her back. (y/n)’s face was incredibly red now that she faced him. She was trying to glare at him but once Robert slid back into her, her eyes rolled back into her head. Crying out as he rammed into her over and over again, so much so that it made her tits bounce. Robert wraps his fingers around her slender neck putting the slightest pressure; tightening his grip little by little.

*

Fuck

Fuck

FUCK

It was becoming hard to breathe but that was the least of your worries. The sight of Robert, his barrel chest and taught abs fucking you was too much to bear. Hard lines of his muscles twitching as he tightened his fingers around your neck.

Why did it feel so good? He was basically fucking you like a whore. You were a pureblood Targaryen and deserved better. But you found yourself enjoying his harsh treatment. You wanted him to get rougher. You wanted him to pound harder into you so that you wouldn’t be able to walk tomorrow.

Head becoming light and warm, something else was happening. You felt a tightening below. The more he fucked you, the tighter the coil seemed to get until…

No. You didn’t want to be the first one to come undone. You didn’t want him to know that you were actually enjoying it. At the rate he was going though it was only a matter of time.

To take back control you launched yourself at him, catching him by surprise and his hand releasing from your neck. With your surprise attack you wrestle him so that he was now the one under you on the bed. His cheeks are red, eyes hard as he regards you with question. His about to protest until you sit yourself down on his cock. Protest devolving into a groan he lets his head fall onto the mattress as you roll your hips. You place your hands on his hard chest. Bobbing up and down his cock you try to ignore your cunt begging for release. Curling your fingers, you dig your nails into his chest and drag them harshly down. His face scrunches up, baring his teeth and hissing. Hands reaching around you to grab at your ass, he pulls you quickly up and down. You wouldn’t allow him to be in control for too long though. Again you dig your nails and drag them. Robert releases your ass and glares up at you. Beautiful blue eyes. Your own little hands reach to his thick neck and tighten like claws of a hawk. Using that as support you lift yourself off of his engorged member and start to tease the head of his cock. Slowly, torturously slow, you barely sit down enough for the head to be sheathed before coming back up. Your husband growls impatiently, wanting you to go back to riding his cock. You’re just buying yourself more time and shortening his. That’s when you sit all the way down on his cock. His mouth gapes open as you ride him. His breathing become hard, his hips desperately thrusting to match you.

You feel his body lock up underneath you as he lets out a loud groan.

The two of you were frozen in that position, trying to regain your breath. You had won. At least this battle. A bit unsteadily you lift yourself off of him; something warm and wet dribbling out. Smuggly you lay down beside him and stare at the ceiling, the space between your legs upset with you that you denied yourself your own orgasm.

“Well fuck.” Robert pants. Lazily he turns his head. “You didn’t come.”

“I wouldn’t dare grant you that satisfaction.” You roll away from him and onto your side.

Determined to prove you wrong, Robert’s hand lands on your shoulder and rolls you onto your back. “Fuck that noise. I’m gonna make you cum so hard that you’ll see stars.”

[xx-slug-xx]

This is kind of late, but about your post regarding people in the proship community who exclusively ship ONLY "problematic" pairings: FWIW, in my experience these types of people have turned out to just be antis who are trying to ~ InFiLtRaTe ~ proship spaces (their sad attempts to screenshot things to either share with their puritanical little fascist anti friends, or gather "evidence" for callout posts) most of the time. I'd say around 90% of cases are this, based on what myself and many of my other friends have seen firsthand.

But for the record, it might be worth noting that there's some cases where this is completely genuine and it's entirely legitimate. I have a friend who really enjoys the big sister/little brother genre specifically (so, they don't really engage with big brother/little sister stuff) so all of their favorite ships just happen to be "incest ships" by virtue of that. They certainly didn't pick and choose exclusively incest ships on purpose, if that makes sense? And it follows that if a person is a very big fan of lolisho, then all of their ships have a high chance of being age gap ships or minor/minor ships, just as a side effect. I very much doubt that anyone who takes genuine enjoyment from their ships that happen to be "problematic" went out of their way to select problematic things on purpose.

You’ve made a pretty good point anon! And I’ve had a few people share some similar things too about that post!

I can’t really explain why, but I can usually tell when it’s a bait account made by an anti or not. And again, I can’t explain why, and its not always accurate. But the vibe is off putting in some strange way when it’s a clear bait account. But I do run accost the ones who aren’t bait, and the vibe is different. It feels too forced when antis do it. When it’s genuine, it’s more natural.

A few people explained that a good reason why there’s so many genuine blogs that are like this is due to it being something like a side blog where the user feels safe expressing their more “problematic” ships. Which is absolutely valid imo. Antis are vile and I’m not surprised that people are “secret proshippers”. But it honestly doesn’t solve the bigger problem at hand. I think more people should be publicly proship and comship so that we can all stand for our beliefs. Justice doesn’t come from sitting in silence. Revolution doesn’t come from hiding in the shadows (though, let’s be real here, fandom is not all that comparable to issues in the real world, but I hope you get my analogy regardless lol). I really think that there’s a good reason so many people are secretly proship, but at the same time, it doesn’t really solve much :/

Plus, like you said, a lot of it comes down to coincidence too! If people like something in fiction, then they have a right to express themselves. If someone is drawn more towards a certain type of pairing, then they still have that right! Doesn’t really matter if it “problematic” or not!

[subtlehysteria]

I'd love to hear about this SamBucky swing dance AU!!

Ask and ye shall receive!

Right, so I started this when I was having a Marvel re-watch phase, mainly for Loki and Bucky content. I first thought of maybe writing a fic set in the 40's simply because I wanted to write about Sam and Bucky swing dancing but setting it in the 40's didn't feel quite right because of the war and attitude towards queer people in that time. SO! I decided, fuck it, lets set it in modern times. Bucky dances and teaches Lindy Hop (1940s swing dancing with the crazy lifts and fancy footwork) in his mom's studio in Brooklyn while Sam teaches West Coast Swing (a more modern version with more turns than lifts that can be danced to a lot of contemporary pop songs) at the VA in Harlem. They meet at Steve's wedding to Peggie and do not get along AT ALL. Poor Bucky is a little bit heartbroken because his best friend and long-time crush has gotten married and is moving to London while Bucky is expected to be totally okay with this and go back to their empty Brooklyn apartment. Sam and Steve served together in Afghanistan with the rest of the Avengers as a special ops team. In this version, Bucky didn't sign up for the army but instead pursued a career in dance and teaching. He loses his arm in a plane crash instead when heading back home from the wedding, which puts his dance career on indefinite hold. That's sort of the intro of the fic, the rest of which is set six months after Bucky loses his arm. He's busy training Peter and MJ (who are friends and dance partners) for a big Lindy Hop competition while Sam is still working at the VA. Steve asks Sam to check in on Bucky because he's been radio silent and he's worried about him which is what sort of kicks off the whole them reuniting and becoming begrudging friends (and later something more).

I definitely do want to finish this because I have at least 1/3 written and the rest planned out, plus I've found some amazing dance videos that I think really represent Bucky and Sam's dance styles well. Though I don't know when I'll get around to finishing this smh. But if you're interested in reading a snippet you can find it below the cut:

As soon as he gets home, Sam unearths his laptop and signs into YouTube, typing in his search.

James Barnes Open Swing Competition.

Immediately, several videos pop up, all featuring Bucky’s nickname in the title with an array of dance partners. They range from choreographed routines at competitions to workshops and dance camps with improvised dances. One in particular draws Sam’s eyes though.

Sensual Same-Sex Swing Routine - Bucky and Steve

He’s clicking it before he even registers he’s doing it, the video taking a second to load. It looks to be a festival setting, more relaxed with a square dance space surrounded by a crowd of people sitting on the floor or on makeshift seats. Behind is a stage with a few stray musicians taking a break, to the left a large upright banner stating this is the Lindylicious Swing Dance festival in Paris of all places. And there in the center of the dance floor is a much younger looking Bucky and Steve. They can’t be older than twenty or twenty one, so it must have been just before Steve shipped out to the army. They’re both dressed up in slacks and shirts befitting of the 1940s, Bucky in classical black while Steve’s wearing a baby blue polo that brings out his eyes. Steve’s got on a pair of white and brown leather saddle shoes while Bucky’s got a pair of black loafers with blood red socks, the only pop of colour in his outfit. His hair is shorter here, like it had been at the wedding, styled with a bit of gel to get more of a greaser look.

He and Steve stand whispering quietly between themselves before the music starts, Steve’s head tilting back with a laugh before the two start to sway to the sensual swing beat. It’s a lot slower paced compared to MJ and Peter’s routine, made for footwork and turns more than aerial tricks.

With a playful crook of his finger, Bucky invites Steve to dance, the two sliding across the distance between them to meet in the middle in a close, intimate hold. The crowd ooo’s with more than a few giggles in-between. They sway for a bit, Steve lazily swinging in and out, following Bucky’s lead without any trouble. Suddenly, the drum halts, giving space for a burst of horn, and Steve and Bucky shake it out much to the crowd’s whooping delight before shuffling back together.  A deep voice croons about what all a couple can get up to when the lights go out, and Steve and Bucky must be familiar with the song as they play up to the beats and lyrics. Sam can see the playfulness from MJ and Peter’s routine echoed here, Bucky pretending to melt to the floor, hot and bothered, as Steve walks ahead of him in time to the beat.

They make a fantastic pair, feeding off each other and moving so in sync while still having a casual easiness about them that makes it feel like it’s all improvised, like they’re just that damn good. And maybe they are.  

At one point they’re entirely wrapped around one another, Bucky having slid up to Steve’s side and twirled him so they’re chest to chest, thighs woven and hips swaying. Steve’s back is to the camera but Bucky’s face is clear to see and—oh.

Oh.

His face is tucked into the crook of Steve’s neck, attempting to hide what now Sam can clearly see is a besotted smile that has absolutely nothing to do with the characters they’re playing for the dance.

“Oh, Buck…” he murmurs as he watches the dance continue to unfold, Bucky’s adoration out there for all to see, including Steve, and they don’t even know it, thinking it’s all an act just for the fun of the dance.

It’s so damn obvious, Bucky standing with his chest to Steve’s back, arms wrapped tight around him, the two stepping together like a pair of lovebirds out on a walk. That smile, the softness of his eyes, the way he squeezes Steve just a little closer before stepping away. How the hell did no one see it? How did Steve never see it?

Sam’s shot back to that night at the reception, him and Bucky watching Steve and Peggy do a sensual West Coast Swing routine that Sam had helped choreograph, that he’d boasted about, all the while Bucky stood there still as a statue, quietly dying inside as his best friend, his dance partner, the man he loved, replaces him with someone new.

Fuck, Sam’s an idiot. No wonder Bucky was acting off, no wonder he’d dropped his smile as soon as Steve wasn’t looking. No wonder he’d stormed off when Sam suggested a dance. It was probably the final nail in the coffin, the final snip to the withering tether of his sanity that night. And Sam had played a role in snapping it.

(here's the dance I based Steve and Bucky's routine off of)

[the-baddest-of-batches]

Dar'Aliit: Chapter Nine - Bad Company (Sneak Peek)

13 BBY ???

The white grain spreads around me on all sides. I’m a child again, dressed in the familiar blue uniform of a cadet.

If I put out my hands, I can’t even touch the top of the grain, but it goes on forever. And the drums. The drums beat in the distance.

Where am I?

I keep walking. Ahead of me move shadows in the form of men. They wear a kit I recognize, right up to the helmets. They walk far ahead of me. I break out into a run, but no matter how far I go, I can’t reach them as they walk toward the horizon.

One by one, they’re gone. Ghosts.

I keep walking, hoping to catch sight of them again. But the terrain grows only rockier. I stumble. My foot catches the divot in the ground. I almost fall, but catch myself and briefly there it is, a deep snare drum sounding loudly. Gasping, I collect myself and walk on as more drums join the chorus. There’s voices amid them.

It’s a song I don’t know.

But the music is familiar. Something old and Mandalorian. Distracted by it, I stumble out onto a footpath and this time, I fall.

My knees hit the ground, jarring me. Before I can scramble up a pair of boots appear and stop before me. They’re black, except for the dust stuck to them. A cloak hangs to the ground. I lift my gaze and find armored legs, dented beaten armor and a thick shoulder pauldron segmented and strapped together with leather. Above it all rests a helmet carved from bone.

The T-visor is unmistakable, though. This is a man I’ve only read about. Mandalore the Ultimate.

The drums are thudding in my head now, threatening my ear drums. Then they are silent.

I pant, unsure why fear has turned my skin cold, but unable to break its hold. And my eyes flicker off to see another figure far off. I cannot make them out, but they are following my path exactly.

I strain to see them, but the Mandalore moves and his hand emerges from his cloak. He reaches down and offers his hand to me. I take it. He helps me up.

Again from within the cloak, he produces another hand, this time holding a helmet, black, dented, mangled almost. It looks like it’s been through hell.

Silent, he places it in my hands. I stare at the empty visor, reflecting my own childlike face. A face I haven’t seen in years. The face of a cadet.

When I look up, I stand alone. The drums beat louder and crescendo into a flourish. The last beat strikes, hitting a chord in my heart and suddenly I’m falling, starting, and jerking awake.

#

20 BBY Indol Mines

We were wrong. Looking over the edge of the pit that spirals downward into mines I note the ranks of thin necked B1’s completing their drills, marching back and forth under the watch of an orange painted Tank Commander. SBD are stationed around old mining tracks. In the center sits a decommission crane, at least I assume that’s what it once was given the placement, and the fact this was once a mine. All that remains is the scaffolded base, though. The rest has been converted into a fully functional surface to air ion cannon.

That’s what took down our ships. That thing killed Aftermath.

Crouching along the edge it’s clear I’m outnumbered. One clone and a small battalion of droids. No doubt more wait hidden in the mines. This is their base of operations and we never knew it.

Everything before this was a front to destroy us and pick us off so the Seps could steamroll the survivors. I don’t know what they want with this planet and it’s people, but I know they sure as hell aren’t getting it.

Each droid is a blip on my HUD. I creep behind another rock and sit with my back flat to it. I grip the stolen droid blaster. If I was suicidal maybe I’d go in guns blazing. Sadly even I’m not that brave.

But I’m no idiot either. I toggle my scanner, and while it’s rudimentary compared to a real planetary scan, I can see there are in fact more red blips inside. Probably whatever patrols are keeping out predators, and no doubt more droids racked and ready for deployment.

From this vantage point I can make out one clear weakness. The mines are old, which means everythings been dug out of them. All that remains are a few rock pillars holding up the structures and scaffolding left behind by miners. A couple well placed charges and the whole thing will come crumbling down.

Aftermath would approve.

The only problem is I don’t have the ordinance. But the droids do. Among the marching chunk-chunk-chunk of the parading SBD’s are smaller droids clanking along the tracks with carts of weapons. A quick zoom on my HUD and I can make out more than enough ordinance to take down a mine. There’s enough ordinance there to take down another whole city.

They didn’t just kill Aftermath. They killed them all.

I glance back at the horizon. I haven’t seen a trooper since I left. If they are looking for me, they’ll presume me dead eventually. No one else even knows about this place except that kid. If they Jedi can get him to talk and decipher what he meant, or triangulate this position, it’ll take them hours to get through all the decisions needed to mobilize even a few troops. Chain of Command exists for a reason, but sometimes, it only gets people killed.

Whether I succeed or fail here is entirely on me.

But if I do succeed, if I survive, where do I go after?

I remain perched at the edge staring at the pit of hell before me. Surviving is slim, but it seems to be the only thing I have done so far. Every mission, every squad, I’m the survivor. Returning to the 212th will just restart the cycle. More people will die, and I’ll still be here mourning every death. I’m a walking calamity. Maybe I’m death itself.

I shake my head and steel my nerves. I can’t go back. I won’t go back.

Deserting might not be the most honorable thing to do, but if it keeps someone alive then maybe it’s the right thing to do. I’ll stay here, let them think I’m dead and hide out, live among the locals and become a quiet farmer where no one will have to remember who I am, where I come from, or why I exist.

Farming was their dream. I’ll live it for them.

A tinny voice calls out an order. I look back. I can dream later. First I need to take revenge.

Part Two coming tomorrow!

[madmarchhare]

Company Chapter 3: sci-fi story

Here is the third chapter of my sci-fi story, the one featuring Wick and Cass, the scavenger and the Pirate.

It's a bit shorter than chapter 2, cause I wanted it done before Christmas.

Speaking of, merry Christmas to all of you reading this! Hope you have a lovely time! Hope you enjoy the story, I would love to hear what you think of it down in the notes!

III

                Wick flew the ship away from the station, having put the shotgun back into its cabinet in the airlock. When they got outside their perimeter, Wick set the thing to autopilot, into some abandoned corner of space as he went back into the living room where Cass was sat, fiddling with the new watch on her wrist, wiping off some blood splatters from it’s surface. He walked over to the six pack of IPA and pulled out a can as he watched one of the Lauxes running across the top of the cabinets as two more stared down from a light fixture at the pair unseen.

“So, which station are you getting your new ship from?” Wick asked, opening the can with one hand pulling up a chair from the table and flopping down in it facing Cass. She looked up from cleaning her watch, placing the cloth into one of the cabinets and leaning back on the small sofa she was sat on.

“I was thinking Las Paz station, you know the one a few sectors from Dutch’s place? The one set up around that ice giant, the greenish one with five rings,” Cass replied, leaning froward as she asked her question.

“I’ve heard of it yeah, but I’ve never been. I don’t like to linger in that sector, the storms make me uneasy,” Wick replied scratching his neck slightly, “I really only go when Dutch needs something from me, an’ that’s not been a while.”

“It’ll be fine, the area around Las Paz is really calm compared to the rest of the sector so you won’t have to worry,” Cass replied jovially, shifting over to open the fridge and pull out a bottle of something, taking a heavy swig then coughing heavily, banging a fist on her chest as she looked down at the label with watery eyes, “god that’s sweet,” she wheezed out as she started down at the bottle of apricot brandy. She smacked her lips for a second, believe it or not greater Neidr’s could do it, then took a smaller swig from the bottle and turn back to Wick who was looking at her with a somewhat amused expression.

“Do you think we should be worried about that guy though?” Cass added jerking her thumb back in the rough direction of St Edmund, “he did say they wouldn’t let us go, whoever they fuck they are,” taking another mouthful of brandy as she finished.

“I don’t think it’s something to be too concerned about. They all say stuff like that when they go. How many people have claimed the same thing?” Wick replied, leaning back in his chair as he staired up at the ceiling, spotting the pair of lauxes on the lamp staring down at him.

“Hmm, fair point, just had a feeling,” Cass replied, mostly to herself.

“Never ignore a feeling, it’s smart to worry about it, I just don’t think it’s going to be much of a problem. After all, how many people can they even have to send after us?” Wick finished sardonically, finally pulling himself up from his chair, Cass looking up at him as he got up. “Anyway, I’ll set the course for Las Paz station, I’ll probably pick up some supplies from there too. I’m a bit low on more than a few things,” Wick called back as he strode into the cockpit, rubbing his tired eyes as he did.

“Alright,” Cass called back, the sounds of her standing up mingling with her shout, “is the Rec room still working by the way? You mentioned you were having trouble with it,” she asked as she walked past the door, Wick turning his head to her in the chair.

“Yeah it’s working. Just turn the dial on the door till it clicks, that should turn the power on,”  he replied in a monotone sort of voice, then turning back to the console, entering in the name of the station to one of the computers.

“Thanks!” She called back as she left to descend further into the ship. The computer found the station after a while, but Wick had to manually plot the course, as they trip was too long for it to do safely, along with various areas Wick wanted to avoid on the way. He got up from his chair then pressed the enter key on the keyboard, feeling the ship rumble forward underfoot as the engines kicked back into life. He left the cockpit and strode though the living room into the corridor opposite, then turning down the stairs across from his room, the metal skeletons clinking under his feet as eh clattered down them into the lower level of the ship. It was lit dimly by orange lights, boxes stuffed together on the walls in frames, held back by dirty brown netting or strapped down onto the floor. He ducked under a thick pipe that fell down into the path, noticing the frost that had collected on the steel tubes as he did. He turned and ducked into a small room to the side of the small storage room-slash-corridor. It was a smallish room, set in darkness until Wick licked on a switch on the wall making a long tube light flicker into life illuminating the room in a dull grey colour.

It was Wick’s office. Where he kept all his records and files, along with his more valuable assets. It had a large desk attached to the wall in a ‘C’ shape. It was covered with various boxes and files, all stuffed into whatever space there was on the able or wall, or hanging from shelves under the table. On the table, in front of a tired yellow chair that matched the one in cockpit, was an IBM PC AT, the 5170 with a 5154 EGA monitor stacked on top of it. A model-M keyboard was placed in front of it along with a matching mouse  and a wheel printer to the left. Various software packs were lined up neatly on a shelf above the system, along with a bin of blank 5 ½’ and 3 ¼’ floppy disks, the system pack being placed next to the monitor on top of the PC. Wick sat down in the chair, flicking his eyes over to a, comparatively more modern monitor connected up to a V2000 he used for CCTV. He flicked through a set of five channels, each of them split into four views, around the ship, looking for anything suspicious. He didn’t see anything, bar from Cass shouting at a games console as she struggles with some random platformer game, and the Lauxes moving around the ship a few even waving to Wick seemingly through the cameras.  

Wick paused after this, blinking for a second as he rubbed his eyes. He turned back to the computer and turned it on, the orange switch clunking firmly as he did. It whirred to itself as it loaded up MS-DOS from the hard-drive. When it did he reached up for one of the system packs, specifically the one that contained a spreadsheet software, and then slotted in a and loaded in the disk. He was down there for a few hours, checking inventory for his ship, how much money he had left, the fuel he had used, reading out some of the information from a VFD display he had wired up to the cockpit. By the time he was done, and had printed off what he wanted and filed it, he felt exhausted. He saved the spreadsheet he had made then shut the computer off. He would look over the CCTV later, or he decided he would at least. He walked out, having switched off the light part way through, to avoid the glare it caused on the screen of the old monitor.

He wandered up the corridor the steps and pulled himself up them. Cass was in the top bunk when he came in, her tail and one leg falling out of her bunk over the entrance to Wick’s. He took off his jacket and boots, changing into a T-shirt he’d left handing on a pole by the door then lifted up Cass’s tail with one arm and flopped down into his bunk, turning off the light. As he did he heard Cass tiredly mumble out, “mmh, -hank yu,” not quite waking up.

“’S no problem,” Wick replied, turning over in his bunk and falling asleep, closing his aching eyes as he smacked his unbrushed mouth. He fell asleep a short while after that, listening to the dull sounds of the ship’s engines. They both were asleep for almost ten hours, the ship carrying them closer and closer to their destination all the while. Cass was the first one to wake up, finding herself on the floor of Wick’s quarters, laying on her tail. She looked up bleary eyed in the darkness, groaning slightly, assuming she’d fallen out of the top bunk. She pulled herself up to her feet, feeling a crick in her neck from her impromptu bed and looked down at Wick as she pinched the bridge of her snout.

She decided to let him have a bit more sleep, see if he could finally drop off the bags under his eyes, and walked out of the room into the corridor, going to go into the living room. Not that it made much difference, as just as she walked into the corridor, a blaring alarm droned throughout the ship, making her jump. Wick rolled himself out of bed, leaving his jacket in his quarters and striding barefoot over to the cockpit, squeezing past Cass. When he got there he leant over his chair to squint at the monitors, looking for what was wrong.

“What is it?” Cass asked, walking into the cockpit, Wick turning around to look at her and noticing she wasn’t wearing a shirt.

“Why don’t you have a shirt on?” Wick asked tiredly, a slightly confused look on his face. Cass looked down at herself, wearing a questioning look to Wick.

“I took it off to sleep, not that it actually needs to cover anything,” Cass replied, walking further into the cockpit.

“You should put a shirt on,” Wick replied monotonously, turning back to the monitors, tapping something into a keyboard and working a few dials.

“Why? It’s quite freeing to have it off sometimes, let’s my scales breathe,” Cass replied cheekily, flopping down onto her chair.

“Cause we’re about to go through and ice storm, and you’ll get cold,” Wick replied flatly, not bothering to turn around.

Cass stopped, suddenly having a considering expression, “ah,” she suddenly replied in a considering voice looking around her for something before spotting a red blanket that she wrapped around herself like a stole and then proudly announcing, “there, perfect!” cocking her head back proudly, leaning back in her chair with a smug expression.

“Sure, why not,” Wick replied tiredly, pulling a plastic crate out from under the control panel and pulling a pair of socks and plimsols from it, tugging them onto his feet as he leant them on the console.

“Why do you have that tattoos on your foot by the way?” Cass asked, glancing at the odd shaped pattern on Wick’s right foot, just below the ankle. Wick glanced down at it as he was pulling his sock onto that foot, a bored expression on his face.

“I got drunk with some people when I was younger, I blacked out and one of them had the idea to take me to a tattoo place and got it done on my ankle, then left me there. They tired to leave me with the bill as well, but the artist chased him up on it after I woke up. Never found out what it means, if anything,” Wick finished, slipping on the second shoe as he did.

“Did you get your payback on the guy?” Cass asked, a note of curiosity in her voice.

“Nah, didn’t get a chance, the guy he worked for got into a turf war and he got rubbed out. They made a big show of it too, strung him up on one of the power poles… The crows hardly left anything for the cops to come and take to the morgue when they finally came,” Wick replied nonchalantly turning back to the console. “Anyway, I’m going to take us into the storm now. It’s a bit strong but we should be fine, just watch the temperature and don’t touch the pipes, or walls.”

“Alright,” Cass replied, still clutching her blanket as she stood up, “I’m ging to get something for breakfast, you want anything?”

“…Some of those toast-able waffles and some orange juice,” Wick responded idly, staring out through the cockpit screen, staring out into the great white and blue expanse of storm ahead of him. Cass nodded and went back into the living room, a laux walking into the cockpit on the wall of the corridor past her as she went. Wick twitched the controls every so often, adjusting the ships course through the storm, flicking his eyes to the monitors, checking for anything coming in close.

Ice storms were a terrifying sight. Great maelstroms of dry ice that swirled around in a field of unusual gravity and pressure differentials caused by the extreme cold of the self manufactured atmosphere of sub zero gases. Great icebergs of ice danced through the space, either rough faces of stone like ice filled with iron and gas pockets or brilliantly clear shapes that dazzled like diamonds when the frozen fingers of light from nearby stars broke into the storms. A few attempts had been made in the past to set up bases in these storms, to mine the frozen asteroids for resources or simply to use them as highly defendable structure. But all of them had failed horribly, the mangled corpses of ships and their crew being ground up by the frozen jaws of the storms, pointless ventures bringing pointless deaths. At least, that is what most people had been told. As Wick’s ship descended further into the space the ship let out a protesting groan, the sudden snap of cold upsetting the craft greatly.

Cass walked back in from the living room, carrying a plate of waffles and packet of orange juice, tossing a mini scotch egg into her mouth. She walked over to Wick and placed the plate next to him then went back to her chair, placing her bowl beside her as she did. Wick quickly snatched up the waffle and stuffed it into his mouth, “thank you,” he stated brusquely. Cass gave a nod, smiling slightly. She let her eyes wander around the cockpit as she continued eating her breakfast. The cockpit was a rough but cosy space. The area around her seat featured, of course, that, a desk and an old Apple monitor, wired into a comparatively modern mouse and keyboard displaying a diagram of the ship, annotated with various temperatures and pressures for parts of the ship. The opposite side of it was covered with various things, form pressure valves, nixie-tubes, CRTs plasma screens or whatever Wick could find stuffed into and on the wall.  Wires and pipes sprawled across the wall in certain intervals, pinned to the wall by electrical tape or steel brackets across the mismatched wall panels which were covered in ancient patina of odd splotches of paint. The ceiling was made of a steel mesh, like you would find on the floor of a catwalk, a large pipe jutting down from it as it seemed to avoid a large metal box and stung from it were a pair of tubular lights cable tied to the mesh. Finally at the front of the room was the console, where Wick was sat, a large self hewn slab made from various old monitors, circuit boards, calculators and old abandoned implements that Wick had assembled himself, linked to various monitors and panels hung from the ceiling around the great slab of plexiglass that the room stared out of.

It was a marvel to look at, every piece hand fitted and adjusted to work exactly how it was supposed to. But, that didn’t make it look any better sadly. As Cass looked up at the cockpit ceiling she noticed that the large pipe was beginning to become frosty, the ice dripping as it met the warmer air. “Wick,” Cass suddenly asked, turning to him with a note of concern, “have you still not sealed all the environmental plates yet?” staring up at the pipe with a look of growing concern.

“I can’t find the plates, they all come in standardised shapes to fit with the Nakarta protocol, and if you cut them to fit they don’t work that well. As long as I watch the temperatures it’ll be fine,” Wick replied, pausing as he twisted the ship through the shifting titans of ice.

“Are you sure though?” Cass asked, cocking her head as she looked at the growing ice crystals on the pipe.

“Look at the monitor next to you, as long as the readings on that stay above 160 Kelvin we’ll be fine,” Wick called back glancing over to her as he spoke. Cass turned over to look at the monitor, seeing the various reading it displayed. They were all numbers jerking about 175-200 Kelvin, approx. -100oc, which was not comforting by any means. Cass watched the monitor for a while, occasionally glancing over to Wick or having to grab onto the desk when he twisted the craft out of the way of some titan of ice. Then the monitor suddenly changed display, showing a white blip in the centre on a light blue screen being rapidly approached by a large red mass.

“Uh, Wick? Something’s heading for us!” Cass called out nervously, turning over to him.

“What? Where?” Wick snapped, flicking his eyes to one of the radar monitors above him, seeing the approaching mass then checking another monitor.

“From the left side, the monitor’s showing it as bright red!”

“Ohh Fuck!” Wick shouted, grabbing the controls and jerking them to the side, “it’s a superheated asteroid!” panic rearing in his voice, which was rapidly justified when the think raced past them coming up from under their right side and storming past covered in billowing fire and combusting gases as it melted through the ice storm, evaporating away everything it its path. As it went by the entire ship seemed to scream out as the right side of the ship was suddenly superheated, the reading on the monitors suddenly jumping up to over 300 Kelvin for the right side of the ship. A screaming snap suddenly echoed through the cockpit from deep within the ship just as it jerked to the right as well, throwing Cass from her chair and nearly doing the same for Wick.

“What happened?!” Cass cried out over a now blaring siren, the main console flashing a sickly yellow colour as she pulled herself back up to her feet as the ship listed underneath her.

Wick pulled himself back up straight in his seat then stared down at the panel anxiously, “the fucking right fuel pipe blew!” he shouted, switching off a switch under the flashing yellow light which promptly turned a solid glow. “The right engine is dead, we’re only getting thrust from the left so we can’t fly straight,” Wick snapped out, concern in his voice as he seemed to struggle against the controls, “I need you to fix the pipe, it burst in one of the rear corridors so you should be able to reach it, if not there should be a crowbar to pry off a panel or two!”

“Why can’t you do it?!” Cass shouted grabbing the side of the door frame to hold herself up.

“Because I’m trying to not let us shatter against a giant space iceberg!” Wick screamed to her, throwing a gesture out through the cockpit window to the swirling mass of ice rocks who were jostling about, disturbed by the molten rock that had stormed through their frozen tempest. Cass looked through the window for a second, her voice suddenly becoming very calm.

“Good point, I’ll do that then,” and turned through the door, running down the corridor, grabbing a welding torch from a rack as she went past, being slammed against the wall as Wick wrestled the ship through the storm, a horrible screeching noise of ice on steel accompanying it and accelerating her pace as a pair of Lauxes ran after her, seeming to think it was a game. She sprinted down the narrow corridor, throwing open the narrow panel that separated it half way. She saw the burst pipe a few meters away from her, split open like a jagged maw as a loose panel skidded around on the floor around it. The floor was damp with fuel, choking the air with fumes. When Cass got up to it, the ship seemed to skip, making her grab onto some pipe for support, hissing as her scales contacted the sub-zero steel. There was a hammer hanging from a hook just above the pipes which she tugged off and pounded at the splayed bits of steel pipe with the force them back into place.

“Cass! Can you hurry up?!” Wick called over a speaker from behind her, his voice agitated.

“Give me a sec!” Cass called back tossing away the hammer and trying to light the welding torch, pulling a pair of glassed off the back of the gas bottle and putting them on. She kept trying to light it but it wouldn’t take, as she stared down at it furiously as she tried to get the infernal thing to light.

“Cass,”

“Give me a second!”

“Cass!”

“I’ve nearly got it!” she shouted back still failing to light the thing as one of the Lauxes played at her feet, her face twisting in annoyance, gritting her teeth.

“CASS!”

“I get it!” She snapped back , throwing down her arms in frustration then seeing the Laux and grabbing it, pulling it up close to her face with its face pointed toward the pipe. “Fire!” she called out, her voice half exited half anxious as the small creature suddenly fired off a powerful laser onto the steel pipe, the metal melting underneath it and sealing back up around the split as she slowly dragged the beam across the pressed walls of steel. As soon as she was finished she dashed over to a valve on the pipe and threw it open, “Done!” she called out, tossing her head back in the direction of the speaker. Just as the words left her mouth she felt the ship suddenly dive to the right and down, feeling her stomach press against the back of her mouth as Wick plunged the ship down into the storm, which seemed to whistle as it went faster and faster through the frozen atmosphere.

Wick weaved and twisted the ship through the ice, only just having avoided a near continental size of ice just as the engines came on. He threw the ship’s engines into full, the fuel pumps whining through the ship as the stuffed the liquid down the pipes. He darted his eyes to some of the close camera monitor’s, the radar pointless at this speed as by the time it spotted something he’d have either passed it or hit it. He was relying solely on his vison, adjusting the controls to thread the needle with the scrapheap of thread. The temperature dropped further as he went down, hoping to take a shortcut through the storm, not trusting the fuel pipes to hold any longer in the cold, to say nothing of he ship in general. The lights flickered and flashed in the cockpit and one or two monitors defaulted into static, the screens going out of alignment and scrolling across themselves or simply going dark along with section of the control panel. He heard Cass shout to him from the living room, but he wasn’t listening, half the lights in the cockpit bursting and sending sparks showing over him along with shards of glass as he stared out into the frozen minefield that whizzed past him, a manic smile pulled across his face, his ears ringing as blood rushed through his mind. The frame of the ship cried out in agony as the temperature plummeted, the deadly choir joined by blaring sirens and klaxons of every comer of the ship, Wick’s face lit by the rainbow of warning lights as Cass shouted to him again, grabbing at his shoulder, panic the only thing discernible to his deafened ears.

And then they escaped it. Racing out of the arctic maelstrom at top speed, pulling powered dry ice after it along with twin tails of frozen gasses a far length away from the storm before Wick slowed the ship to a stop, falling slack in his chair. The ship flashed at him, the alarms fading into to silence as the temperatures around the ships normalised. Cass looked down at him disbelievingly, opening her mouth to shout at Wick, to demand an explanation and an apology, but then Wick jumped from his seat, clutching a hand to his mouth and rushed into the living room, hanging himself over the sink as he was promptly sick into it, coughing as he spat away the last of it, turning back to Cass as he leant on the sink edge, his face noticeably pale.

“I am not doing that again. I didn’t want to do it this time,” he suddenly babbled out, his voice quavering slightly as he rubbed his brow with him palm, breathing out shakily, “this, this! This is why I don’t like this sector! This is why I don’t come here, cause I end up having to fly Heim’s personal fucking hell!” he snapped to no-one in particular, his voice stiffening back up as he reached into the fridge and pulled out a rectangular bottle covered in masking tape and Cyrillic, draining almost two-thirds of it’s contents as he flopped down into one of the chairs, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling, the lights flickering slower and slower as Cass looked down at him, frazzled and just as panicked. Wick held out the bottle and Cass took it appreciatively, pulling up another chair next to Wick and sitting down in it, sliding in her tail as she took a heavy swig of the pale liquid, a smack of lemon and vodka snapping her back to her senses just as much as it dulled the ones she wanted to ignore.

They both sat in silence for a few seconds then Wick gave a tired sigh, “we’ll wait a bit for the pipes and wires to warm up so I can rest the grid, then we’ll continue. Just, need a moment,” he finished tiredly, fragging his hand over his face and exhausted expression laid across it.

“Alright,” Cass replied, taking another swig from the vodka, or trying to but finding it empty, putting the mouth of it up to her eye. “…Is there any more of this?”

Wick looked over to her tiredly before getting up and pulling another two bottles from a different cabinet along with some tall square based glasses, “yes there is,” he replied tiredly, his voice pleasant nonetheless, having calmed down. They both filled their glasses and clinked them together smiling, wick quickly downing the contents of his glass then reaching for the bottle and drinking straight from that as he slouched in his chair.

@agarespicero @gaap-goemon-ismylife @psycho-zom-atic @jemimacatclover @shark-smuggler @shax-lied @irumeanie

@sleepy-gry @pemopemochimi @csoisoi @crazyhorst @momonoki-a-real-teacher @trans-asmodeus

@noyakwajhang @https-true-egoist

@namecrisis-lifecrisis

[kindlystrawberry]

Kiss prompts! What about Doug/Dylas and #22 if you ship them.

50 TYPES OF KISSES! SEND IN A NUMBER AND A PAIRING (accepting!) 22. A kiss that is leading to more, but is interrupted by a third party A/N: Hello I am absolutely EONS late to this (like, YEARS?) but this got lost in my inbox somehow and it just completely slipped my memory. I am exceedingly sorry about that. Anyway, DylDoug is one of my biggest ships, and so I simply must try my hand at this.

There's laughter between them as they kiss.

It seeps into Dylas's clothes, his skin, his bones. It bubbles up from his lungs, or maybe from Doug's lungs, he's not completely sure. But it sits there, hovering, around their lips, their fondly crinkled eyes, their surreptitious crawl towards the staircase.

There's a party in the restaurant beneath them, all of Selphia gathered in festivities as the months have grown colder, and the new year draws closer-- it's mere minutes away now, probably barely even ten minutes, but at some point Doug had gotten a mischievous look in his eye. He had grabbed Dylas by the hand, asking for help with something upstairs (clearly as an excuse, even someone as socially-inept as Dylas could tell, though thankfully most of the people around them were too drunk to either notice or care), and pulled him towards the stairs.

Dylas couldn't refuse that bright smile, those twinkling silver eyes, even if he wanted to. Which he doesn't.

He particularly doesn't, now that they've made just over halfway up the steps, far enough that they're out of sight from the restaurant's crowd.

"What are we--" Dylas asks, but Doug cuts him off by turning around from where he stands two steps above him (making them near-equal height), dropping their joined hands, and instead grabbing Dylas's cheeks to pull him into a kiss.

A noise of surprise falls out from between Dylas's lips, until it turns into one of pleasure. He wraps his arms around Doug's waist, enjoying the rough feeling of the dwarf's coat texture beneath his palms as well as the lithe form of his back underneath.

The party noises in the background fade away-- the cheering, the chattering, none of it compares to the heartbeat roaring in Dylas's ears, to the warm of Doug's lips above him (above him, that is a weird feeling he's not used to, though also not opposed to), the callused skin of Doug's hands against him.

Doug pulls away, a bright flush to his cheeks and a happy look in his eyes. "You were looking a little tired. Thought I'd rescue you."

"My knight in shining armor," Dylas deadpans, though he knows the smile on his lips and the roll of his eyes are nothing but dripping with fondness. He can't help it, the way their love seeps into everything in his life, how it's turned everything he's ever known inside out like a purse full of change, and made everything better.

"Yeah yeah, I know," Doug replies, with a similarly fond roll of his own eyes. "I'm so brave. So gallant. Truly, you owe me a life debt."

"How'm'I gonna make it up t'you?" Dylas murmurs, lips hovering towards Doug's again, pulled in like gravity.

"I can think of a few ways..."

They kiss again, nearly feverish this time, and for a second their teeth clack together but it just makes them laugh again, makes them readjust the angle and go in further, stronger. Doug slips his hands below the collar of Dylas's coat (or at least as far as he can go, stupid layers) and the contact is electric.

Their kiss only gets deeper, Dylas pushing forward until he climbs up one more step, which in turn makes Doug stumble slightly and also climb up one step, determined not to give up the height advantage (competitive bastard, Dylas thinks, deeply in love with the man). Doug pulls back, panting, an excited edge to his rounded out eyes.

"Wanna... your room? No one there, we have..." he pulls Dylas's arm out from where it's wrapped around his waist, checks the watch there, then grins. "Eight minutes. Well, Seven minutes and 59 seconds, if we want to be there when the clock hits."

Dylas can't help but scoff, feeling the challenge seep into his voice. "You think eight minutes is enough time?"

Face turning an absolutely beautiful shade of red, Doug gapes at him, managing to look both competitive and horny at once. Then he grins, face still mere inches away from Dylas's, and is about to open his mouth to say some retort when they hear a voice loudly ring out from below them.

"Hey, where's Doug? Doug! We're starting an arm wrestling contest!" Kiel's voice calls, and from the sounds of it it seems like a large group of people are moving towards the staircase, very quickly.

Doug and Dylas-- with one last shared look of fondness and 'what can you do?' disappointment shared between them-- move apart from each other.

Dylas lets Doug scooch past him on the stairs, so that he can take them two at a time and meet the others at the landing just as they get there.

"Sorry!" Dylas can hear Doug say with a grin, even if he can't see it from this angle. "Dylas said he had some gloves for me upstairs. My fingers got cold. What's this about arm wrestling? You ready to fucking lose?"

Knowing an excuse thrown at him when he hears one (really, Dylas is getting so good at this whole 'social' thing), he climbs up the rest of the steps, grabs a pair of gloves from his drawer, and goes back to meet Doug in the restaurant, happy to know he's going to spend the first few minutes of this new year with the people he loves most.

[roobylavender]

Fellow Queen’s Thief enjoyer here! It always takes me back when Irene and Gen and their ages get mentioned because it is such an important part to who they are and it’s an age gap done for a reason that actually works within the series it is in. Irene was 20-23 (?) to Gen being 13-14 when the series starts? And even then she wasn’t framed kindly but the narrative still cared for her and allowed readers to love her.

What I have noticed when it comes to like Jason and fanon shipping is that the age gap problems always seems to be a problem for one ship but never for others. It’s like a selective fandom thing when like you see ships like JayRoy (age gap), JayArtemis (age gap, I mean she’s what 130+? or does Amazonian ages not apply to her?), JayKyle I’m not too sure about but there’s also that DonnaKyle ship so like how old is Kyle? But all are widely more acceptable than another certain ship. This is not like a defense or anything just something I noticed and I know you don’t ship any of these but it is just a fandom thing that caught my eye. And then you have characters like Talia and Bruce (age gap there) where you can talk about Bruce having a little of that upper hand and not really realizing where Talia might be coming from? Talia is actually interesting when you think of her age gap compared to Bruce and how she has been portrayed since the turn of her character.

Wait sorry. Gen was approx 10 in The Thief while Irene would have been 17/18.

eugenides is 15 in the thief! and he's about 18 by the time he finally returns to attolia to woo irene over in the queen of attolia. i think it's thief! where he's 10 years old bc it's a prequel story. donna and kyle i'm pretty sure are in the same age group bc kyle tends to be grouped with her, wally, connor, etc. but yeah it can be really amusing sometimes to see what fandom criticizes and what it doesn't (and like even moreso when it comes to jason bc his ships have such a broad range). like i can't lie i'm very confused by people who condemn dickbabs for the age gap only to turn around and ship dinahbabs gdkgjghlf like at least be consistent!

but yeah i personally really love the brutalia age gap from a narrative perspective. it's obv unintentional from an editorial perspective and maybe even subconsciously racist in the sense of pairing up an older white man with a younger "exotic" foreign woman but it inadvertantly really emphasizes on the issues in their relationship and talia's isolation as a result thereafter. she's young and comparatively without power or agency so when bruce walks away she's often left with nothing to stand on except for an abusive father occasionally meanwhile he goes back to his mansion and support system over and over. it'd be a nice thing to explicitly explore were writers to ever care enough (and tangentially i think the batcat age gap also brings up some interesting inquiries with respect to their places within gotham's hierarchy of power)

[al9ayf]

ᥫ᭡ 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 | raphael x f!tav

｡˚ word count: 13.5k

｡˚ summary: tav and raphael have a history together prior to the nautiloid ship. she is to be betrothed to him, but he has something to take to ensure that she is his.

｡˚ a/n: my first bg3 fanfic so i hope u enjoy !! raphael is my favorite character and i wish u could romance him but oh well. anyway i will probably write more with this specific pair because i want to dive more into this relationship and story. i think it is very interesting.

｡˚ explicit content :: non-consensual (beginning), spitting, blood, p in v, dick sucking, ass smacking, pussy eating, intoxication, stealing virginity

the cold air finds solace in the cracks of your lips, and you would have shivered if not for the wyvern whiskey rushing through your veins. it becomes the warm pair of arms you’ve felt so many times before: like it was your mother embracing you all over again. you feel her hold you from behind and squeeze you tight as if she’s scared to let you go. but you were the one who was so scared. you miss that warmth that she brings you, that gratitude and happiness. and instead of finding it with her, you find it in this near-empty bottle. it gave you that false security and happiness, but it was shameful. it’s sinful how much it makes your cheeks flush and eases your mind. yet despite it all, it relaxes you.

the bottle is in one hand, raised high as you stretch your limbs. your free hand reaches as far back as it can to grasp at nothing before both hands come back down as you quit your groaning and stretching. you finally set the whiskey down on the table in front of you before you can indulge in it any further. you stare at it for a moment, pondering taking another sip, but you turn around and walk away. it was a sinful act—one you shouldn’t be enjoying but cannot help but do. as more time passes and the fear of the absolute taking control over everything creeps into your mind, you feel guilty about not praying to your gods and instead turning to drinking. but you can’t help it, can you? your prayers weren’t being answered. and they haven’t been answered in a very long time.

but tonight you stopped yourself. tonight, halsin had stepped in and expressed his concerns over the habit. he was the one who convinced you to set that bottle down and seek some time with nature. and maybe, just maybe, he was right. maybe that time with nature is just what you need, and not an addiction.

so you walked away from your companions to stand at the lake a few paces away. you occupied your busy mind by embracing mother nature’s gift and taking in your surroundings. but it was difficult to do since it was dark save for the light of the full moon, the fire from your camp, and the lights of the city. your eyes had wandered into the deep woods across the dark waters where no sound came from. it was dark and empty, much like the world around you.

the people of baldur’s gate needed a sober savior, not a drunken one. and tonight, you had somewhat of a clear mind for once.

you groaned and rubbed your face with your hands, specifically your eyes. you rubbed them especially hard and then looked back out at the water. it was peaceful—not a single ripple affecting its stillness. if only your mind could have the same effect. the tadpole is never quiet, and so is the emperor. with every thought that crosses your mind, he feels it. he knows it. but you don’t know if he is actively peering into it. if you were dumb enough, you could say the thrall had no particular interest in you. but you weren’t dumb, and you could tell that he wanted something more than just companionship.

but you couldn’t blame him. you were a very popular suitor for marriage.

you came from a noble family in baldur’s gate before getting snatched away by the illithid. you had a life promised to you granted the fact you would be married off to an asshole. but no asshole in baldur’s gate could ever compare to the one who has since come into your life at the ripe age of fifteen. he was unlike any other—with an attitude rivaling that of the gods and martyrs, and an ego so high it reached the peak of mount celestia. the devil was that man.

you only think of him because you can smell him; the sulfur. when you think of him he always appears, almost as if he’s the emperor himself. guaranteed though, the devil has always had great timing. but you have felt his eyes long enough on you tonight, and it is now that he makes himself present to you. he’s inviting you to converse with him. you turn around to catch where he is standing, but he’s not there. in that moment, you think back to the time you read a children’s book about how the devil loved to play games. and now as an adult, you realize that they only loved to play games they knew they could win. and that is how the devil knew he could win your heart and mind over so easily.

you then feel two warm hands cover your eyes. you don’t move. at first, you suspect it is astarion playing tricks on you, but then remember the only person that knew you were here alone was raphael. goosebumps run up your spine at the realization that he has gotten this close to you without you realizing it, and it makes you flinch. you could feel his smirk forming at the mere sight of you jerking under his touch. the soon-to-be hero of baldur’s gate flinching under the warm touch of the devil? it sounds pathetic after your adventures with gods and powerful enemies.

“my, my, what have we here?”

his voice is loud enough for your ears only to not alert your companions who are only a few meters away. you just so happen to be in a more private spot at the camp where the lake lies, and of course, raphael had to take advantage. too many questions would be asked if everybody saw the two of you together, alone, for they did not know your history prior to the nautiloid ship. it would be more of a nuisance to you than to him.

he removes his hands and you quickly turn around to look at him. it has been quite a time since you last saw him. and although you have changed, he hasn’t. not one bit. not a scratch on his hand, a blood splatter on his face, or a bruise. he is exhilarated, and you are exhausted. but at the mere sight of him, you feel more awake than ever. there is no need for alcohol, nature, or prayers when you have him. and you almost regret comparing prayers to being in the company of the devil; almost regret.

when you first met raphael it was at a masquerade ball held by your parents. they were devout followers of the heavens, and somehow, in some way, he managed to become a close confidant of theirs. of course, your parents never knew who he was, and probably never will. he never had any interest in your parents, but rather in you. you had no interest in raphael either—but that was only when you first met him. your opinion since then has changed, but you refused to admit it aloud to yourself or him. especially not him because it would fuel his big ego even more. even the day before you were kidnapped when he had asked for your hand in marriage, you still would not admit your feelings to him. but why would he want your hand anyway? you are no devil. you are no god. you aren’t a person of importance to him at all. just a pawn in his game of lanceboard, and he was the king.

but when it dawned on you now why he wanted to marry you, it all became clear. when he invited you and your party to his house of hope to accept his deal. when he kept playing nice to win that game of trust. when he spun you back into his embrace, alone, in that dining room of his and confessed to you, and you only, that you were the only person to secure the crown of karsus for him. only then, did you realize he only wanted to marry you to seal you in a contract forever. in a debt, forever. to trick your parents into signing a deal with the devil when they had dedicated their entire lives to their gods. to be one with them in mount celestia. the utmost betrayal would be marrying their only daughter off to a cambion, the heir and child of mephistopheles. and you too, would be the greatest sinner this world has ever laid eyes on. a young woman of god, making love and producing heirs for the devil.

only then did you realize how important of a pawn you would be. a pawn that would reach the end board and become a queen, just to be discarded after checking the enemy king. and after knowing the truth, you did not pray to your gods for help, no. you turned to a more sinful life. killing to save yourself. deceiving others for the benefit of surviving. drinking yourself away and losing any purity you had to you. allowing a vampire to suck your blood, allowing lustful visions of a wizard and druid to creep into your dreams as you try to sleep, and allowing a githyanki warrior to speak to you like a whore in a brothel. when you entertain those actions instead of stopping them, you realize how sinful of a child you have become.

but now, to have the devil have his hold on you? to allow him to hold you like your mother. to let his words rush through your veins as if it were drinking wyvern whiskey. raphael has played tricks and games on you ever since you were fifteen, and now, only now, does your heart succumb to the devil after years of resistance. do you blame it on the tadpole or yourself? when you look into his brown eyes that disguise his true golden, orange ones you see a flicker of fire and trickery. you shiver at the mere thought of when he first presented the idea of marriage to you while your parents happily stood by him. when he had looked at you in that moment and you swore you saw yourself in prison bars in the reflection of his beautiful eyes.

you swore when your parents had agreed to the idea you felt chains wrap around your whole body. back then, you didn’t know that raphael was a devil. all you knew was that he was a cunning man only put there to deceive your parents for whatever selfish reasons he had. you had compared him to the devil once before because all you saw was a man who would own you for the rest of your days. the devil that would ruin you with just one look.

and ruin you he did.

you want to say you hate him. you want to hate the devil and love the gods. to imagine yourself in the embrace of the clouds of mount celestia and lay there in an eternal slumber of bliss and peace. but you have found yourself in hell first. you have found yourself falling for the devil each moment you think of him. his red skin, his fire eyes, and his four horns that lay perfectly perched on the top of his head. and in his human form, a man who knows of only wise things and deceitfulness. raphael knows, and he knows very well, that you are enjoying him with each appearance of his that he makes to you. whether it be a quick whir of the moment with you privately or a public appearance to all. he sees the way you look at him with less hate and with more awe. how you stop presenting yourself with that heroic look of yours and almost bow to his mere presence. how tense you look when he gives you the most attention out of everybody.

nobody knows that you are engaged to the devil. it would cause quite a stir in your camp if they ever were to find out.

that is why when he holds you, you stop resisting. you enjoy it when he flatters you and makes you blush. you enjoy the games he plays. your late-night visits to the vampire’s tent stop, your sinful thoughts of the wizard and druid stop, and the githyanki’s comments come to a halt. for you retire to bed alone now and think only of the devil. you don’t touch yourself because you think acting on it is how it becomes a sin, and just merely thinking about it happening is alright. but you have tricked yourself just like how the devil plays tricks. the greatest sin of all is entertaining the thought of being with the devil in more ways than one.

and you want to blame all of it on raphael, but he has cast no spells on you or devilish incantations or rituals. it was only your behavior that forced you to stray away from the gods of celestia. a behavior only you had complete control of.

so why do you keep doing it? do you enjoy him so much? you do not know him. you will never know him.

“has the little mouse found herself a new toy to play with?” raphael asks, circling you like a cat. has he been watching you converse with halsin all night? his movements are precise, and his strides are long. he stops behind you again, and this time you don’t turn. the more you look at him, the more you feel you sin. you feel a shiver run up your spine when he traces his finger from the back of your neck down to your tailbone.

“don’t touch me,” you thought you said in a demanding voice, but it came out as a broken whisper.

raphael only laughs though at the pity attempt and retracts his hand from your body. you have no right to speak to him in that manner. you, after all, are nothing compared to him. you are just a person whom he will marry once he returns you to your parents back in baldur’s gate. he will have you in that contract before you do anything to get out of it. you will be his, forever, and so he will have his hands on you whenever he wants to.

“that’s no way to speak to your fiancée now, is it?” he asks.

you don’t say anything. you just stare at the dancing shadows of your companions by the campfire in the middle of your camp. how you long to run to them to escape his clutches. and you can. it is so easy to. he is not holding you back, and has even allowed you to run to them. that is why he purposefully stands behind you to play that game once again: the game of tag. the game that you will never win with him because it’s not a game he always wins, but a game you always purposefully lose. you lie to yourself, but in your heart, you want to be in his presence, always.

raphael frowns when you don’t say or do anything, but his frown turns into a grimaced look on his face as he grabs your wrist and spins you around to look at him. you gasp as you bump into his chest, and he grabs your chin to force you to look up at him. you quickly try to pull away, but he holds onto you tighter. he could break your wrist so easily right now, and snap your neck in one swift movement.

“you will face me when i speak to you.”

and you can only nod out of respect. respect? raphael rubs your bottom lip and smiles again. “see, my love? it isn’t hard to listen to me. i promise it will make your time with me much easier.”

he leans in close to your ear and moves his hand that grab your chin to your hips. “you do not want me to punish you so early on in our relationship, hm?”

you are powerless against him. you have fought countless enemies, slaughtered them even. you have fought a chosen of the dead three and killed a god. you have faced the githyanki queen and rid of the shadow curse. but when it comes to the cambion, you are nothing. and maybe you like to be nothing.

it’s difficult when you move your head to look at him. you want to talk but he has you at a loss for words. you can only abide by him. “why are you here, raphael?” you ask.

“why, to see you of course.”

“but why?”

your voice has that hint of urgency—but why? raphael can only smile wider because he knows it’s from your fear of somebody walking in on the two of you. most likely it will be halsin to check on you after you have stayed quiet for far too long. you gulp.

“you’re paranoid, aren’t you? scared that one of your so-called friends will happen across the two of us in a warm embrace. what ever will they do when i tell them that you are betrothed—to me.”

you look away again but then quickly look back up at him. you do not want to anger him, and you do not want him to tease you.

“one feels so exposed out here, raphael…” you murmur. your voice is low enough for his ears only. you were made for him. “please, don’t be loud.”

you beg. you only ever beg for him, and he knows. he watches you more than your companions watch your back. he knows your every curve and every move. he knows what position you like to sleep in, and what food you dislike least when it is time to eat. he knows that one strand of hair that always annoys you during battle, and when you are about to menstruate. he knows everything about you. you have never begged for anything in your life, but when he is with you, you are born anew.

it would bring such joy to raphael for everyone to see the scandalous position you have put yourself in. all it takes is for one loud word to come out of him. maybe step out into the light and bring all attention to him. maybe call out to one of your friends and bring them here to witness your broken self. but he keeps that luxury of your humiliation to himself and his house of hope. neither your parents, servants, nor your friends can experience it—only him. only he is allowed to hear your begging. but my oh my, would it make him smile to see you break down in front of everybody. to see them lose faith in their leader when they watch you beg a devil to shut his mouth. to see you collapse on your knees in front of him like the slave you are.

“a little louder, love, just enough to have your friends wondering what you are doing out here all alone,” he smirks.

“raphael, please…”

he doesn’t do anything. he doesn’t say anything. you can barely raise an octave because you are so afraid of exposing yourselves. but at the same time, he is irritating you to a surprising level, even to him.

“take me to your house of hope, we will talk there,” you almost cry. “please, raphael.”

“louder,” he demands. you cannot say no.

you grab at his collar tightly and look right into his eyes. you want to shake him and suffocate him. you are tired of his games, but you still play them. you are tired of yourself. but even when you threaten to cry, he doesn’t move. why would he care about your feelings? even if you harm yourself in front of him and threaten to kill yourself, he still won’t care. after all, he has told you that there is always another after you to take the crown, even if it takes millennia.

“raphael, please!” you yell, almost too loud for your liking.

you hear your name being called out by a certain someone almost immediately, and you whip your head in the direction of the camp. wyll was coming. was it not loud enough for raphael? you know he can hear the speed of your heartbeat quicken with every second that passes. he’s waiting. he wants to make you panic even more. and as wyll’s footsteps get louder, you tighten your grip around raphael’s clothes even more. your tears gather in your eyes. how could you be so vulnerable and so easily manipulated? it was so degrading.

and right as wyll’s devilish horns peek into your view, you are whipped away just like that with the snap of raphael’s fingers. wyll comes into the darkness of where you once stood only to find nothing. he turns to look back at his companions who are mindlessly doing their nightly routine, then back at where he thought he heard your voice. when the smell of sulfur enters his nostrils, he scrunches it in disgust. the cambion was with you, and now you both are not there anymore. wyll, despite his disgust at the devil, respects what private business you have with him. he will take the night shift if you are not back before sunrise, but he prays you do not do anything rash without discussing it first with everybody.

you find yourself still in raphael’s arms in his house of hope. the room is all too familiar when you step away from him and sit down on a lavish chair, panting heavily. the large portrait of raphael hangs above you, just as he is right now in his devilish form in the room he first took you and your party to. the feast hall now has skeletons riddling it with plates of rotten food. the stench almost makes you gag, but you stop yourself from pleasuring raphael with such a reaction.

he laughs at the pitiful sight of you. you now have freshly dried tears staining your cheeks and a heavy heart. it upsets you even further how you have succumbed to the devil’s doing so very easily every time.

“you really are my favorite client,” he says joyfully. “i enjoy every minute of you.”

“i wish i could say the same,” you say, looking up at him.

“now, now. don’t be like that, my dear. we don’t want such negativity right now, do we? after all, we have much to discuss.”

he extends a hand out to you. you look at it. you take it. and it burns pleasurably in your grasp as he helps you up from the chair and leads you out of the feast hall. you have not once left his fancy and furbished feast hall, but the corridors of his house look just as exquisite. he lets go of your hand the moment you step out into the hallway. in silence, the both of you walk to gods knows where. you are nervous.

“you never answered my question,” you remind him respectfully.

“you have asked many questions,” he said with such tease.

“but to you, only one.”

he stops outside of a door that a servant is peering into. he smiles down at you.

“you cannot outsmart the devil, my dear girl. there’s this little voice inside of you asking: “is this my will, or is it the worm’s?” but you have no answer, and no way of knowing.”

before you can say anything, he snaps his fingers and you are now inside of the room, but on the balcony still facing him. your heart quickens again, and it is only pumping the fuel in his veins.

“i have this picture in my head—of you tossing and turning in the middle of the night, thinking strange things, dreaming strange dreams. the good thing is, though, there’s only one little voice you should listen to.”

he grabs your chin and leans in close again. your breath hitches in your throat and you suddenly feel that you can’t breathe anymore.

“mine.”

he slowly backs away yet you still feel breathless. you take deep breaths in and deep breaths out. raphael chuckles.

“but ah, where were we?” he turns to look out his balcony and out into the views of avernus. “about you…”

you go up next to him, still looking at him. he intrigues you more than you would like to admit to.

“do you not have any idea as to why you are here?” he asks.

“no, i don’t.”

“take a look around then, my lost virgin. look and you will know.”

you don’t want to look. you don’t want to know. you want to go back home and hide yourself away from the world forever. you want to fall back into your mother’s arms and stay there until you take your last breath. but you can’t do that. instead, you do as he says. raphael takes pleasure in seeing you obey his every word. as you turn around and start heading into the room, you spot a lavish red bed next to where you are standing, as well as countless paintings of raphael again. behind a screen is a large tub with multiple fountains, and there are lavish items strewn across the room. and that is all. this is a room just for pleasure and nothing else. it clicks in your head why you are here when you think back to what raphael has called you, and why he has brought you into this room specifically. one of the greatest sins of all.

“you’re so very pathetic, love,” he says, now right behind you.

the insult doesn’t sting you anymore. it is the way his hands hold your hips that does, and you step away from him and back yourself up into the bed. it makes him raise his eyebrows in surprise.

“you’re an eager little pup, aren’t you?” he asked, coming closer.

you extend a hand out to stop him from coming onto you, and it comes in contact with his chest. he stops for his entertainment, and not because you wish him to. it is a dangerous game to play: trying to tell the devil what to do.

“is that why you came to me tonight? to have sex with me?”

“does it sound so terrible?” raphael asks, placing his hand on his chin. “i will not have the patience or time for your virginity when i claim the crown. tonight, you just so happened to make my day now that you are one step closer to the brain. tonight, i will wreak havoc upon your body and you will find the utmost pleasure in it.”

he mocks you. he mocks you because he knows pre-marital sex is a large sin you can easily avoid. having sex with the devil makes it even worse. the gods will never forgive you, raphael knows this, and it is the only reason why he wants to have your body now. to humiliate you in front of the gods and to ruin you. you know he has another to sleep with who could take on the form of whoever he pleases. he could have sex with an incubus posing as you, but tonight, he wants the real delight of breaking you. he doesn’t care about your faith or your mission. right now, all raphael cares about is destroying whatever purity you have left in you.

you try to push him away but he grabs your wrist easily. “your gods left you the second your mind started to fill with dirty thoughts of me,” he says. raphael grabs both of your wrists and pins you to the bed. he moves them above your head and crosses them to hold your wrists in one hand, while the other grabs your chin again. you frantically move your head but it doesn’t do much.

“they say the eyes are the windows to the soul. and when i look into yours, i see all of your greatest desires,” he says. “but there is one that stays in your mind. it is what you call your strange dreams and your strange thoughts. the image of me.”

he inhales your scent and it excites him. the scent of a virgin.

“no longer will it be strange imaginations, my dear, but a nightmare come true.”

he leans down and kisses you with a force so strong it catches the breath in your throat. you’ve never been kissed before. as a young girl, you’ve always dreamt of your first kiss to be with your husband during your wedding underneath the stars. to look upon his eyes on a beautiful, clear night in the backyard of your palace as you lean in for the perfect kiss. and for raphael to take it all away from you, just so easily as that, forcefully too, was a cruel joke. you want to hate him for it, you really do, but your body betrays your mind and kisses back. you enjoy this. you enjoy his heated kiss and his devilish touches against your skin greatly.

raphael pulls away, but not without biting your lower lip first and tugging at it with his sharp teeth to draw blood. you whine and pull your head back, and he laughs. he moves away again and lets go of you, but you are so flustered and heated from that kiss that you just lay there sprawled out on his bed. raphael smiles.

“agree to be mine and you will know pleasure, forever,” he says. “you will know what it is like to live lavishly in the comfort of my house of hope. under my protection.”

you shake your head. you don’t know why you shake it, but it is mostly because you want him on you again. you want him to bite you like that. to be rough. but then you realize what you just did and what you just thought. and your blood runs cold. these impulses do not act on your own accord… or do they?

raphael smirks again. “maybe if i show you, you will agree.”

he snaps his fingers and your clothes are off. you try to cover yourself immediately, horribly flustered as to what he just did. nobody has seen you naked, except for your servants and now the devil. you curl into a ball but it doesn’t last for long. raphael snaps his fingers again and ropes from the headboard of the bed appear and grab onto your wrists, dragging you to the middle. raphael stands in front of the bed now, but your legs are propped up to hide yourself from him. you are breathing hard and almost on the verge of tears. this isn’t real. it can’t be real. not with the devil!

“tsk, tsk. we can’t have you be like this the whole time.”

he snaps his fingers again and ropes now grab your ankles and spread your legs apart. you yell in surprise and now struggle to hide yourself. it doesn’t work, but raphael is loving every bit of it. you throw your head back into the pillow and squeeze your eyes shut.

“leave me to my gods and heavens, and i will give you the crown of karsus!” you yell. “that is my deal!”

“that’s not how it works, dear,” he says. “your gods have already abandoned you. you have committed far too many sins for them to forgive you. there is no place for you in those white clouds, but there is here. you’re sitting on it already, my little mouse. you have found yourself down here—with me. and that is where you will always be.”

“liar!”

he gets on the bed in between your legs, and you flinch when his leg comes in contact with your thigh. “i have never lied to you, my dear. i have only ever told you the truth.”

he leans over you, hands on either side of your head. you are completely held down. hands held above your head and legs spread apart all for him, and it will only ever be for him. nobody will ever see you like this, and nobody will have you like this. your heart is beating so fast from anxiety and nervousness that you can barely breathe. raphael kisses you again, and you can’t help but kiss back. you lie to his face but the truth is in your heart. you say to him you don’t want him, but you do. your body lights up like a flame every time he touches you. it reacts in ways you never thought possible. raphael knows you want him even if you say you don’t. it’s so obvious.

he stops kissing you and you find yourself chasing after his lips for more. raphael laughs in your face and sits back up.

“the day i met you, i remember everything, i wrote it down,” he says, grabbing your chin with one hand and lifting it.

his tone changes and so does your body language. this was a poem you had written about him after you had met him the first time. a poem you had written over and over and scratched it out for years before finding it again. and when he took you to his house of hope for the first time, and nightfall came, you took out a quill and paper and continued it on your little stool you had in your tent. you finished it in mere minutes, and from then on always carried it around with you in your pack. you want to say you don’t know why you do so but you do know. it’s because you are infatuated with him. maybe that’s when it all started. when your prayers stopped being answered and the only company that you had was him. maybe when your heart wanted him is when the seven martyrs abandoned you. you were damned. but you didn’t want this to happen. you didn’t want to fall for the devil, and yet here you are, not resisting his attempt to take you as his.

“your smile was cold, your hair was fresh,”

he moves a stray strand of your hair out of your face and cups your cheek. his nail is under your eye, and you feel it dig into your skin, warning you not to move unless you want a new puncture wound. you hold very still and listen closely to your poem coming out of his lips.

“your eyes were such a shade of brown,”

he moved his hand away and slid it down your body slowly. you jolted when his finger slipped in between the space of your breasts and stayed there, touching the soft skin. you wanted to look away so badly to hide your shame and embarrassment, but his eye contact with you was so strong you couldn’t. you had to relax under that devilish gaze.

“you press your ear onto my chest,”

he moved his hand to your left breast and squeezed your nipple, hard. you gasped at the pain and tried to move away from him, but the ropes only got tighter around your wrists and it only made you cry out in pain. raphael used his other hand to do the same with your right breast, and its pleasure was so intolerable you couldn’t help but thrust your hips upwards to meet his thigh. you wanted him, but also wanted away from him. make up your mind, damn you.

“you hear the speed my heart will beat,”

he kisses your breast and circles his tongue around it in an unholy way. you sigh in pure delight and throw your head back into the pillow, enjoying it so very much. your cunt aches for any sort of touch or penetration. it tingles your whole body, and yet he only flicks the hard bud slowly. it is a torture but you don’t want to beg for him more than you already did tonight. but this is the devil, and begging for them was a passing time they very much enjoyed.

finally, he sinks his teeth into the sensitive skin and you moan for him. you ride the air and toss your head from side to side. he knows what he is doing. he knows the pleasures of the female body. oh, you love it so much. you love the pleasure of sin he brings upon you. raphael kisses your breast one last time and then moves his finger down your body.

“seconds drag like days whenever you don’t want to talk or speak.”

his finger finds your clit with ease and rubs gentle circles on it. you are already wet and have been for quite a while. it’s shameful, sinful, and embarrassing. you shiver in delight under his touch and cry out a moan. you don’t want him to stop. the feeling is too good. a feeling you have only given to yourself, but now feels much better when another is giving it to you. raphael stops when he notices you are enjoying yourself far too much, and quickly moves his hand away.

“raphael…” you whisper, breathless. if this is only a small slither of real pleasure, you cannot imagine what he has waiting for you. for a second, you don’t care whether it be full of pain. you want that carnal release.

“this can be your life, my little mouse,” he says. “a place of protection and pleasure, and of course, most importantly, a place by my side forever.”

you don’t say anything. you just stare at him with half-lidded eyes and a distressed look on your face.

“and if i refuse?” you ask.

he leans in close to you again, still holding that infamous smirk of his. “i find it very hard to believe that you want to refuse me. not when your body reacts so beautifully to my touches.”

his hand grazes your nipple again and you shiver. he only proves his point easily by doing that, and you still don’t want to say anything. raphael is a patient man, you will give him that, but when his patience runs thin and you spot his brows furrowing… you want to run. he has entertained you long enough tonight, and now you will experience his rage. in more ways than one, he will destroy you. he will make you scream his name until your vocal cords have been destroyed. you will beg for his mercy and he will not give it. you will beg for him to stop, and he will not, for you have danced around his deal for days now and tonight was the end of that. he will show you what it means to mess with the son of mephistopheles.

you will no longer be a virgin with wings. no longer will you be a devout follower of heavenly martyrs, but a devoted wife to the cambion. to the devil raphael. to the man who will ruin you over and over again. you will give him the crown of karsus and bear his children, and forever live your life as his slave. and maybe, just maybe, it seems so pleasurable and delightful.

he snaps his fingers and now all of his clothes are off. you become wetter by the second as you take in his body. his cock, thick and large, just waiting to be thrusted inside of you. how will your virginal self ever be able to take that in one night? you have never even slipped a finger inside of you before. fear clouds your eyes and now you are scared to take him in. but raphael doesn’t care about your pain, he only cares about his pleasure.

“look at you, dripping wet all for me,” he rubs his knuckle in your wetness, teasing you. you hum in reply, enjoying the feeling. raphael rubs small circles around your most sensitive areas, eliciting soft moans and whimpers from your moist lips. he is preparing you for what is to come. that is the least he can do for you.

he slides a long finger in you, pumping it in and out slowly just to see your reaction. you shift uncomfortably, unsure of the feeling. raphael smirks and moves it in further, noticing that you had already ripped your hymen (most likely from outdoing yourself in a battle). you moan when he goes past it, finally feeling that pleasurable spot you never had experienced yourself. he suddenly inserts another finger, stretching you out more. it hurts and you tear up from the pain. the pleasure has gone and all you feel now is his fingers roughly hitting the spongey area inside of you.

“it hurts!” you cry, shutting your eyes and allowing your tears to fall. and this is just the beginning as well. you allow him to continue though, not bothering to thrash your body to force his fingers out of you. because the more he pumps and lets you adjust to it, the more pleasurable it becomes.

a pair of footsteps comes entering the room, and you hear a familiar chuckle coming from beside you. you open up your eyes to see what appears to be a younger-looking raphael bent down beside your head, smiling at you sadistically. you don’t give much of a reaction. you only look at him, then at the devil between your legs readying you for the loss of your virginity.

“my, my, what a pretty one,” the fake raphael smiles. “is she the one you speak so highly of? the lost virgin with wings?”

raphael only rolls his eyes at the incubus and then removes his fingers from inside of you. you feel empty all of a sudden, but when he pushes you up further against the bed, allowing the ropes to untangle around your ankles, you see him bend down and spread your legs even further apart. you try to back yourself up but his grip on your thighs tightens. your ankles have been freed, and yet you do not try to kick him. you instead relax in his touch and sink into the fine silks of his large bed.

“i will break her and clip her wings,” raphael says, moving his head closer to your cunt. “i will take her virginity and claim her as mine, haarlep.” he suddenly snaps his head to look at the incubus. “leave.”

his voice was demanding. he wasn’t inviting haarlep to tease him or play with him. he was serious, and with a grin and wave, the incubus left without another word. raphael probably instilled an indescribable fear in him. a silent fear. a hushed one. yet you do not feel any fear from that voice of his. only an ache you’ve never felt before. an ache that leaves you wet.

raphael notices almost immediately, and without a word or warning, dives his head in between your legs and kisses your cunt. you jolt at the light touch and sigh all at the same time. it feels so good.

“you are mine, little mouse,” he says. “do you understand?”

you open your mouth to say “never”, but he places his lips back on your folds and you moan loudly. his tongue laps up your wetness over and over again, and it tickles your whole body. you bite your lip to stop yourself from being too loud, to attract anybody from coming and peeking, but you can’t help it. you moan out his name, and he moves his lips from your folds to your clit and sucks on it.

the sensation was something you’ve never felt before in your life. you tried to shut your legs on him, to stop him from sucking too much but his hold on you is so strong.

“raphael!” you moaned. you squeeze your eyes shut and arch your back. he brings one of your legs over his shoulder to spread your legs even further, and it makes it all the better. he only sucks on it more and more and you try to thrash around to get away from him, but it doesn’t work. it felt so good, but it was all too much. it was so much pleasure that at one point, the nerves stopped, and you finally felt it.

you lay back down comfortably and sigh delightfully. raphael pulls away but quickly sticks a finger in you, thrusting in and out at a rapid pace. it feels good too but his tongue feels better, and so does his lips. you whine his name and buck your hips toward his face. he laughs at the pitiful state you’re in. you’re so humiliating when your bottom lip is all pouty, your body responds to his every touch, and the way sweat is already glistening on your skin. your cunt clenches around his one finger tightly, and all raphael can think about is how great it will feel to be in you. to rip apart your insides and finally claim you as his. to convince you, finally, to marry him before you defeat the brain. to have you sign a contract bound in blood, make you one of his, and forever be at his side. to secure the crown of karsus and a powerful ally all in one move.

he slips a second finger in and you squeal, arching your back again off the bed as you start to now cry a little. but he does not care. he knows you want his lips back on you, and not his fingers anymore. but dear, you need to be prepared for him.

“raphael…” you whine again.

“say it.”

his voice is deep and the thrusting of his fingers intensifies. it’s rough and it hurts. his nails scratch against the walls of your cunt and it makes you bleed. you can feel it, but you can’t see it. it hurts more than it brings pleasure, but you don’t want to admit anything. you bite the inside of your lip and lean your head back against the pillow to shut up. you won’t say it.

“little mouse, that won’t work…”

he presses his thumb against your clit and rubs painfully, slow circles on it. you gasp and hide your head behind your arm as best as possible, but the more he does it, the less you can keep quiet. the roughness of his fingers but the gentleness of his thumb breaks out a delight in you. you don’t want it to end. you want more and more. this is all you’ve ever dreamed of.

and you break easily. because that is all it takes for him to claim you that fast.

“i’m yours,” you quietly moan in the comfort of your arm.

he moves his head back down. “say it louder, my dear. say it louder so the heavenly martyrs can hear you from down here, and know that i have plucked one of their angels. they will know how i clipped your wings and stole your virginity.”

he places his lips back on your clit and you yell. you’re smiling. “i’m yours, raphael!” you moan, bucking your hips into his mouth. “forever!”

the ties around your wrists come undone and your hands shoot to his horns, grabbing them to drag him closer to you. you’re moaning louder than ever before, and you believe that the heavenly martyrs can truly hear you. raphael, the cambion, has finally claimed you. and all it took was his tongue.

you grind your hips into his face, moaning as he keeps on sucking on your clit. his tongue occasionally licking at it to never stop the waves of pleasure crashing into you. you want more and more. you don’t want him to stop. you can stay like this, forever, and never want to leave. raphael is right. all you could ever want is here, right in his house of hope. and that all you could ever want and need will be fulfilled by him.

your movements get more erratic the more you feel the pit in your stomach tighten. your movements get faster but sloppier, and you feel yourself about to cum. but raphael stops and moves away. he pushes you away from him and you shut your legs almost immediately, embarrassed as to how he pushes you aside. you see your wetness on his lips and it makes you flustered and your body heat up. but that pit in your stomach dies down, and now all pleasure is lost. you feel defeated and upset. unsatisfied.

“why?” is all you can ask.

raphael snaps his fingers and your places have been switched. now he lays comfortably with his back against his mountain of pillows, while you are at the edge of the bed. you finally can see his erection in all its glory. how your moaning and face fucking lead to this. how his cock will soon be buried inside of you any moment now, and it will be the worst yet best pain of your life. his cock will take your old self away. it’ll take your virginity, and all that will be left of you will be his. and you have never been so eager.

“have you touched yourself before, my dear?” he asks.

you can’t help but stare shockingly into his orange eyes. he was absurd. and so you nod, but then he snaps his fingers again and you find yourself now sitting on his lap. he grabs your throat tightly and moves you back. your last gasp of air leaves your lips, and you grab his hands to stop him from squeezing anymore. you couldn’t breathe.

“you have a tongue still. speak.”

his grip loosens just enough for you to use your words.

“yes,”

“have you ever touched anybody else?”

“no, raphael…”

he smiles at your answer and moves his hand from your throat to your head. he pushes you lower and lower until your face is up close to his erection. he runs his hand through your hair and grabs a thick chunk of it, tugging it to force you to look up at him again.

“then tonight, darling, i will break that. and if you satisfy me enough, i’ll give you the release you so desperately want. but only if you are a good little mouse.”

he caresses your cheek and smiles a little more. “and i won’t stop. you will beg and you will cry, but i will not stop until i’ve had my fill. then, i will ruin you…”

he moves his hand back to your hair and guides your head down to his dick. you don’t know what to do. you grab it so gently and place your other hand on his abdomen as you press your lips to the tip of it. you swirl your tongue around it before licking up its length. he’s quiet though, and it’s unnerving. you quickly take him into your mouth without another thought and start bobbing your head up and down his length. finally, raphael lets out a content sigh and pushes a few strands of hair out of your face.

it makes you wet knowing he likes it. that he enjoys your mouth on him, just as you did with his. you move your hand up and down at a good pace, not too slow nor too fast. you don’t want to tease him but you don’t want to try and finish him fast. you want to know what he likes. you want to explore his body as he does yours. you truly believe in your heart and mind that this will not be the last time you will be on your knees and stomach for him. and you’ll gladly do it over and over again.

he is hot; a cool burning to the inside of your mouth. it burns pleasurably, a feeling that is difficult to describe. you lose control over any willpower to run out of there, and to god knows where. your body melts into the bed as you mindlessly suck on him. you want all of him against you and in you. you take him in deeper and deeper and move your hand faster and faster.

it is quite a surprise how good you were. how fast you were able to discover what made him groan and jolt under your touch. his hands grip your hair tighter than before and you swear with one wrong move, he might take off your head. he is gripping so tight, that you start to feel some hairs getting pulled from your scalp. and it hurts badly. yet, you don’t focus on that. you don’t focus on the incoming headache and instead focus on wanting his release.

you move your mouth back up to his tip and lick it again, fast, as your tongue dives into the little hole and swirls in it. raphael moans and you open your eyes to watch him. his mouth is open and his face is contorted into an expression you’ve never seen before. an expression of pure bliss. your eyes lock with his and he gives you that infamous smirk of his. his sharp teeth a pearly white, and his eyes glowing more than usual. you hum against his throbbing cock that’s still in your mouth. raphael moans at that feeling and leans his head back against the pillows.

“you’re such a good little mouse,” he says in a deep voice. you hear the pant in his words, and it makes you so happy knowing you could leave the devil breathless.

you take him out of your mouth with a “pop” and smile at his compliment. you want to kiss him. to kiss his whole body and worship him like a god. he would soon be one once you deliver him that crown and you could be by his side even if he treated you like a slave. such power in his hands as you live a life of luxury and painful pleasure. it doesn’t seem so bad.

you gather the spit in your mouth and let it drool onto his dick. it drips from your lips slowly, and you use your thumb to rub it all around the tip of his cock, lubricating him more. you move your hand up and down again, watching as your spit slides up and down. raphael’s breathing grows heavier with each stroke, and when you put his cock back into your mouth and take him so deep. that it hits the back of your throat, he moans loudly.

raphael notices how quickly you moved back though, and so he quickly dragged your head back down his dick, forcing you to take more of him in you. you almost choke on how big he is, and how it hurts so bad. you can’t breathe and yet it doesn’t matter. it’s so disgustingly beautiful. you bob your head faster and faster, enjoying the sounds he’s making. raphael starts to guide your head, not allowing you to stop. he was almost there, almost on the brink of release.

his voice gets deeper and his moans are louder. you’ve placed both hands on his abdomen now as you just take him fucking your face. it makes you cry, how badly you cannot breathe, and how bad it hurts the back of your throat. tears run down your cheeks and onto him, and he laughs at the state you’re in again. so cute yet so humiliating.

“swallow it all, little mouse,” he says. it’s a demand, not a suggestion. he doesn’t say what will happen if you don’t, and you don’t want to know. you’ve never done this before and you don’t know how you’ll be able to take him all in.

with a few more thrusts into your face, raphael cums and lets out the sexiest and deepest groan you’ve ever heard. his load is hot and it burns your throat. you try to swallow it all, but there’s too much and it doesn’t stop coming. you moan and try to keep up, but his cum starts to drip down your chin now and down your throat. he pushes you away again and pants heavily. you’re still crying when he looks at you. your chest has his cum on it, and so does your mouth and chin. you look like a mess: a hot mess. and raphael loves it.

you go to wipe his cum off your mouth, but he leans forward and grabs you, kissing you immediately. you moan into the kiss and wrap your arms around him, enjoying it greatly. you can taste yourself still on his lips, and as his tongue forces its way into your mouth, he too can taste himself. and it’s safe to say that he tasted better than wyvern whiskey. a sweet yet tangible taste to it, he had. it was the complete opposite of what he is in nature.

you feel his hands grab your breasts and squeeze them, pinching your nipples so hard they almost bled. you gasped into his mouth and started to grind your hips against his, wanting that sweet release from earlier. raphael laughs in your mouth and pulls away.

“you are pathetic,” he says.

you look up at him with your big eyes and fucked-out face. it catches him off guard as to how beautiful you are. with his cum on your body, the little prick on your lip from where he bit you earlier, the messy hair, and beautiful skin. you are almost as beautiful as him. he can’t help but stare at your glowing features (caused by your sweat and his cum). you see raphael’s face soften, but it goes away as fast as it came.

“i am pathetic,” you murmur. “i am whatever you want me to be, raphael…”

your voice was low and soft. it was sultry and sexy, something he never would have imagined to come from you. and by the nine hells did it make him painfully hard again. he kissed you again to stop looking at your pretty face and to shut you up. he felt his nature soften when you spoke and it angered him how the tables have turned so easily. how that one look of yours made him crumble. you would not pull that sorcery again. not now, not ever. the devil raphael wouldn’t bend to a mortal’s charms, ever.

he moves forward until you’re lying on your back with him on top of you again. raphael doesn’t waste any time by moving back down in between your legs and licking up the wetness that now found its way in between your thighs. he sucks on a spot that was particularly wet and close to your cunt, and you clench at nothing and breathlessly moan. he then bites down, hard, and you yelp in pain. it bleeds now, and raphael licks up the blood like it is the richest of wines. it throbs painfully and you whimper because of it. raphael does not care though.

he places his lips back on your cunt and starts to lick again. he swirls it around your wetness and uses his fingers again to make you reach your orgasm quicker than before. but you have been on edge since then, and having to suck him off while not being able to touch yourself was undeniably the worst type of pain you’ve felt in your life. raphael, now feeling how wet you were with two fingers, painfully thrusts in a third one. he removes his lips and twists and turns it around to see how you adjust.

you cry even harder and have to wipe the tears away from your eyes. it doesn’t even feel good, it just hurts. “stop!” you cry. “it hurts!”

“i need you to be prepared for me, little mouse. pleasure will overcome pain, but only if you allow it to. don’t resist…”

you try to relax, but he doesn’t slow down. you can’t tell if he’s lying or not because you’ve never had anybody do this to you before. it scares you, honestly. but the faster raphael jams his fingers in and out of you without sucking on your clit, the worse the pain is. you cover your eyes and think about praying to the heavens to come and save you. but nobody will come. nobody will listen. you are on your own.

remember, you have lost yourself. everything you are and everything you own is now raphael’s, forever and always.

he hums and puts his lips back on your clit to suck on it again. it makes you gasp and moan, and he doesn’t plan on stopping. you feel that pit in your stomach again. it’s burning hotter than before, and it feels even better. you run your hands through raphael’s hair and run your nails against his scalp. it feels good to him, but his lips and fingers feel even better than a few head scratches. you buck your hips against his face and cry. you’re almost there.

and when it comes, it releases like a tidal wave. you scream raphael’s name and shake under him. but he doesn’t slow down. he only goes faster. you don’t have time to slow down your breathing. you’re sensitive to the touch everywhere and it is starting to hurt. you manage to move away a little, but raphael gets upset and grabs your legs again to drag you back up to him. he is sitting up now, holding your lower body up to his face as he looks down at you with only lust in his orange eyes.

“stop, please! raphael!” you scream, trying to get away again. but his grip on you is so strong, that his nails break the skin and you bleed again. you yell and jolt with each wave of sensation that comes in, and before long, you feel yourself about to cum again. it hurts this time though, and it lasts longer than the other one.

raphael finally lets go of you and your legs drop onto his lap. you’re trying to get control of your breathing again, but your body lays half unnaturally in his lap and your hair sticks to the sweat on your face by your nose, making it difficult to breathe. you close your legs and cry onto his sheets. it hurts so much at the end, but you think about that pleasurable orgasm you have never felt before in your life. if felt like a gift. a new becoming. it was a release you could never give yourself. a release you’ve never, ever had before. and it was breathtaking.

raphael spreads your legs wide open and you shriek. you go to shut them again but he smacks your ass hard with his tail in reciprocation. it stings and you hiss in pain.

“don’t defy me!” he snaps.

you shiver under him. “i’m sorry,” you whimper. you open your legs for him and he positions himself comfortably in between them. this is it. this is finally it. whatever you have left of you will finally be gone... you tear up again and close your eyes, inhaling sharply. raphael leans over you and kisses you softly on the lips, tugging at the bottom lip a little. you kiss back instantly, enjoying the taste of him and you. but then he pulls away to tease you, and you reach your hand up to touch his cheek. his skin is so soft and he leans into your touch like a cat.

“wrap me around your little finger,”

he’s reciting your poem again. it sounds better coming from him than it does from you, but the question arises again as to where he found it and how he acquired it. it was always on you, but you don’t dare to ask him now. he holds your hand with his and caresses the back of it with his thumb.

“wrap me around your wedding ring,”

he kisses your hand and moves it away to grab your hips. raphael uses one hand to position his cock at your slick entrance that was so sensitive and needy. he looks up at you to see the nervous look on your face. and with the slightest movement of his hips, he slips inside of you rather easily. you arch your back off the bed and reach for him, but he doesn’t give himself to you. not yet, anyway.

“your words, they take the shape my body makes,”

he thrusts into you slowly, and you moan.

“isn’t that the scary thing?”

he grabs a hold of your hips with both hands now and helps you find the rhythm. you only feel pain though and he’s barely in. you feel the inside of you burn with pain and rip apart from his cock and it burns with the fire of the nine hells. you don’t want to cry this time. you’ve cried enough and this time you want to keep your eyes open, clearly, and see what is happening to your body.

and he is glorious.

his body is beautiful, and the smooth bucking of his hips into yours is like an instrument. its sounds are beautiful and pleasant, and all nerves and pain wash away when you relax into the bed and let him take you. raphael’s bliss enters your tadpole-occupied mind and all you feel is the pleasure of his dick inside of you. it thrusts at a constant speed with such great precision. from the time you have been here, he makes it seem like he’s known your body for years.

his touches are that of a lover’s, and his care is that of a stranger’s. but with every other thrust, you feel him go slightly deeper each time. his cock stretches you out more each time and you watch it with a lustful look in your big eyes. you’re so intrigued by the sheer size of his dick.

but when raphael sees you enjoy yourself too much again, he always finds a way to ruin it. he suddenly thrusts hard and stops.

“raphael!” you yell in pain.

you feel yourself start to bleed. the pain could be intolerable to most, but you were not like most people. it hurt, badly. it felt like every inch of your body was going to rip. you want to relax, you want to calm yourself down. but it hurts even though he’s not moving. you steady your breathing, or at least tried to, and bathed in the hurt. he slid out slowly and thrust back into you with the same amount of force as last time. you cried and yelled with each time he did it. you bled and bled all over him.

your blood drips onto his bed and it matches the color of his sheets. a dark red that matches the color perfectly, and it was soon forgotten about. raphael roughly grabs your throat roughly again, and you fight against him this time. he slams his lips against yours and kisses you again, and it’s rough. there’s no passion or love; there never was. but he was hungry for you, and his fervent kisses were hard and fast. you could feel your soul drain and belong to him. he moves his head to your neck and bites down harshly, drawing blood immediately. you grab his shoulders but find yourself not pushing him away. you dig your nails into his skin and push him up closer to you.

it hurts. it hurts like a bitch when all you feel is his sharp teeth dig into your skin and his dick takes slow, painful thrusts into you. raphael could use a spell to make it better for you. to not make you so tight and tense but he likes to see you hurt and squirming and squealing like a mouse in a trap. to see how you bleed as you take him in painfully and cry and cry his name and beg for him to stop. he moves his head out of the crevice of your neck to watch the look of pleasure and pain contort on your face and your silent tears cascade down those flushed and puffy cheeks. the future hero of baldur’s gate was so beautiful like this—under the control and manipulation of the devil himself.

and when his fire pits of eyes look into your teary and puffy ones, he starts to go faster. he wants to see you cry more. he wants your pain to turn into pleasure. he wants to see your spirit falter and die.

“i cried the day i realized that lies were hidden in his kisses,”

he continues, kissing your chin right after.

“i was tangled in his arms,”

he brings you up to his chest and it makes it all the easier to hit that spot you enjoy the most. you forget about the pain and arch your back, now drawing his blood and staining your nails red. raphael goes faster and faster, hitting that spongy spot inside of you that drives you crazy. you wrap your arms around his neck and fall into him, grinding your hips each time he brings you down into him.

“raphael…” you moan, shutting your eyes.

his breathing is getting labored.

“i was his mess, his ball of strings,”

he grabs your hair and yanks it harshly, ripping a few strands. you don’t care. you offer yourself to him, willingly showing him your neck that had his bites and the vampires. raphael bites down on the spot astarion took pleasure in biting almost every night, and now covered it with his bite marks. he bites down harder than the previous ones and sucks on it. you run your hands through his hair and moan into his ear passionately. raphael shudders at the sound of your voice.

“i would give him everything,” you moan into his ear, lips hovering over it. “the nine hells and second chances.”

you finish your poem. the poem you had started at fifteen and finished only a few days ago. how your feelings for him were manifesting on a ripped and bloodied piece of paper that he managed to find on your journey to baldur’s gate. when you had written your one-way ticket to hell on your own. and how did you manage to convince yourself that you were still a child of the seven martyrs? how did you manage to keep yourself away from his many advances and sexual fantasies? from the trickery you bestowed upon yourself? you disgusting liar.

you hear raphael chuckle in between his low moans, and you hold onto him tighter. you don’t want to let go of the cambion you find yourself falling for every second.

you clench around raphael when he thrusts faster. you kiss his neck and moan into his skin, feeling the bliss of him. you want to cum so bad and so hard. you want to please him, to not anger him. you trail your kisses onto his chin, and he turns his head to kiss you again. you grab his cheek and slip your tongue into his mouth, fighting for some control. his tongue swirls around with yours and he groans into the kiss. he smacks your ass hard again, and you press yourself against him more. you clench around him again because of it, and it’s enough to almost send you over the edge. you moan into the kiss and pull away.

raphael grabs your chin and forces your mouth open, and you can barely stick your tongue out to meet his. you’re moaning as he sucks on the pink muscle and then spits right into your mouth. it drips down the side of your lips but you lick it. he did say to swallow it all.

“such a good little mouse,” he praises you, caressing your cheek.

you come to love the nickname. it turns you on and raphael can feel it. it’s starting to get difficult to breathe and raphael knows that you’re close. he lays you back down on the bed and spreads your legs wide. he doesn’t slow down. he slams into you like it’ll be the last time he’ll ever touch you. you can see stars when you close your eyes, and maybe his dick is so big you can feel it hit your stomach each time he goes in harder. your body tenses up and you start to cry again.

“i’m almost there, raphael!” you moan. “please, please don’t stop!”

you’re so sweet, so pitiful. he doesn’t plan on slowing down anytime soon. your begging is like a sonnet to his ears and he finds himself finishing inside of you. he stills and releases his hot load into you. you cry and shake, and soon you cum too. you grip the sheets and feel your life escape from your body. a feeling unimaginable; an orgasm so hard and beautiful. your back collapses onto the bed and you start to pant heavily. raphael slips out of you and uses a finger to feel the inside of your cunt. you were filled so much it wouldn’t stop leaking out of you.

raphael gets off the bed and fixes his hair quickly. you watch him, still breathing heavily, as he moves some loose strands back behind his ear. he looks at your body and notices the state it was in. blood and cum was smeared all over your sweaty body. your hair stuck to your face and your lips were bruised and swollen from his kisses. with a snap of his fingers he could take you back to your camp and leave you like that. in another time, he will, but some things needed to be discussed with you first.

your legs were pressed tightly together, likely to keep his cum inside of you. you were already missing his heated embrace and fervent kisses. you reach out a hand to him, smiling a little. his heart warms just the tiniest bit and he goes to grab your hand.

“will you accept now?” he asks, dragging you to him. he picks you up and takes you to the large bath in the room. you are still blinded by your lust for him, and although your body aches and writhes in pain from his relentless fucking, you feel like you can think clearly.

raphael sits you down in his lap in the bath, and you relax into his touch. he shocks himself with his tenderness towards you, and it makes him want to gag. but he enjoys it. he enjoys doing this for you. when your mind starts to clear from the bath, you realize what he has done. and it hurts.

“i was only a girl before you came into my life and manipulated my parents,” you say. “and because of you, i had to grow up fast to protect my family. you act like their friend. you act like you care about them. even i fell for your tricks, raphael, and then i saw you for who you are when you asked my parents for my hand in marriage.”

you think back to that night; the night before you were kidnapped. when raphael had talked with your father via letters to allow him to marry you. and when he had come to your home that evening, and your father excitedly told you that raphael had some great news for you. that you would be betrothed to him, and you saw that flicker of the hells in his eyes. you first blamed it on the trick of the lights, but when raphael appeared after the nautiloid and took you to his house of hope for the first time and revealed himself to you… you knew you were doomed.

“you took everything from me tonight,” you continued. “my privacy, my virginity, my wings… i no longer have any solace or faith in the seven martyrs that rule mount celestia, but in you…”

you turn around and look at him. he has no expression on his face, and it doesn’t shock you. he couldn’t care about your feelings, and you knew that. so why do you lay your heart bare for him?

“i’m alone.”

raphael laughs and it burns a hole in your heart. “it hurts my heart so dearly to hear you say this, my little mouse. i do not need to repeat myself. you may have been a lost virgin with wings, but as long as you stay here with me, in my house of hope, then your wings will regrow.”

you look at him, trying to study his facial features. but they’re deceiving many a time, and so you don’t know what he truly is feeling. all you know is that he has taken everything from you, and now your new self belongs to him. you lean in and go to kiss him but he stops you by placing his hands on your lips.

“enough with the teasing, my dear…” he whispers in that voice you love so much. “tell me what i want to hear. tell me what your heart desires. what you wrote for me…”

your breath hitches in your throat. he moves his hand away to allow you to speak, and you inhale sharply. was it alright to do this? everybody would hate you. but it was okay. as long as you have raphael, nothing else matters.

“i’ll marry you, raphael,” you whisper back. “i want to be yours until my soul ceases to exist. i want to be with you always.”

you lean in closer, your lips hovering above his. still, you look into his eyes.

“i will make you king of the nine hells.”

and you kiss him. raphael embraces you fast and kisses you right back, pressing your body tightly up against his. there was no need for a contract when this was something coming from your heart. you truly wanted to do this. you wanted to be by his side, lavished in sex and diamonds. you want to be his consort or slave—it didn’t matter to you. you were his. and that was all you ever wanted since he first looked at you when you were fifteen. when he introduced himself to you under the guise of a wealthy man. who ever knew you would fall in love with the devil.

—

you return to camp clothed and ready to retire for the night. wyll spots you emerging from the area by the lake where you were last spotted, and runs over to you. he can smell the sulfur as soon as he stands in your vicinity, and a look of disgust arises on his facial features as he looks at you. you don’t even have time to say hello before he says anything.

“you’ve been gone for ages, tav!” he almost yells. you put your hands out in front of you to quiet him down so nobody would ask what the problem was.

“i’m sorry,” you say, but you don’t feel all that sorry.

“what business do you have with raphael?!”

you don’t say anything at first. you only look at him and shake your head, ignoring his question. you go to move past him, but he grabs your shoulder and forces you to stay. you wince in pain and quickly pull back. raphael’s bath helped but he wanted to remind you of his marks and power over you. now that you had promised to marry him once you see your parents again.

“it’s none of your business, wyll.”

“you don’t know what game you’re playing. i swear if you signed a deal with him or���“

“it was nothing like that! we just… have a history together.”

“and you hid it from us this whole time?”

“it’s nothing serious. he just so happens to know my parents and… wanted to ask me a few questions.”

oh, but it was far worse. you had made love to him, professed yourself to him, and accepted his marriage proposal. you would give him the crown of karsus and help him take over the nine hells. it was the worst plot to come from the son of mephistopheles. it was something wyll could not even begin to guess even if he tried. but your sternness and collective demeanor convinced him that it was nothing more than that.

he softens up again and clears his throat. “like what?”

you cross your arms and raise an eyebrow. “wyll.”

“i know i shouldn’t pry into your business, but when it comes to the devil, it’s difficult for me.”

you stare at him for a heartbeat before grabbing his hands with yours and squeezing them. you smile at him gently and rub the back of his hands with your thumbs. “whatever we talked about has no concern to you guys. it was a personal matter that didn’t involve you or the tadpoles. i promise you.”

a false promise. wyll had no choice but to believe you and thank you for your “honesty”. as he turns around to head to bed, you drop the smile and make your way to your tent with pain in between your legs. finally, you collapse into your bed and stare up at the fabric of your tent. raphael was in your mind. he will forever be in your mind. he is you, and you are him, forever.

i can’t stop listening to cowboy carter forgive me <3

[saratogaroadwrites]

For King and Country (82/122)

For King and Country | saratogaroad rating: T total wordcount:  280,466 characters: Evan Pettiwhisker Tildrum, Roland Crane, Aranella, Batu, Tani, Lofty, Leander Aristidies, Bracken Meadows relationships: Roland Crane & Evan Pettiwhisker Tildrum, Aranella & Evan Pettiwhisker Tildrum, Roland Crane & Aranella, Batu & Tani, Batu & Evan, Tani & Evan, Evan Pettiwhisker Tildrum & Lofty, Rolander other tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Mother-Son Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Place Slowly Becomes Home People Slowly Become Family, Found Family, For Want of A Nail warnings: none

Pulled from his world by mysterious powers, former president Roland Crane finds himself caught in the middle of a coup meant to take the life of the young King Evan Pettiwhisker Tildrum. Joining forces with Aranella, the pair of them set out to aid Evan in making his dream of a kingdom where everyone can live happily ever after a reality.

But the road to peace is a long and treacherous one and there is no promise of success in a world where darkness spreads ever thicker with each passing day. If they are to stand a chance, they must stand together, for king and for country.

(A retelling.)

=

“Aye, that was a fine meal,” Batu patted his belly, sitting back in his chair. “My compliments to the chef, Miss Aranella.”

Aranella smiled humbly. “Thank you, Batu. I’m no Floyd, but I can handle myself in a working kitchen. Certainly easier than trying to make something in the galley on the Eternity.”

“Wooden ships do have a certain…” Leander paused for a moment, then finished with a chuckle, “Disadvantage compared to metal ones, that is true.”

A laugh rippled down the table, coming the loudest from those who had had the pleasure of weeks at sea. There was something to be said about actually being able to cook instead of having to rely on dried and pre-prepared rations.

“There is that,” Evan agreed, his tail waving casually behind him as he grinned at Batu. “And I’m certain it helps that you don’t get airsick.”

“Oi!” Batu protested, though he was more amused than anything else. The group fell into a content silence with only the sounds of the Zippelin’s rotors to break the calm of the night. Across the table from Aranella, on Evan’s right side, Roland looked pensive. She frowned.

“Roland?”

“What?” he raised his head, then smiled quickly. “Sorry, just. Thinking. About what we’re going to do with Dell.”

The mood shifted. Everyone looked over to him, easy smiles fading away to pensive frowns and furrowed brows. Taking a deep breath, Roland lay his hands on the table.

“I’m just going to come out and say it,” he said, “We’re out of time, and we’re out of options. If we’re going to deal with Dell diplomatically, we need to get the Mark.”

“Yes, but…” Evan’s ears folded back, “How are we supposed to get it? The Kingsway is locked, and the Mark itself is deep within the Castle. Even if we could get into the city, I don’t see how we can sneak that far in without being detected.”

“And it’s not the best idea to open a relationship by being sneaky like this,” Bracken said. She eyed Roland. “But I’m guessing you’ve got a plan?”

“I do,” He nodded. He took another deep breath and then said, “I’m going to turn on Evermore.”

Silence. For a few heartbeats, no one dared to breathe. Then, all at once, sound returned. Leander slapped his palm to his face as Lofty, Tani, and Batu all burst out laughing. Evan and Aranella shared a confused look. After a few seconds passed, Tani grabbed enough composure to giggle out,

“You, turn on Evan? Don’t be ridiculous! Nobody’d buy that!”

As if caught up in just how ridiculous it really all was, Tani fell back into peals of helpless laughter. Roland sighed, shaking his head faintly, and crossed his arms over his chest. Aranella knew he wasn’t the sort of man to joke about such a serious thing, and her eyes narrowed. He’d been serious? Lofty seemed to realize and stopped mid-laugh.

“Hang on!” He exclaimed, “Youer flippin’ serious?!” When Roland nodded and all laughter stopped, Lofty shook his head. “ Cor, but you don’t do anythin’ by halves, do you?!”

Roland shrugged. “Never have, never will.” A smile flickered across his face, there and gone in a heartbeat, before he glanced at Evan. “Not that I’m not touched by your faith in me, but this is something that has to be done.”

“Except it wouldn’t work,” Evan said firmly, “We know that you would never betray us, Roland. I’m fairly certain most of the townsfolk know that as well. Why would anyone believe that you had turned on us?”

“I’m hoping it would be out of desperation, honestly.” Roland replied. He lowered his arms and spoke seriously, “Whoever’s watching through the Prying Eyes is an agent for Dell, right? That’s what we’ve been thinking. That means that anything they can use, anyone they can use, they’re going to snatch up.”

Aranella sat up straight. He couldn’t mean—there was no possible way—

“Which means,” Roland said, “That if they think they can use a traitor, they’ll take them to Dell. It’s a way in without having to slip past the army.”

He did mean it.

“Have you completely lost your mind?” She asked incredulously, “Going in to Dell alone? Have you forgotten what Mausinger did?”

“Of course not,” Roland frowned, “but what other options do we have? Attacking them head on isn’t an option, and it’s like you said,” he turned to Evan, “Even if we could somehow get in undetected, it’s a lot of castle to get through. This is our best chance.”

“No,” Evan said firmly, “No. It’s too dangerous. I can’t let you do this.”

“Evan--”

“No.” Evan repeated. His lower lip quivered as he seemed to force himself to breath deeply. Aranella reached out and laid a hand on his arm, but he didn’t seem to notice. Composing himself, he looked to Roland. “If Mausinger discovers this ruse, he’ll…you’ll be…” He shook his head. “I’m not willing to risk that.”

Roland’s face softened. “I know you’re not. And I’m not saying this to be reckless, Evan. I’m saying it because it’s the only option we still have available.” He spread his hands as he spoke. “Without the Mark, we have nothing to offer to Dell. If we have nothing to offer, they have no reason to come to the table, and we stand no chance of brokering a peace. If we can’t do that, then…”

“War.” Evan swallowed hard, squeezing his eyes shut. “I just…I can’t…”

“Hey.” Roland reached out, putting a hand on Evan’s shoulder. “None of that. You’re not going to get rid of me that easily.”

“Does it have to be you?” Tani asked with a serious expression on her face. “Sure, somebody’s gotta go in and get the stupid thing, but why can’t it be one of us instead?”

“No one else would be believed, I am afraid,” Leander said, removing his glasses. “Lady Aranella would never turn on Evan, and the rest of us do not have enough information to offer a new master. I doubt the Higgledies would be able to do what is required, either.” As a squeaky protest went up around the table, he sighed. “Roland is our only option.”

Evan shook his head. “There has to be another way. Surely,” He looked up and down the table, taking in the grimaces on everyone’s faces. “Surely, this cannot be the only option we have available!” He turned to Roland and pleaded, “…Can it?”

“I’m sorry, Evan,” he said, “but this is it. And if we don’t move now, we’ll lose whatever chance we have of catching Mausinger before he moves. It’s risky, I’ll give you that, but…” He shrugged helplessly. “We’ve pulled off harder things before. This can’t be as hard as fighting a dragon.”

“Aye,” Batu said, “but when we tussled with the Windwyrm, there were the five of us with weapons and armor. This’ll be like chargin’ into a Wyvern den unarmed and unarmored. Ye can go in, make a right ruckus, and take a few of the blasted sods down with ye, but gettin’ back out?” He shook his head. “Chances o’that are slim to none, lad.”

“Then maybe you should bet against me,” Roland said, raising an eyebrow. “That way I’ll walk back out for sure.”

Batu’s protest was without heat. A smile flickered across Evan’s face as he took a deep breath and held it, before it disappeared as he exhaled.

“Alright,” he said in a small voice. “I understand. But please,” When he looked up, his eyes were full of resolve. “Walk us through your plan. If we are to make this work, we all need to know our roles.”

“Of course,” Roland said, his soft smile dropping away. He laid his hands, palms down, on the table. “My plan is pretty simple, but I’ll need your help, Leander.” When Leander inclined his head he continued, “I’ll need to be seen taking supplies and reports to an unknown person, someone maybe a little shady, so that the idea that I’ve turned on Evermore actually gets out. This’ll need to happen in full view of a guard rotation, so…”

“One of the storerooms,” Tani chimed in. She turned to Batu and asked, “There’s a patrol on the west side that goes by around midnight, yeah? What about assigning Munokhoi to that?”

“Aye,” Batu nodded, “He’s the loyal sort. He sees any sort o’treachery afoot, he’d come and tell me quick as lightnin’. After that…well, I s’pose I���d have to look into it for meself. Catch sight o’ Roland turnin’ on us.”

“After that,” Aranella crossed her arms, tapping her fingers along her elbow, “If you were to confront Roland in full view of a Prying Eye, the spy would see it all. And, if this confrontation were to happen in the throne room, with the rest of us all in attendance…”

“There would be no choice but to exile a traitor.” Evan swallowed hard. Normally the pride in Roland’s eyes would have had him sitting up straighter, Aranella thought, but at that moment in time it seemed only to make him slump further. Still, he nodded. “Alright. That will have to be how you get in to Dell, but how will you get back out?”

“Leave that to me,” Bracken said, “The actual getting out will be on you, Roland, but I can rig up a few things that’ll help. Smoke grenades, flash-bangs, that kind of thing.” She smirked. “Maybe even a pill that’ll turn you into a frog or something. Slip out through the waterways and you won’t have any trouble.”

Roland coughed to hide a laugh. “Right. I’ll leave that in your hands, then. Anyway,” he turned back to Evan, “Once I’m out of the city, I’ll make my way back to Evermore. It may take some time, but I’ll come home.”

The meal sat heavy in Aranella’s stomach as she watched Evan nod, his hands shaking even as he clasped them together. He couldn’t lose another father. Not like this, not to Mausinger. If he did, then…

She didn’t want to consider it. She didn’t want to consider what would happen to her son if he lost Roland now.

That, she decided, was a path they were never going to tread. No matter what it took, she told herself, Roland was going to come home.

Even if she had to burn Dell to the ground to bring him back.

[hansensgirl]

baby, but you.

summary. | He hopes you can feel it, because nobody else can heal it but you. Baby, but you.

warnings. | smut, hate fucking (ish), enemies to lover, slight angst, birthdays, degradation, praise, spitting, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, rough sex, yearning, crushing, riding, couch sex, breeding, possessiveness, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI AND DO NOT REPOST MY STORIES.

word count. | 3.6k

pairings. | Bucky Barnes x Reader.

a/n. | happy birthday @asadmarveltrashbag ilysm!!! thank you so much for being there for me since like day one, for being such a good role model and for just being amazing. thank you so much for listening to me rant and giving me advice, i’m so grateful for you. i hope your birthday is amazing today, i love you so much!! don’t forget to reblog! if you take ANY inspiration from my fics (and i’ll know, trust me) and you don’t give credit, you will be blocked and i’ll let others know.

He stands afar from you. A cold, calculated stare that you’re almost tempted to challenge with your killer one. There are only about two and a half meters of space separating you two, and even that’s not enough. You’re like a cat and a dog, constantly fighting about God knows what. Sometimes it’s the stupidest of things; other times, it’s the most reasonable. Either he has the television on too loud, or you come home too late. The other neighbours… Well, frankly, they don’t live here anymore.

It’s because they can’t handle his screaming when he has nightmares. You scoffed when you first heard it from your landlord, finding it absolutely insane that nobody is used to the sounds of a nightmare. As if they’re any better. You handle it like a champion, simply just putting on earbuds and your favourite songs at the lowest volume until you fall asleep. You almost feel bad for him when you see him with deep bags under his eyes.

But one short, snarky remark from him has the sympathy in you draining. Almost like the way his hands are the palest colour ever, and his skin doesn’t have the redness it should have. Almost as if the colours on a painting have been scraped off. You shouldn’t be noticing these things, really, but you just can’t help it. He’s almost a shell of the man he once was, at least in his words, but you believe that with some care (not from your hands, ew), he’ll be back to normal.

He shouldn’t notice the way you sigh every time you get home. The way you drag yourself through the carpeted hallway, out from the metal box that Bucky doesn’t trust. He doesn’t charge anything that has to do with heights, so that’s why he’s settled for the second floor. The drop in his stomach brings back so many memories that he can’t bear to remember.

Sometimes, he picks up the rumble of your stomach that he knows you’re embarrassed about, only because when it happens, you become the most fearful sailor to ever cross the shore. You always arrive right before Bucky falls asleep, leaving him at peace. ...No, no, no. It’s not like that. He totally doesn’t wait up until you come home safely before he can actually fall asleep so he can have a sense of calm. No, that’s absurd. Another absurd thing is the ungodly hour that you arrive home.

“Listen, you’re the one who bumped into me, okay? Let���s just leave it at that,” you huff, swinging your keychain between your fingers. Your digits are so soft, only ever coarse when you touch the skin between them. His hands, however, are almost the opposite. They’re rough and dry, but the crevices are a bit damp with sweat from pure nervousness. “No, no, you bumped into me, and we’re going to leave it at that, okay? Okay,” he nods, even though he’s talking to you.

“No, you bumped into me, and that’s that. Goodbye, Mr. Barnes,” you finish, throwing your bag over your shoulder and stomping down the hallways. You don’t look back once, simply just strutting your way to that darned elevator that you loathe. Suddenly, a hand wraps around your arm and turns you around. “I didn’t say you could go; we’re not done until I say we’re done,” he growls, gripping your arm tight enough to have you whimpering.

“No, fuck you. I’m tired of constantly listening to you bitch and moan about things that aren’t even my fault. God, it’s like you’re twenty fucking years old with no maturity, it’s fucking pathetic,” you spit, trying to yank your arm away. But compared to a supersoldier, your strength is equal to a cool spring breeze hitting a concrete building—basically nothing. Bucky’s chest heaves, and for a moment, you’re scared.

But even though he has a temper, he could never hurt you. He’s not the Winter Soldier; you’re sure of it.

His jaw clenches, and you stare at him intensely. Work is long forgotten, just like the fact that today is your birthday. That nervous, jittery feeling that would pool in the pits of your soul isn’t there. You wonder if it’s because you’re all grown up now, or maybe it’s because you’ve been so busy that your birthday seems like any other day in your eyes. Your eyes fall to his lips, almost on instinct. They’re pink and plump, slightly damp from the wetness on his tongue.

He gently pushes you inside his home, and you stumble back in shock. “I have to go to work–” you start, but he cuts you off. “I don’t give a shit. I need to teach you a lesson,” he snaps, pulling off his leather jacket. It has blue hues to it, sometimes grey if shone under the correct lighting. It’s overall black, suiting that dark soul of his that some people claim he has. You keep your mouth shut, clutching onto the strap of your backpack that rests on your right shoulder.

Suddenly, that fiery haze of yours has faded out, and you just watch him dumbfounded. Your jaw is slightly slack, but your eyes aren’t bulging out. Bucky pulls off the unusual leather gloves that always seemed to be a little too big on him. The space between his fingers and the cloth is always too much, and you even contemplated ‘accidentally’ giving him a new, better-fitting pair.

They flop onto the floor with an almost laughable sound, but you know you shouldn’t even dare to crack a smile. “Always going on and on about something. You just need to be shut up for once, don’t you?” Bucky questions, snapping his head towards you. “N- No…” you whisper, looking down to the ground. Suddenly, you prefer looking at wood floors to handsome men such as Bucky.

“Oh… Right, I forgot. You don’t know what’s good for you, that’s why you go to work and come home so late in the night. Bet you don’t have any time to fuck around with those pathetic twenty-year-old douchebags. That’s why you touch that little pussy of yours before you head to work, right?” he questions, and you gulp thickly.

Did he really hear it all?

“Please, I heard the way you finger fuck yourself in the shower all the way here. You really need to learn how to properly lock your door. You’re lucky those old ladies were here when I heard you, or else I would’ve come all the way over there and taught you a real good lesson,” he snaps, and you genuinely feel like doubting every little thing you do. “And you know what’s so funny, doll? I even hear the way you moan my name when you’re about to come,” he whispers, standing so close to you, and you wonder how he even managed to get here.

Your faces are inches away, His warm breath fans against your skin, and Bucky can feel the nervousness seeping through your pores. “Need a refresher? Or are you just going to stay quiet?” he questions, raising his eyebrows. He has a stupid smile on his face, and you’re not sure whether you want to kiss him or slap him. Both seem very appealing, but God, that devil on your shoulder always did have a loud voice.

Your bag joins his gloves on the floor, and you tilt your head upwards to kiss him. Your lips slowly slot against his, the taste of stale coffee immediately fills your mouth as Bucky shoves his tongue past your lips. He cups the side on your face, and your hands remain bent in the air. You don’t know what to do with yourself, so you place them on his shoulders, hoping for the best. He tenses up for a bit, and you start to pull away.

He doesn’t let you go too far. His hands keep you near him, and he stares into your eyes. Blue, blown-out orbs give Bucky an even darker look, and you’re practically sailing the same ship. “Don’t… Don’t go,” he whispers, leaning his forehead against yours. “I won’t, but-” you begin, but he cuts you off with an open-mouthed kiss. It’s so rough, so passionate. Teeth and tongues clash at each other, and you whimper against him as his hands move from your face.

They run down your body before gripping your hips and pulling you closer to him. His front presses against yours, and you can feel his defined muscles through that black t-shirt of his. You wrap your arms around his neck, such a simple act and yet he’s swooning like the lovesick fool he is. No, no, no, he’s not lovesick, and he’s not swooning. He’s just wanting, and that is all, just like you are.

You roll your hips for friction, desperate for something. The faint feeling of Bucky’s hard cock sends shivers down your spine, and you just know he’s huge. He could probably split you in two if he really wants to, and maybe it’s what you want as well. God, just the mental image of his cock sliding in and out of you is so pleasurable. Wetness soaks your panties, and you moan into his mouth.

“Say ‘ah,’ slut,” he mumbles before pulling away from the kiss again. You quickly do so and watch as Bucky puckers his bruised, red lips. You’re not sure what to expect; a stupid, silly kiss or something else. Your tongue is stretched out inside your mouth, and you wait for him as your chest rises and falls. Your eyes watch him as he spits into your mouth, a wad of spit dripping onto your tongue and your eyes nearly fall out of their sockets.

You quickly swallow it as if it’s some sort of antidote to an incurable disease. “Oh, you’re such a dirty fucking girl, aren’t you? I bet you’d let me do anything to you, right? Let me fuck you silly, throw you around, treat you like the spoiled brat you are,” Bucky growls with a fierce smirk on his stupidly gorgeous face. Sculpted by the Gods themselves, you wonder why the world has been so mean to him.

No, no, no, you don’t. You’re just desperate and needy.

“You really are stupid, and I haven’t even touched that little pussy of yours yet, and you can’t even answer a simple li’l question,” Bucky says out loud, expressing pure shame and disgrace. You shake your head before placing your hands back on his hard, defined chest. There’s a specific spot on his chest where the fabric is too sheer. You can see the way his soft hair has been shaved down to a mere stubble, and you wonder what he’d look like if it was grown out.

“I- I’m a dirty girl, I’d let you do anything to me, James,” you whisper to him, looking up at him with unintentional doe eyes. “I know, baby, I know,” he smirks before pushing you backwards. You expect to collide with the wooden floors harshly and startle the downstairs residents, or maybe even on a carpet that would try to break your fall but would end up failing.

You don’t expect to fall back onto a soft, cushioned couch. It’s more so an armchair that is a greyish-blue colour, one that you’d see and Ikea and want so bad, but you’d quickly change your mind once you see the whopping price it’s set at. Bucky towers over you, and you tilt your head up, still watching has the features of his face twitch a bit. His hands run down to your thighs, smoothing over the fabric of your jeans before his nimble yet strong, thick fingers reach to the button and zipper.

He makes quick work of stripping your clothes off for you, and you try your hardest to do the same for him. But flying, clashing hands that are oh so desperate can’t really do much. So as he pulls your wet panties down your feet, you hurriedly kick them to the floor. Bucky pulls his shirt over his head, and you’re not sure if you’ve lost it or if time truly has slowed down. You’re able to memorize each freckle, each scar, each mole and each muscle of his upper body.

He’s beautiful, absolutely beautiful. Though everyone has their measly little flaws that can be so bothersome, in your eyes, he has no flaws. “Fuck, you’re so fucking pretty, baby,” he breathlessly tells you, making you struggle to fight the cheerful smile that forces its way onto your face. “You’re pretty too, James,” you tell him, reaching backwards to unclasp your bra.

Now, there’s nothing special about it, really. It’s plain black, and in some areas, it physically pains you, leaving branded marks behind that feel good when you gently run your hands over them. Nonetheless, you look gorgeous with it on. But when it’s on the floor, treated like nothing, you’re even more beautiful. Your slick has stained your inner thighs with stickiness, and your clit throbs with need.

Bucky parts your legs, watching as strings of wetness pull apart from each other. “Fucking hell, is that all because of me, slut? Say it, tell me who you’re so wet for,” he demands, and your breathing hitches. “S’all for you, James, I’m so wet because of you,” you whisper to him, and he smirks devilishly. You clench around nothing but air, desperate for his cock to be inside you. “I want you so bad, James, please fuck me,” you beg to him desperately, and he chuckles.

Bucky goes to start taking off his pants, unbuckling his belt and pulling down the zipper that sometimes gets caught onto the fabric of his boxers a little too much. The black fabric slips off his skin like an extra layer of skin, and the sight of his hard cock beneath his briefs is so sexy. You let out a shaky breath, and you can just see how fucking huge he is. Impossibly long with a thickness that’ll leave you limping for at least a week or two.

“You know what’s so fucking hilarious, baby? Just moments ago, you were cursing me out, fuming at me and calling me pathetic, but look at you; you’re the pathetic one here. Practically drooling for my cock, so needy as soon as I put my hands on you,” Bucky scoffs, and you know he’s so right. He pulls down his boxers, and you watch as his cock springs out, slapping his lower abdomen and near his pretty Adonis bone.

He roughly pulls you up and sits down on the couch before dragging you onto his lap. You straddle the sides of his thick thighs, and his big cock presses right next to your pussy, between your legs. Beads of precum drip down the shaft of his cock, and some of it even sticks to your skin. “You want my cock, baby? Well, go ahead, you can have it,” he tells you, resting his hands on your hips.

You exhale nervously, knowing that his cock is gonna stretch you out so much, it’ll be borderline painful and pleasurable. You lift your hips up a bit, and Bucky’s hand grasps the base of his cock. He’s sticky and pulsating, a raging red that is almost purple if you squint your eyes enough. He drags it from your swollen little pearl all the way down to your drooling hole. The mild friction is absolutely amazing, making you moan softly.

Bucky shudders as he slowly pushes the tip of his cock inside of you. He almost wants to tease you so badly, make you beg for it until you’re sobbing and going all ditzy for him. But he’s not all the mean, and he can’t possibly be so cruel to the birthday girl. In one swift motion, Bucky pulls you down onto his cock, burying himself inside of you. You toss your head back and cry out as he stretches you painfully. The wet squelching pounds of your pussy are loud, but your moans are much louder.

He curses and bites down on his bottom lip, falling in love with the way your pussy hugs him tightly and the velvet feeling of your walls. No, no, no, he is not falling in love. He’s just desperate, that’s all. It takes you both a few seconds to adjust, and the painful stretch dulls down to immense pleasure. You struggle to control your breathing, though, because you’ve never taken anyone or anything as big and him. Months of wanting and needing him have finally come down to this, and you wouldn’t want it any other way.

He hopes you can feel it because nobody can heal it but you. Every single day he thinks about you, and his heart hurts. His heart hurts when he watches you leave and come home, it hurts when you both fight, and it hurts when he believes you could never love him. His mind still tells him that, and yet here you are, riding his cock on your birthday. He notices the way your bottom lip wobbles a bit, and he pities you.

“Shh, it’s okay, baby, you’re doing so good. Ride my cock, birthday girl, I know you can do it,” Bucky praises with the most innocent smile ever. You nod your head and slowly begin to rock your hips, moving them up and down his cock. Bucky is torn; he doesn’t know whether he should stare at your pretty face or at where you’re both connected. Your slick coats his cock and leaves it glistening, and he watches as it disappears and reappears over and over.

His hand returns back onto your hips, and he gently guides you up and down his cock. Your pained whimpers soon turn to loud, slutty, desperate moans, and Bucky begins to fuck up into your cunt, meeting you at every thrust. “Fuck, yeah, that’s my good girl. Riding my cock so fucking good,” Bucky coos, and you can’t help but giggle. Warmth fills your chest, and pleasure blooms immensely in your core, and it’s the exact same for Bucky.

His balls slap against your ass, and his cock drives in and out of you. You ride him at a quicker pace, moaning loudly, and he nudges against your sweet spot. “You look so fucking sexy riding my cock, baby. Could watch you forever an’ ever,” Bucky purrs, gripping your hips even tighter. Electricity crackles up your spine, almost like a burning wire in a destroyed fuse box. Everything is so sensitive, and the searing pleasure builds up inside the two of you.

Beads of sweat drip down your neck, and it is the same for Bucky. His skin shines just like his cock does, and the veins on the side of it throb with every movement. The wet noises and the sound of skin on skin fills the room almost impressively. The neighbours would’ve already filed noise complaints if they still lived here, but they don’t. So Bucky’ll fuck your brains out until you can’t make a sound.

“Fuck, you’re close, aren’t you? Can feel the way that nice little cunt is squeezin’ my cock,” he groans, staring up at you with his jaw slightly slacked. Your eyes have glazed over, and you stare at Bucky’s face. You ride him using his dick for all your needs and wants. It’s just like you’ve imagined, even down to the pleasure you’re feeling. “Mhm, gonna come all over your big cock,” you whimper at a specific thrust.

And he’s close too. Though the serum should make him last longer, your pussy just defies those rules. He fucks into you faster and rougher, and your legs have turned to jelly. You collapse onto his chest and let him pound your pussy into oblivion. Bucky’s chest rumbles with a chain of moan and curses, and you look up at him. His metal arm is icy cold, just like his eyes. But his orbs are darker than regular ice. They resemble black ice more than anything.

The elastic band in your stomach twists up tightly until it can’t do anything but snap. And so it does. The dam breaks, and you’re suddenly coming around Bucky’s cock. Your cum coats his cock and drips down his balls as your body seizes up. Your jaw falls open, and your eyes roll back while you moan loudly. “Fuck, you look so pretty when you come,” Bucky breathes, letting your head fall into the crook of his neck.

You cry out loudly as Bucky sloppily fucks you through your orgasm and chases his own. “I’m gonna fill you up with my cum, knock you up with my kids. Fuck, you’d look so hot with a bump, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off of your body,” he moans deeply, feeling his balls tighten up. He tosses his head back and curses, hitting his release. Ropes of cum shoot inside your cunt, painting your walls and even leaking out a bit. Somewhere, deep down inside Bucky, he truly hopes it sticks.

He moans loudly as his hips give a few shallow thrusts, prolonging his orgasm. You both sigh, slick with sweat and other bodily fluids that neither of you cares about. “Happy birthday…” Bucky whispers, pressing a kiss on the side of your head. “T- Thank you… How’d you know, though?” you question, even though his cock is still inside you. “Just did… Listen, I’m sorry–” he starts, but you cut him off. “Shh, I don’t care about anything but you, baby,” you tell him, whispering gently.

“Baby, but you.”

[starks-hero]

Right a Wrong

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: You, Sam and Bucky get to work repairing Sam’s family boat. Turns out the boat isn’t the only thing in need of fixing. But with help from you and Sam, Bucky figures some stuff out.

Word Count: 3,745

Warnings: a bit of a make-out session but not enough to be classed as smut, tfatws spoilers! 1x05

a/n: This is a direct result of watching episode 5 too many times. Spoilers below!

|| Part Two ||

Small waves lapped gently against the dock and the afternoon sun warmed your back as you worked on the old boat.

You were standing side by side with Bucky, crowbar in hand as you attempted to pry off the old metal cleats from the boats side, whilst he expertly pulled rusted pipes apart and threw them into a pile. As if on queue, one of the pipes on the opposite side of the ship burst, hissing and spurting out white clouds of steam. You marvelled at how quickly Bucky reacted, quickly crossing the deck and sealing the leak with an abrupt upward turn of the pipe with his metal arm.

"Where did you learn so much about fixing boats?" You teased, motioning to the now fixed pipe with your crowbar. Bucky dusted off his hands.

"I used to work on the docks in Brooklyn before the war." He shrugged, rolling up his sleeves to the elbow and taking a seat on a crate next to you. "I picked up a few things."

He furthered his point by leaning over and pulling at the cleat you'd been grappling with. It came away from where it was attached to the boat's side with ease in Buckys iron grip. He smirked as he tossed the scrap aside and you rolled your eyes.

"Show off."

Bucky chuckled, sitting back as Sam stepped onto the boat. He was carrying a crate in one hand and shook his head when he noticed Bucky's smirk and your dismissive smile.

"Alright, you two." He placed the crate down and pulled out two green bottles, throwing one to Bucky and handing you the other. "Beer break."

Sam took a seat across from you both and you sighed as you opened your beer, raising it up to Bucky.

His annoyance was discredited by the fond smile that broke through his expression as he begrudgingly clinked his bottle with yours. You reached over and did the same with Sam as the three of you relaxed under the heat of the Louisiana sun.

"It's starting to look good," you noted as you glanced around the boat and Sam smiled.

"Yeah, it's coming together." He took a swig of his beer. "You know, Sarah and I were talking." He started and both you and Bucky glanced up at him. "And we could use the help. Don't suppose you two would consider staying around a while? Just till we get a lead on Karli."

The offer caused a noticeable smile to pull at your lips whilst Bucky shifted beside you at Sam's words. His agitation grew and he stood.

"I've got my plane to catch tomorrow, a hotel room for the night," he said, raising his bottle to his lips to hide his doubt. He really didn't have that much of a plan beyond that.

"You're just gonna set me up like that, huh?" Sam asked and Bucky shrugged.

"Well, I don't want to make it weird for your family."

"Just stay here," Sam said and you couldn't help but nod subconsciously. The truth was you really didn't really want to leave. There was something about staying with the Wilson's and spending the day fixing up an old run-down family boat that made everything seem so normal. It gave you a sense of home, a sense of normality that you hadn't had in a long time. For a while, it even made you forget about the flag smashers, Walker, all of it. It was a much-needed break.

"The people in this town are the most welcoming in the world. They don't care if you wear small t-shirts or if you've got six toes or if your mom is your aunt-"

You laughed and Bucky barely hid a chuckle behind a huff of breath and a bright smile.

"Okay, I get it. The people are nice."

You placed your bottle aside and turned to Sam.

"You're sure Sarah doesn't mind?" you asked and Sam's smile only widened.

"She's the one that offered."

Grinning, you sat back and nodded. "Then I don't see why not."

"See?" Sam pointed to you and then Bucky. "Just stay, man."

Bucky shuffled his feet for a moment before finally answering with a begrudging, "Okay. Alright." He didn't say anything else as he turned and walked down the boat.

"He'll come around. He probably just wants his space." You said, picking up your beer. Sam nodded, taking a swig of his own drink.

"I hope you're right."

You woke up feeling more refreshed than you had in a while. Your hands and back hurt slightly from the tiring work on the boat, but it was a dull ache compared to the constant throbbing that came after a mission. Your cheeks were warm, surely as a result of the hours spent out in the sun the day before.

Both you and Bucky stayed the night. Sarah had offered you the spare room and after a solid fifteen minutes of bickering, you finally conceded to Bucky and agreed to sleep in the guest bed. He took the couch.

The sun was just beginning to rise up over the water when you and Bucky both headed back out to the boat. Sam joined you not long after. You worked until mid-afternoon, reluctantly taking short breaks. You fell into a quick rhythm as you worked around the boat. Surprisingly, the three of you seemed to make a pretty decent team off of the battlefield.

"Hey, can you pass me a 12-300?" Sam asked from under the boat's control panel. Bucky reached into the toolbox and placed the wrench in Sam's outstretched hand. A few seconds later Sam was rolling out from under the controls and glaring disapprovingly at Bucky.

"What?"

"I asked for a 12-300," Sam stated plainly. "This is a 10-250."

"No, it's not." Bucky bit back.

"Yes, it is."

"No, it's not!"

"Hey, geniuses." You cut their bickering short as both men turned to look at you. You held up the grease-slick wrench that had been misplaced and tossed it to Sam. "You left it below deck when you were working on the engine."

Sam muttered a quiet 'thanks' as he got back to work. Silence settled over the three of you for a few minutes until Sam decided it was getting awkward.

"So, are you still planning on leaving tonight?" He asked from under the station and Bucky nodded, before realising Sam couldn't see him.

"Yeah," he said loud enough for Sam to hear. "I'll be out of your way soon."

You could hear Sam's sigh from beneath you as he clambered back to his feet and stood between you and the super-soldier leaning against the wall of the cabin.

"Well, there's no hurry."

Sam didn't say anything else as he cleaned the oil and grease from his hands with a cloth and stepped off the boat. Bucky sighed and let his head fall back behind him.

"Go," you ordered plainly and he looked up at you.

"What?"

"Go," you said again, nodding your head towards where Sam was walking away. "You both need to talk. Bucky, whatever you're not saying, it's getting to you. So go talk to him."

Bucky hesitated, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He glared at nothing in particular but his gaze softened when it found you and he muttered a quiet, 'fine.' You stepped aside as he made his way past you and stepped up onto the dock, heading after Sam.

"And don't be a smart ass!" You called after him. He didn't reply, but you could only hope that Sam and Bucky's conversation would be somewhat constructive.

"Nice shot!" You retrieved the football from the back of the goal as Cass, Sam's eldest nephew, celebrated his score.

Once Sam and Bucky had left the boat, you had headed back to the house, helping Sarah with any errands or chores, doing anything you could to help out. Sam and Bucky had been gone a little over an hour and you didn't know if that meant their talk was going very well or very not. You'd been sitting rather uselessly on the couch, waiting in anticipation, when Sam's nephews had invited you to play a game of football. And how could you refuse?

You tossed the ball back to the boys who eagerly pounced at it. You were stood in the small goal, allowing both boys to take as many shots as they wanted. AJ stepped forward and kicked the ball, groaning when it flew off to the left, a few meters away from where you were standing and missed the net entirely. He glanced down at the ground, disheartened.

“Hey, it's alright, AJ.” You smiled as you ran to grab the ball and passed it back to him. “Come on, try again.”

With encouragement from his brother, he took the shot and this time the ball planted itself in the top corner of the goal. Both boys cheered as they celebrated and you smiled. You dusted yourself off, your knees and hands covered in dust from the football game as you turned to head back inside the house. Both boys protested as you left but you promised them you'd be back. The more time you spent with AJ, Cass, Sam and Sarah, the more you didn't want to leave. There was something about staying with the Wilson's that made you feel content. It was homely and offered a sense of normality that the last few weeks had caused you to miss.

You entered the kitchen and poured yourself a glass of water. Sarah had told you over and over again to help yourself to anything in the kitchen. You leaned against the counter, glass in hand and just basked in the feeling of not having to worry about donning a suit and risking your life at a moments notice. It was something you could get used to.

“That was adorable.”

Your head snapped up at the sound of a voice and you found Bucky joining you in the kitchen. He was smirking fondly.

“You and the boys.”

You chuckled softly and shrugged. “They're sweet kids.”

Bucky nodded, pulling a glass of his own from the shelf and filling it with water from the tap. It furthered the sense of domesticity that you were really starting to love. He took a seat at the table across from you.

“So,” you started as you placed your own glass aside. “How did it go? You and Sam.”

Bucky chuckled and you couldn't tell if it was sarcastic or genuine, but something about the grin that lingered on his lips had you banking on the latter.

‘‘Not bad,” he admitted eventually with a shrug. He hesitated for a moment before continuing. “We talked. He said if I'm going to fix anything, if I'm going to get what's left of him out of my mind.” Bucky subconsciously ran his hand across his temple. “I'm going to have to put in the work. Help the people I wronged instead of just saying sorry.”

You nodded, silently making a note to thank Sam later on. He always had a way with words, he could always get through to people. That's why he was given the shield.

“He's got a point.”

Bucky scoffed and hung his head at your words. “I should have known you'd be on his side.” There was no hostility in his words. He just sounded amused, and maybe a little tired.

“I don't think this comes down to whose side I'm on, Bucky. We both want what's best for you.” You answered honestly and Bucky glimpsed up at you. He anxiously toyed with his hands as you spoke, looking vulnerable, and slightly lost despite how hard he tried to hide it. You knew Sam had already spoken to him, but it couldn't hurt for you to say something as well.

“Look Bucky, telling yourself that you're okay and that everything that happened doesn't matter anymore because you've made 'amends' isn't going to help.”

He sighed, shuffling his feet against the tiles of the kitchen floor. “I know,” he admitted quietly.

“And I know you're probably tired of hearing this but, you're not him anymore, Bucky. You're not the winter soldier. Everything you did whilst you were him wasn't your choice. Just because you remember it doesn't mean that it was your fault. It's not your responsibility to fix it.”

Bucky sighed but didn't interrupt. He was listening. This wasn't like the therapist that he was forced to sit in front of and lie to every other week. This was someone he trusted, someone whose words he valued. Someone he honestly believed could help. He sighed but nodded to show that he was still listening.

“I think Sam’s right,” you said. “It might not be your responsibility to fix everything that went wrong but trying could help. It could give you that closure that you keep chasing after. You need to let go, Bucky. You need to forgive yourself. Maybe you just need the people who are hurting to forgive you first. Then you can learn how to do the same.”

Bucky's expression was unreadable. So many emotions flashed across his eyes you found it difficult to pinpoint just one.

“How do I start?” he asked quietly. It just seemed impossible. There were so many people he'd hurt, so many people he'd wronged. He'd left children as orphans, wives as widows and parents childless. How could he possibly start trying to fix or make all those people feel in any way better?

You smiled softly at his question. “Small. One at a time,” you said simply. “Then just keep putting one in front of the other.”

Bucky considered your words, glancing down at his hands as he thought. Before long, a small smirk pulled at his lips.

“I can't decide who'd make a better therapist. You or Sam,” he joked and you laughed, shaking your head dismissively.

“Well, Sam did council veterans so I think he takes that title.”

“I'd say it's pretty tied,” Bucky said, walking across the kitchen and standing next to you as he washed his glass, drying it off and placing it back on the shelf. The room fell into a comfortable silence.

“Thank you, Y/N.” He said after a moment, his tone sincere and his expression genuine as he looked at you. You nodded, gently placing your hand against his shoulder.

“Don't mention it. You know I'm always here if you need to talk.”

The sound of a football colliding with the wall dangerously close to the window followed by two voice's loudly shouting, 'sorry!' in unison drew a quaint laugh from you both.

“Duty calls.” You grinned, patting Bucky on the back as you passed him. “Team Wilson is missing its goalkeeper.”

Bucky chuckled, watching you go. You crossed the kitchen but his voice stopped you just as your hand reached the doors handle.

“Y/N?”

You turned back around to face him and couldn't help but notice that he seemed a little more apprehensive than he had before.

“Yeah?”

He exhaled slowly, willing himself to tell you what was on his mind.

“I was just thinking things over and you know, I’m leaving today,” he hesitated slightly before glancing up at you. “And I guess I was wondering if you’d come with me?”

Your hand slipped from where it was still holding the brass handle of the door. You tilted your head as your mind fully processed his question. The shock must have been evident in your expression as Bucky rushed to continue.

“I know you're planning on staying here and I get why.” He pulled a tattered red book from his pocket which you immediately recognized as Steve’s. He began absentmindedly turning the pages, running his fingers over the paper. “I want to try and start fixing things, making things right. But truth is I have no idea where to start. I thought that maybe you could help me with that?”

“I thought you wanted your space," you admitted after a moment.

“No.” He shook his head. “That's the last thing I want.”

You thought it over, resting your back against the door. Bucky trusted you, evidently a lot more than you thought he did. Not only was he comfortable enough telling you how he felt and admitting he didn't know what to do next. But he also wanted you with him. It was clear he was holding back, not wanting to overwhelm you by admitting just how badly he wanted you to go with him. But the way he eagerly watched you as he waited patiently for your answer was a dead give away.

You wanted to help Bucky, you wanted to be there for him. If that meant helping him right his wrongs and staying with him during that trying time, at least until Sam got a lead on Karli and the Flag Smashers, then you were more than happy to comply.

“You're sure about this?” you asked and Bucky pushed off the counter and crossed the room, stopping just in front of you.

“Absolutely.” His voice dropped down to a hushed whisper. “Come with me.” His hand gently caught your wrist, his fingers running up your arm. His face was inches from yours now, your breaths mingling. “Please?”

His lips pressed to yours before you could answer and you immediately kissed back. Your hand fell against his shoulder, the other laying gently against the nape of his neck. He groaned quietly against you, his arms finding your waist as he gently guided you backwards till your back met the wall. He pressed into you, his hands roaming up your body and you moaned as he deepened the kiss.

“Yes.” You answered when he pulled away slightly and he smiled against you, relieved. Neither of you said anything else as Bucky sighed and pulled you closer, his thigh slipping between your legs as he pinned you to the wall.

God, he'd wanted to do this for so long. Wanted to kiss you, to feel you against him. He wanted you. Your hand slipped into his hair and you pulled him closer, smirking against him. You'd wanted this just as bad. And you both only had your own stubbornness to blame for taking so damn long. It didn't matter now though. Not as he gently bit down on your lower lip and you slipped your hand under his shirt and felt up his chest. It all felt so natural, so right.

“Ten minutes.”

Both your eyes flew open at the all too familiar voice, Bucky pulling away from you so quickly he only barely avoided falling over a nearby chair.

“I left you two alone to talk for ten minutes,” Sam repeated from where he was standing on the other side of the room, his arms crossed. You tried to subtly smoothen out your clothes whilst Bucky ran his hand through his tangled hair.

“We were,” Bucky said, clearing his throat. “We were talking. We...talked.”

Sam nodded, entirely unconvinced, and smirked. He reclined against the counter, showing no sign of leaving anytime soon. A painfully awkward silence settled over the kitchen as Sam continued to shift his knowing stare from you to Bucky.

The humiliation of the entire situation seemed to get to Bucky first as he clasped his hands together after less than a minute.

“You know, what? I'm leaving in a few hours and I've got to pack so I better just go-” Bucky rambled as he shot you a subtle apologetic look before turning to Sam, who was nodding along in faux agreement to his pathetic attempt of an excuse.

Bucky quickly crossed the kitchen, Sam harshly patting him on the back as he passed him and left the room. Leaving just you and Sam alone. You turned to your friend and found that he was still grinning at you with that same mischievous look in his eyes. You felt like a deer in headlights. In an attempt to act as though Sam hadn't just walked in on you and Bucky making out, you tried making normal conversation.

“Sam, there was actually something I wanted to tell you. I know I said I was going to stay for a while but I guess there's been a change of plan. I-”

“I know.” He cut you off and his smile only widened when you looked at him in utter confusion. “You honestly think he would have asked you to go with him if I didn't tell him to get his shit together first?”

Your confusion slowly melted away and was replaced with a look of disbelief. You laughed despite yourself. You should have known Sam had something to do with it. ‘‘How long have you been playing cupid?” you asked jokingly and Sam chuckled.

“He needs you, Y/N. More than he wants to admit,” Sam said, tone now more serious than before. “Things will be fine here, I'll call you as soon as Torres finds us something to work with. But right now, he needs your help before that hole he's stuck in gets too deep for him to climb out of.”

You sighed as the weight of Sam's words set in. He was right, Bucky really did need you. That wasn't a responsibility you could afford to take lightly. Not that you planned to.

“Thanks, Sam,” you said genuinely and Sam smirked as he crossed the room and pulled you into a hug. He could tell you needed it.

“Anytime.” He pulled away and offered you a warning glare. “But I swear, if you two making out the minute I turn my back becomes a regular thing I'm going to kick both your asses.”

“Got it,” you nodded, barely stifling a laugh.

Sam's scowl melted into a smile and he motioned towards the stairs. “Go on, get your things together. You've got a plane to catch in a few hours.”

You smiled and headed upstairs after Bucky. Sam leaned against the counter with his arms crossed and a satisfied smile. Getting you two together had taken more work than he'd thought. But he knew it would be worth it, you both needed each other. Whether you were willing to admit it or not. And Sam was confident that if there was anyone that could help Bucky and offer him that sense of home and peace that he was so desperately craving, it was you.

tag list: @bakerstreethound​ @miraclesoflove​ @doozywoozy​ @kealohilani-tepise

[themrsackerman]

Angel of Paradis

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Reader

Warnings: Spoilers from Season 4. Mentions of gun violence, blood, death

A/N: Now I know EP8 is only the beginning of the end but goddamn it hurts!! I love potato girl and losing her just tore me to bits. So here, take this. Its my way of coping I guess..

Levi is pissed off. From the start, he disliked the plan but it wasn't like Eren gave you all much of a choice. So the moment the kid got on the airship, he was welcomed with one of the captain's infamous kicks. The cockpit wall quakes with the impact and Hange sighs, shooting you a look. "I think you need to get out there and make sure Levi doesn't kill Eren, Y/n." She says exasperatedly and you nod, rising from your seat next to Onyankopon.

"I'll be right back." You say and she flashes you a knowing grin, shaking her head slightly. Even the commander knows you're the only one who could reign in the Levi Ackerman.

You see Levi on the corner glaring at Eren as he was being tied up. You sigh heavily, seeing Eren steaming as he heals. Jaw probably unhinged from the captain's kick. You sat beside him on the bench and pulled out a handkerchief, wiping his face clean from dirt and blood.

"Y/n-san." He greets you monotonously and you gave him a kind smile. "Hey, kid." You greet back, tucking loose strands of his now long hair behind his ear.

Your heart aches at the sight. He used to have so much fire, had the same will to fight for humanity that you only ever saw in your mentor, Erwin. Now all you see is ember of pure hatred and cold blooded need for revenge. "I'm glad you're okay." You murmur. Eren's blank stare softens for a second and a small smile hints the corner of his mouth. "Glad to see you too, Lieutenant." He says quietly and out of the corner of your eyes, you see Levi roll his eyes and make a disgruntled sound as he turns around.

You walk up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Levi meets your gaze with his dull gray ones for a second and sighs, his expression softening too. At this you smile a little and say, "We still have a long battle to fight ahead of us, Captain. Things might not have gone smoothly, but we won today." You remind him and as if proving your point, right on the other side of the ship you hear the soldiers celebrate as they reunite.

"You're right." He agrees. Levi then takes a deep breath and grabs the hand you placed on his shoulder so he can bring it to his face. He turns his head and placed a chaste kiss on your palm. Your heart flutters at the gesture. It isn't grand but was still something you couldn't quite get used to. You two never declared your love for one another, never really had the luxury of time or chance to do so, but small acts like this was enough to let you know that your presence provided him the calm he sorely needs. And that was all you want. Be his peace in this war.

"I'm going to check if the rest of the squad made it back up." You tell him, grazing your thumb on his lower lip and he reluctantly lets you go. "Be back as soon as you can. Meeting will start as soon as this fucking monkey heals enough." He says, cold glare flashing at the other Jaeger who is a pile of steam still laying on the ground. "Okay, I'll just check on Lima's squad. They're the last ones to be picked up supposedly." Levi nods again and watches you leave before turning to talk to Yelena.

You smile past Floch and the other soldiers who are weeping, hugging and making their tributes for those whom had fallen in battle. You then saw three of the soldiers you've grown close with through the years. They were huddled in the corner, sharing a hug.

You hear Jean say in protest, "Dont hug people with that lump ass iron gear on.", while shrugging off Connie's arm. You chuckle at this and tackled him back to the embrace. "Shut the hell up, Jean. I would take Connie's armored hugs any day!" To which the trio whines out, " Lieutenant Y/l/n!!" when you squished them tight.

Although the new gear designed by Hange was in deed not made for hugging, you four relaxed in the uncomfortable embrace. Grounded by the fact that you all made it safe despite the battle you had just gone through. Connie and Sasha smile up at you while Jean tries to still look annoyed, although the softness in his eyes says otherwise.

The soldiers left below start coming in and the cheering just grows even louder. You didn't have the heart to stop them because you yourself are quite happy that today was a success despite some casualties. Now, you have the War Hammer titan as well and were able to destroy the fleet. Now, the Eldians' chance stands higher against this damn war.

"Did you hear that just now?"

Sasha asks out of the blue and you turn to her in wonder. Honestly you couldn't hear anything but the soldiers celebrating. But out of the lot of you, you know Sasha's sense of hearing is far superior than all of you combined. So you take a step back from the crowd and actually looked around.

"Hey, quiet down!!"Jean yells over the chanting but Floch shouts, "Make some noise! Victory!!!" And was echoed by the rest as they embraced and pumped their fists in the air.

"Hey!" Jean tries again only to be pulled by Connie to the side to ask, "Isn't Lobov-san still out there?"

"No, I think he came aboard." Jean says thoughtfully and this was when something didn't sit quite right with you. Commander Lobov is a man that is hard to miss. And with his dedication to this mission to make up for his years being a useless garrison, he would be amongst the soldiers cheering the loudest for the said victory.

Your instincts has never failed you before and its the very reason why you are so good at your job and able to survive this long. But sometimes, you wish that your instincts aren't always right because you always perceive danger. And right now, every fiber of your being is telling you something is fucking wrong.

That if you were to look out the airship right now, you'll probably see the commander lifeless.

Or worse, an enemy may have made its way up to the ship.

Your blood runs cold for a split second before you acted purely out of instinct. You shove Sasha to the side, dreading as you head for the airship's side door and at the exact moment.. someone aboards.

Your gaze met the kid's muddy brown ones. It was determined, filled with fury and you saw that there isn't any trace of hesitation as her finger pulls the trigger. You knew you didn't stand a chance judging by look on her face and her sure aim on your torso. The word of warning you want to let out was caught in your throat as she fires.

You remember seeing those crazed brown eyes and then the ceiling of the airship the next. The sensation of what can only be compared to fire piercing your skin spreads through your chest and insides like molten metal. You hear the indistinct noise of the soldiers' voices grow louder yet muffled at the same time around you.

From happy cheers to manic, hysterical screaming.

You couldn't catch your breath at first and you aren't sure from which. Was it from falling flat on your back? Or was it the searing pain that made tears leak from your eyes?

And then above the chaos, you hear your three closest comrades call your name in unison.

"Lieutenant Y/n, hey!!!" Connie's frantic voice shrill through the limited space of the ship. "Hang in there, hey!" You feel him rattle you, placing his rough calloused hand against your cheek. Jean's panic stricken face comes to your field of vision and you whimper,  "A kid." You gasp. "In the airship."

"Bandages! Now! We need to stop the bleeding!" Jean commands shakily and the rest of the soldiers that aren't capturing the two intruders scramble to get the med kit and the captain.

"Y/n-san, please hold on until we make it to the island!!" Connie pleads but hopelessness crawls his veins as he sees your blood flood the wooden floors.

"Keep him safe." You whisper out to nobody. The captain in mind. Your eye lids grow heavy but you didn't want to close them. No. You can't die. You promised him.

"Don't you dare die on me, Y/l/n." His voice echoes in your mind, compelling you to keep breathing despite how excruciating it feels.

Sasha who was frozen at first, snapped out of her shock as she hears Connie's voice call your name out of sheer panic when your eyes fall close. She then runs to meet the soldier carrying the bandages and was at your side in an instant. With trembling hands, Sasha tries with all her might to wrap you up and stop the bleeding.

"No, no, no, no!!" She starts sobbing while watching the bandage turn red, your gushing blood seeping through no matter how tight she puts the wrap around you. "Y/n-san, no, you can't leave us like this." Sasha hiccups, wiping her tears hastily before grabbing your now cold clammy hand and pressing it to her face. "Please!" She cries, eyes falling close.

If you hadn't pushed her, if you didn't step in her place, it would have been her that got shot. Guilt rakes through her as she watches you desperately fight for your life.

You can feel yourself drifting and you felt helpless. You then meet Sasha's, Jean's and then Connie's gaze, muttering with your remaining strength, "Protect him." And it was no request but an order.

Jean stumbles away, his hands going over his ears, unable to stand your labored breaths and Connie and Sasha's whimpering. Jean felt like hurling when Floch turned the kids to him. The other responsible for you being on the brink of death.

But to those two kids, they are the enemies who wreck havoc to their hometown. Floch wanted to kill them and throw them out but what good would that do? Would taking their lives save yours? And knowing you, who practically treat soldiers like them like your kids even though you were just a few years older than them, you would be disappointed in him at the mere thought of hurting these kids.

Jean can almost hear your angelic voice, "They're just children." You would say. So with a vexed expression and heavy turmoil growing within him, he ties them up and led them to where the captain and commander are.

Jean swallows hard when the captain's cold gaze met his and asks, "Who are these kids?"

By the looks of it, he still does not know.

"They killed Lobov-san and used his gear to come aboard." A lump forms in his throat, suddenly can no longer meet the captain's gaze. "A-and this one here, she.. shot Lieutenant Y/l/n."

Levi's eyes widen. Did he just hear Jean correctly? You? Shot? You were with him just minutes ago. No, how is that possible?-

"Captain, I-I don't think she'll make it." He continues, voice faltering. The grievance in Jean's face make Levi's blood run cold. He stumbles forward a bit as Armin and Mikasa run past him but he seemed frozen in his tracks.

No.

You got hurt but you'll pull through this. You always have. You promised him. And you are one of the toughest people he knows.

Levi tries to convince himself as he glared back at Zeke. He tries to distract himself from the cold fear of losing you with the blinding rage he feels for the Beast Titan wielder. But then, the door swings open again and Levi felt something terribly wrong right away.

And when Connie appears with tears sliding down his face and says,

"Y/n-san.. is dead."

Levi's entire world shifts.

Everyone was shellshocked for a moment. Because how could you be gone just like that? When you were just with them just minutes ago providing comfort to all of them? Passing by and giving them a wave of peace and calmness like the angel that you are.

Hange wobbles, her knees growing weak and its as if someone had punched her in the chest. The pain reminiscent as the day she watched Moblit vanish before her eyes. You were her right hand woman. Her confidant.

Eren's head hung in disbelief. His mind clouded by your kind smile just earlier and telling him you're actually glad to see him. Him. The monster who had just devastated a whole town and killed probably thousands of people. He thought that by now, he'd have gotten used to losing the people around him but losing you is gutting him. Its was like losing family. A sister.

"Connie.. did Y/n-san have any last words?" He asks mindlessly, wanting to know what your last thoughts were. Connie blinks through his tears and his eyes drifts to the captain, whose face was undreadable and knuckles threatening to split open at how tightly his balled fists are clenched.

"She said.. 'Protect him.'" Connie mutters and Levi's facade breaks.

The mob of weeping soldiers parted as the captain staggers to the back of the ship where you lay. Armin and Mikasa were still curled up beside you, their faces red and puffy from wailing. Both of them reluctantly stood up and stepped away as he walks closer. His gaze was still trained on the ground as he puts one foot in front of the other.

He shudders and stop midstep as his foot steps on the crimson stained wood. Before he knows it, he falls on his knees with a thud. Your pale hand comes into his field of vision and he takes a deep shakey breath as he reaches for it. His eyes darts everywhere but your face. The bandage on your middle, the boots on your feet that he had his fair share of shinning as his token of appreciation for you making his morning teas, the emblem of the Wings of Freedom embedded on your breast plate.

Your hand felt cold and stiff against his. A stark contast of the warmth it exuded on his cheek just moments ago.

"Y/n?" He croaks.

Suddenly his breathing shallows as the deafening silence stretches on. He can still smell you but can no longer feel you although you're right fucking there. Levi wanted this to some fucked up nightmare. But then, as he steels his nerves and finally looked at your face, his heart shatters.

Your hair is uncharacteristically dishevelled, e/c eyes lifeless, pupils middilated and your mouth parted ever so slightly.

Levi pulls you in his arms frantically, plethora of would have been and should have been anchoring his heart into a sea of regret.

He should have never let you out the damn door.

He should have held you tighter.

He should have you talked to you longer.

He should have told you.. he loves you.

He never even got to tell you.

Levi's face crumples, face reddening before a resentful yell erupts from him. The soldiers wince at the sound. It was pure agony and it pierces through each and everyone of them, bringing the lot of them back to tears if they ever stopped in the first place.

The entire flight back to Paradis, Levi held you the way he wished he did while you were still with him.

[thathetaliablogg]

What are the qualities you like about ameripan? Are there moments in the canon that stand out to you or aspects of their dynamic that appear special or interesting?

Also, which ships from other fandoms would you compare their dynamic to? I see them kind-of like Jayce and Mel from Arcane (minus the manipulation when it comes to non-historical Hetalia).

Aaaaah hmmmm I always find it hard to put my thoughts into words but i'll try... Idk i just think they mesh really well together? Alfred is a very energetic person and he needs someone that will be patient with him, and Kiku is exactly that! Kiku is patient and kind while also having qualities such as being passionate about nerdy things, into video gaming etc, that line up well with Alfred's hobbies too and because of that I think they just go astonishingly well together :) I think the moment in canon that really made me ship them and that really stuck with me was in AP episode 50, the one with the table turning game? I think in the series that was probably one of the first and at that point, few, times we'd been allowed to see a gentler side of Alfred... He was surprised that Kiku was insecure about being able to make friends with the rest of the world, and spun his game to reassure him... And I think looking out for someone else like that isn't something super common coming from Alfred, so that scene always stuck with me because I found it really sweet.

But I think they have a lot of moments in canon that show off their relationship and whether you see them as having a platonic or romantic relationship you have to admit they have a lot of great content in the show and manga! I think one of my favorite episodes ever, if not my number 1, is ep 7 of TBW, the one where they live together! I love how domestic it is and how much despite their differences, they maintain a peaceful environment alongside each other. They hang out in such a chill way that you rarely see IMO!

I think it's a really fun episode all around, and I think the way that they interact in this episode is shown off really nicely! Kiku supports Alfred in being energetic, whilst still anchoring him a little and keeping him down to earth, without being cruel towards him. I think on the other hand, Alfred gives Kiku room to unwind, and gives him someone he can be more relaxed and maybe more himself around?

I think it's also cute how Alfred's first go-to is often Kiku, if he needs help or he's trying to plan something silly, or if he just wants to hang out! The way they just chill with no conflict is a nice draw to the pairing I think.

Yeah, I just think they're neat ngl!

I know some people who aren't very fond of the pairing see it as kind of one-sided and I think that's fine - but the way I see it is just that they express affection in very different ways to one another, which just comes with their highly contrasting personalities. Alfred is over the top and loud with his affection, but Kiku is content to just be around Alfred! They're shown hanging out so much, even in recent strips, that even if you see them just as friends their relationship is really undeniable!

I hope that.... helps, anon? ^^' Maybe I went off too much HJFGHDJF idk I just rly like this ship!

As for comparing them to other fandoms hmmm I'm not really sure... I... don't rly do much with other fandoms these days TwT

[professorrw]

Wonderful Tonight

Pairing: female reader x Peter Quill

Requested: Yes

Warnings: smut, 18+, fluff, praising, fingering, unprotected sex, pet names (princess, baby)

A/N: For the people that requested something on here I just want to tell you that I’m going to do your requests next. I was behind on my requests from AO3 so I wanted to get a few of those done first. Requests are open for one-shots, headcanons, imagines, and drabbles for My Hero Academia, Harry Potter, and Marvel! My taglist is open so if you’d like to be on that just tell me! Please like, comment, and reblog!

For the time being you were on Earth with your boyfriend. His ship needed repairs and you happened to be close to Earth. You alerted Tony that you were coming and he offered to help fix it. In the meantime you were staying at his tower. You and Quill weren’t Avengers but after the whole thing with Thanos and the Infinity Stones you were all connected in a way.

Something you didn’t know about Tony was how often he threw parties. It was the one year anniversary of defeating Thanos and he wanted to have a whole bash. He invited everyone that fought in the war and the turnout was pretty good. Out of the Guardians you and Quill were the only ones to show. After Thanos was defeated the Guardians had their own stuff to take care of. Gamora and Nebula had catching up to do and Groot and Rocket wanted some peace, Drax and Mantis following them.

You eight hung out occasionally on random planets to catch up and even sometimes team up. But at the moment you were separated and it was just you and Quill. The party lasted for hours, starting at five and ending at one in the morning. Your feet were killing you by the end of it and your shoes had to come off. Peter being the loving boyfriend he is, carried you to your temporary bedroom.

Your eyes were getting droopy and you were all around tired. For the first ever party you’d been to on Earth it was pretty crazy.

You slid out of Peter’s arms and onto the couch. Just as your eyes were closing you heard music start to play. A smile spread on your face at the familiar tune. It was one of your all time favorites, Wonderful Tonight by Eric Clapton. You lifted your head and looked over at your boyfriend.

He was swaying to the beat and softly singing along with the lyrics. “You look wonderful tonight.”

He danced over to you and held out his hand. “Dance with me?”

“Of course.”

You took his hand and let him pull you off the couch. His arms circled your waist and you wrapped your arms around his neck. He knew you couldn’t resist a nice slow dance. It was a common thing for him to randomly turn on music and start dancing. You fell into that same habit because of how fun it was.

Even though you had danced for hours at the party there was something about slow dancing alone that made your heart skip a beat.

Quill’s chest was nice and soft against your cheek. His strong arms were wrapped around you, engulfing you in warmth. He was like a soft teddy bear in all aspects. You closed your eyes and listened to his heartbeat while you swayed with him. You’d never fallen asleep standing but you definitely could have then.

You hummed along the lyrics of the song with Peter. This was one of your favorites to dance to and you both knew every word by heart. The soft beat and calming aura of the song always helped you wind down and relax. The song was on repeat, and after one whole playthrough of it, it started again.

“I love you,” Quill whispered.

“I love you more.”

“No, I love you more.” You couldn’t see him but you could tell he was smiling. This also happened often and the argument would never be settled on who loved who more.

“Agree to disagree,” you countered.

“I don’t think I can.” You felt his chin lift from on top of your head so you pulled your head back too. Peter was softly smiling down at you. He kissed your forehead once, then ten more times. He kissed between your brows, your closed eyelids, your nose, and your cheeks.

“I think I just need to show you how much I love you.”

“How is that?” you mumbled.

He didn’t answer and instead picked you up. You weren’t expecting that and yelped, making him chuckle.

“Where are we going?” you asked.

“The bedroom.”

Peter carried you out of the living area and through the door to the bedroom. He set you down right in front of the bed. You stood before him in a beautiful dress. All night he couldn’t keep his eyes off you. Sadly, the dress would have to go. You had gotten the memo and turned around. Your boyfriend unzipped the garment and slid it off your body. 

He peppered light kisses down your back, making goosebumps rise on your arms and legs. He unclasped your bra and let that fall to the floor. Then he discarded the last piece of clothing left, your panties. He hooked his fingers on the hem and pulled them down. They laid on the floor along with your dress and bra.

“You're so beautiful,” he said against your ear. You rotated so that you were facing him. He looked at you in complete awe. He would never get enough of you or your body. Every curve was memorized in his mind. 

Every ounce and mite of your body was alert of him and his being. You were previously tired but that was out the window now that you were undressed in front of him. You untucked his shirt and started unbuttoning it from the top all the way to the bottom. He shrugged out of the shirt with ease. Your fingers danced along his chest. He pulled you completely against him and kissed your lips. His hands were planted on your waist, holding you to him.

He lifted you and took you to the bed. You sunk into the plush fabric of the comforter. It called your name, telling you to just close your eyes and let sleep take you. But you didn’t listen. You were completely focused on Peter who had taken his pants and underwear off.

He climbed on top of you, kissing from your knee to your collarbone. “I love you princess.”

“I love you too,” you whispered back.

One of his fingers toyed at your entrance. Your eyes were open but you were so focused on Peter’s word you hadn’t noticed. You held onto his triceps and let the wave of pleasure nip at you as he inserted it. Every curl inside you and every rub at your clit was heaven. Nothing compared to the way your boyfriend made you feel.

When you were together you were in your own little world. Nothing mattered other than him. He was your other half, he completed you. With him you were in a state of ethereal bliss.

He added a second finger after a few curls. Your eyebrows were pinched together, not in annoyance but in concentration. The only feeling taking over your body was pure pleasure. Peter continued to warm you up, getting you lubricated before he put in his member.

He was in his own state of euphoria seeing you so enraptured. He loved when he could help you relieve that longing and reach your orgasm. To him he just wanted you to feel good.

“You look so pretty, princess. You’re doing so well. You’re almost ready, just a few more and I can put it in okay?”

You nodded and he went on with his plan. You were nice and warm and when he put his cock in it was like a heated towel. Being inside you was so comforting, his pleasure was immense. It was like his dick was being hugged or swallowed whole by velvety walls.

He was moaning your name. That was the only thing he could think of. You and how you made him feel.

He wasn’t the only one moaning. Since he started fingering you his name was spilling out of your mouth in praise. His speed was just right for you. It was precise and sensual, just like you liked it. He knew you inside and out and he knew exactly how to make you reach that epiphany.

You were so close you could feel it coming. Your whole body was being rocked, not only by Peter but by that incoming sensation.

“I’m about to cum,” you panted.

“Cum for me princess, cover my cock with your cum.”

Right after he said that you let it go, letting the tingle overtake you. It ricocheted throughout your body, flushing your face and making you curl your toes. Peter was fully captivated. Incorporating your cum with the already warm pocket he was in was more than enough to have him toppling over the edge.

His orgasm came right at the end of yours, making your cum mix together and leak out of your pussy. He pulled out of you and kissed your forehead. He went to the bathroom and grabbed a warm wash rag. He cleaned your vagina, mopping up and slowly wiping at your folds.

He put it away to be cleaned later and climbed into bed with you. You were both on your sides. Your back was against Peter’s chest and you could feel the rise and fall of it. His arms were wrapped around you and he was kissing your shoulders.

“You make me feel so good, baby. I hope you feel just as good as I do,” he whispered.

“I do,” you answered.

“Good. Now get some sleep princess.”

You closed your eyes and let sleep wash over you while you laid in Peter’s warm embrace.

[f0rever15elf]

Like a Garden

Pairing: Din Djarin x GN!Reader Rating: G Word Count: 3,159 Warnings: Mentions of canon typical violence, injuring mention, light swearing (I say damn like...once), no y/n

Summary: IN a galaxy where soulmates are real, flower tattoos bloom on the skin that corresponds to scars on your soulmate’s body. You’re covered in them, with no idea who your soulmate might be until one day a stoic Mandalorian whisks you away to see the stars.  

A/N: FINALLY got around to finishing something! I’m so sorry it’s been so long! This came as a request for a soulmate concept with Din. Please enjoy! 

Masterlist |  Ao3 | Ko-fi

Your eyes snap open, woken from a dead sleep to a searing pain across your abdomen. “Dank ferrik!” You yank the covers back, hiking your shirt up to watch as swirling flowers bloom across the skin of your stomach. A nice addition to the collection you’re already sporting over the rest of your body. “What the hell is this person doing? I look like a damn flower garden!” With a grumble, you decide to start your day well before the three suns rise in the morning sky. No point in trying to sleep now.

Life has never really been exciting for you, not in the strictest sense of the word. Sure, there were parties and concerts and sporting events to attend, and from time to time an interesting figure from somewhere far from here would show up and be the talk of the town for a few days before moving on, but that was never really exciting. Fun, sure, but not exciting. Not like what you want. Not until the day that pre-Imperial Razor Crest docks at your town’s lousy excuse of a spaceport.

Word spreads fast in this town, what with the fact that there’s not much else to talk about aside from the fact that Garish down the street has that weird space pox disease again and no one is quite sure how he keeps managing to catch it. But a Mandalorian showing up in town with some weird little gremlin child? Now that’s some hot gossip.

He shows up on your day off cleaning the space port so you only find out about him through word of mouth, but it doesn’t take you long at all to find him at the local cantina, his armor having him stick out like a sore thumb in the comparatively muted colors of the town. He’s tall and broad and radiates power, though his posture would read relaxed to anyone not used to watching their back every step of the way. Your lips curl as you watch him for a moment, before that t-visor turns your way. You can feel him staring back at you though you have no indication of his eyes before you flash him a wink and exit the cantina. You’ll see him again soon anyways.

The next day he’s back at the space port, talking with your boss about the cost of the supplies for repairing the ship. Your boss has always been a slimy old fool, swindling people out of their money while simultaneously not even realizing you were helping to lighten his pockets every time. The perks to being the one writing the books since he’s too lazy to do it himself.

“He’s cheating you, you know.” That t-visor zeros in on you again, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. “Parts and labor for that repair cost half what he’s trying to charge you.” A gloved hand clenches back around the credits as your boss begins spluttering, the Mando’s other hand moving towards his blaster. You chuckle, hoisting the bag onto your shoulder as you saunter over. “Told you it would catch up to you, Teff. Charge the man what’s due and be done with it.” Teff splutters out a corrected cost, the Mando looking to you for approval before handing over the credits when you nod, Teff scampering off to the back of the port.

“Is he always like that?” comes a gruff, modulated voice from the Mandalorian.

“Unfortunately,” you sigh before turning to grin up at the Mando. “He tries to skimp on my paycheck too, but I’m the one who manages the books, so it doesn’t exactly work out for him.” The Mandalorian just grunts before turning to head back to the ramp of his ship. “Do you need an onboard  mechanic?” you ask quickly, scrambling to catch up with him.

“I’m good.”

“I’m a great mechanic. I grew up around this place. The boss just keeps me off the line because he didn’t want to pay for a second mechanic.” The Mandalorian grunts, heavy boots thudding part way up the ramp before he stops, turning to look at you. What must his gaze look like to weigh so heavily on you every time he looks at you?

“I can’t pay you. I’m barely scraping by as it is, and you would just be another mouth to feed.” He places both hands on his hips, clearly exasperated.

“I can pay my own way. I have plenty of credits saved up. Please, just get me off of this rock, that’s all I’m asking you.” You take a step towards him, looking up at him and for a moment, he’s quiet.

“I’m not a taxi service,” he finally responds, but the protest sounds weak on his lips. Does he even have lips? 

“And I’m not looking for a chauffeur. Look, I know pre-Imperial vessels like the back of my hand. Give me a hydrospanner and an arc welder and I’m better than any repair droid you’ve ever seen. I can buy my own food and med supplies and can do whatever you need me to to earn my keep.”

The weight of his gaze never relents, but you don’t back down, meeting his silent challenge until he finally sighs and nods up the ramp before turning and heading in himself. With a grin that can only be described as giddy, you make your way up the gangway to the cockpit as the Mandalorian takes his seat. There are two seats behind him, one currently occupied by the rumored little green creature with the biggest eyes and ears you have ever seen, head dusted with wispy white hairs. He stares at you as you take your seat next to him, flashing him a smile as you buckle in, the boosters kicking on as your new pilot fires up the engines, the familiar vibrations bringing a smile to your lips.

~

Traveling with a Mandalorian bounty hunter is never dull, you quickly come to learn. The Razor Crest is in far worse shape than you originally thought, and there are several times where you remove a panel and find a tatoo-rat’s nest of wires, some frayed and barely held together with spacer’s tape. The first time, you let it slide. The second time, you voiced your concern. The third time, you tore the Mandalorian a new one when you realized the wires were the set leading to the hyperdrive. At least you were kept busy on the long jumps between planets and bounties making sure the ship didn’t just randomly explode due to neglect and ad-hoc repairs.

When you’re not playing mechanic to the galaxy’s premium clunker ship, you’re either reading on your datapad, or entertaining the kid. It turns out he’s real easy to amuse, and likes playing mechanic with you when you’re working. It’s adorable, really, considering the spanner wrench is almost the same size he is. But your favorite thing is when everyone is finally winding down to get some rest. He has a little hammock above the Mandalorian’s cot in the quarters closet, but he’s taken to snuggling up with you when you lay down to sleep. You’ve taken over a little corner of the ship, essentially making a little nest to huddle up in when you need to sleep. It’s as cozy as you can get on a hunk of metal careening through the galaxy at the speed of light. And today, that’s where you find yourself.

The child, Grogu as you’ve been told is his name, is sitting in your lap, big brown eyes staring up at you with boundless curiosity. He tilts his head before standing in your lap, reaching up to lay his little hand on the bridge of your nose where a century flower tattoo spreads around your eyes like a sort of face mask. You can’t help but chuckle, leaning into his touch to answer his question.

“My soulmate must have hit their face pretty hard for me to end up with this, little one.” He chirps at that, dropping his hand as he looks down at your arms, your sleeves rolled up. Blooms litter your arms too, a testament to how the rest of your body looks. You let the little creature explore your arms, nails tracing along the colorful flowers, and you’re so focused on watching him that you don’t even notice the Mandalorian leaning against the ladder up to the cockpit, watching you.

“Do you know how you get these, little one?” Grogu makes a sound of curiosity, looking up to you with those pretty wide eyes and you give him a smile, reaching up to smooth his hairs. “When the galaxy was created, there was a massive explosion that sent pieces of stars all across it. Energy and gas and matter all began to come back together to make planets and moons and stars as the fractured pieces of space found each other again. But some of those celestial bodies never found their missing pieces. Instead, that stardust became people and these people all started living on the planets and moons that now were scattered through the galaxy. But stardust never forgets its missing pieces, and this is how soulmates were created. Two people destined to find one another.” He coos at that, turning his head to look back at his father, and you smile when your eyes land on the Mandalorian, watching you intently.

“So the soulmates could find one another again, they were linked. Marks from one would show up on the skin of another in the form of flowers of all kinds. Anywhere your soulmate has a scar, you get a flower tattoo.” Tiny hands pat your arm gently, and you smile, leaning down to place a kiss on the top of his head before reaching up to stroke his ear.

“I’ve never met my soulmate, but they must lead a dangerous life to have so many scars. I look like the royal flower gardens of Naboo,” you giggle, and that earns a chuckle from the masked bounty hunter.

“What about you, Mando?” His visor tilts when you call out for him, his back straightening out slightly. “Do you have any flowers?”

“Just one,” he rasps, pushing off the ladder to come over to you, squatting down to stroke the kid’s ear. “Hurt like hell when I got it, too.” You tilt your head curiously, hoping he would continue. You won’t lie, a part of you hopes that this masked man is the one the galaxy has been trying to reconnect you with, your time with him showing you just how kind of a man he truly is, even if you still don’t know his real name. But since he stays covered, a testament to his devotion to his creed, you have no way of confirming based on his scars.

He watches the kid for a moment, seemingly deep in thought before he stands, pulling off his chest plate and carefully setting it aside. Your heart speeds up in your chest as you watch silently, eyes focusing on his side as he undoes the flight suit, showing his tanned skin. He tugs the suit to the side, revealing the skin just above his right kidney where a beautiful pom flower spreads out over the skin. Your voice fails you as you reach out to touch the tattoo, the scar over your right kidney tingling when you do as Mando shivers under your touch.

“When did you get this?” you whisper, tracing the petals gently. Your hand falls away as he moves away from your touch, refastening his suit as he turns to you.

“Five cycles ago, give or take. For the longest time I didn’t even think I had a soulmate. I guess they just live cautiously.” He laughs a breathy, sad laugh as he drops his gaze back to your arms. “My soulmate probably looks a lot like you. I haven’t exactly lead an easy life.”

It takes you a moment to collect your thoughts, watching as Grogu plays with a tie on your tunic before you look back up at the Mandalorian. “I think...that statement about how your soulmate looks is more accurate than you realize.”

Carefully, you shuffle the kid off of your lap and over to his father before turning your back to him, slowly lifting your tunic to reveal the skin above your right kidney, adorned with a nasty burn scar from the barrel of a hot blaster that had been unceremoniously dug into your side. It’s partially hidden by a delicate white flower tattoo, but the puckered skin is still highly visible. The Mandalorian’s breath hitches as he watches, eyes locked on the skin of your back, his own tattoo tingling.

“About five cycles ago, the space port was robbed by raiders. They had been running rampant all over the planet, but had left our region alone for the most part, as we lived in a poorer area. But that day it changed. They tore through town, taking everything they could. When they got to the port, I was working on repairing one of the droids when they yanked me to my feet and jammed a hot blaster into my side to use me as a bargaining chip for my boss so he would hand over any credits we had. When my boss kept refusing, I guess they determined I wasn’t worth the blaster bolt it would take to kill me, so they bashed me over the head and took off with whatever they could grab.” You drop your tunic, turning back to face the Mandalorian who sits still as the grave, watching you. “That’s the day I started saving to get away from there. When my boss made it clear he’d rather watch me die than hand over a single credit, I knew I had to get away.”

You give a sad smile, looking down at your hands, all covered in tiny yellow blooms. “I guess the universe has some degree of sympathy, sending you when it did. Of all the people I could have escaped with, I got to escape with you.” You look back up, that smile still on your face. “My soulmate, and I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s Din,” he rasps, the reaction almost knee jerk, and it takes you by surprise. So much so that you have to ask him to repeat himself. “Din. Din Djarin,” he repeats, glancing down at your hands firmly clasped in your lap.

“I like that name. Din.” He shivers visibly at the sound of his name on your lips before reaching out to take your hands, gloved thumbs running over the delicate tattoos. He’s tense, something on his mind, so you gently ask what’s wrong, not trying to pry too much.

“I’m sorry,” is all you get in response, which only serves to leave you more confused. When he glances up and catches your expression, he sighs, setting your hand back in your lap. “You’re covered because I’m careless. All these tattoos because my life is a dangerous one. Even this…,” he reaches up, a gloved finger tracing along the ridge of your nose where the century flower sprawls. “If these hurt as much as the one I got from you… I’m so sorry.”

Silently, you reach up and take his hand in both of yours, resting them in your lap. “It doesn’t last long, it’s alright. And the pain of the new tattoos let me know my soulmate was still alive out there somewhere, which meant as soon as I got off world, I could try to find him… you. And now I have, so I hope you know what this means.” Your face draws serious as you stare down the metal plated man.

He shifts, slightly uncomfortable under your gaze, and the child in his lap turns to look up at him with curious eyes. “Uh...what?”

“You have a LOT of stories to tell me about these scars. And I have a way of keeping track.” Your serious face shifts into a grin as you giggle, reaching over to pet the child’s head. “Starting with the one on my face. Are you alright? Is the scar painful for you there?”

Din sighs, relaxing with a chuckle before reaching up to hold the sides of his helmet, your eyes widening in realization as you quickly look away. The hiss of air meets your ears as he removes the helmet, and when he calls your name, his voice is clear and strong and deep and it sets your heart to racing in your chest. “It’s okay, you can look.”

“But your creed….” You close your eyes so you aren’t tempted to turn your head and look.

“We’re soulmates, it’s alright. We are one in the same, you aren’t breaking my creed.” A hand, no longer gloved and distinctly rough with callouses, cups your cheek and you suck in a stuttered breath. “I want you to see me….”

You hesitate for another moment before slowly turning to face him. Taking a deep breath, you open your eyes, only to be met with quite possibly the most handsome man you have ever seen before in your life. Deep, rich brown eyes crinkled with smile lines at the corners, all nestled under unruly brown hair. His nose is strong and prominent, a small scar across the bridge that corresponds to the flower on your face. His lips are slightly chapped, but full and plush and have a little crease in the bottom lip that suddenly fills you with the overwhelming urge to lean forward and see how he tastes and feels against your own. He’s beautiful, you think.

You must be staring for too long, because Din’s face grows unsure, doubt creeping into the light in his eyes as his hand falls from your face and he reaches for his helmet. Without thinking, your hands shoot out to still his own, and he looks back at you with surprise and confusion. “Leave it off for now. You’re… you’re beautiful.”

To say he looks taken aback would be an understatement. His lips fall slightly open and he blinks before his eyes widen, staring at you with a sense of wonder. Has no one told him how beautiful he is before? No, you buffoon, he’s a Mandalorian, no one has seen him to tell him. “I mean it,” you whisper, shuffling a little closer, acutely aware of the child between the two of you, staring enraptured by what’s going on. “You’re stunning, Din. In every sense of the word.”

There’s a beat of silence before he lets out a breathy surprised laugh, his hand finding your face again. You press your cheek into the warmth of his palm and his breath hitches as his eyes flit down to your lips. “Can… Can I…?”

“Kiss me, Din.”

And he does. 

~~~~~

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