#i’m stuck on the last floor of the last trial

[charliehoennam]

primetime.

a/n: i hate rusty but he brings out my inner hoe byeeeee

pairing: rusty isabitch sabich x f!reader

summary: rusty is overwhelmed by the trial and sought you out to help him forget about his worries.

warning: 18+ ONLY. NSFW. smut, infidelity, c&b torture, suffocation, oral sex, p in v, facesitting, dom-ish reader??

Rusty’s pale blue gaze sweeps over your half-naked body as you come out of the shower, dressed in nothing but a silk black robe as he unpacks the Chinese take-out from the restaurant’s brown paper bag. 

You thank him for receiving the takeout when the desk clerk brought it up to the apartment, smiling at the sight of his messy hair from the shower he took with you.

He smirks back at you and compliments the robe. Leaving half of the containers and sauces in the bag, he turns and pulls you by the hips.

Rusty relishes in the silky touch of your robe, reminded of the silky touch of your most intimate areas. You allow him to kiss you with his hands under the fabric, groping at your ass before gently pushing him back with the reminder that you’re hungry.

Sitting on your lavish couch, you mostly talk about the case he’s been stuck in ever since Carolyn’s death. Between bites and swigs from the brown beer bottle perched on the floor beside you, he confesses things and emotions to you that he feels he can’t confess to anyone.

His lingering love for Carolyn. The troubles in his marriage. The fear of hatred from his children. How jealous he secretly feels to know his wife kissed someone else.

Despite not having romantic feelings towards Rusty, you do consider him a friend. Some friends play golf, shoot hoops or pool. You and Rusty fuck.   

It feels natural for you both. You met Rusty a bit after he began his affair with Carolyn through a dating app. The pair of you were looking for a good talk and fuck and although there were no strings attached on your behalf, Rusty decided to conceal his marriage by hiding hi wedding band.

When you found out the truth, you were livid at Rusty. Not for being married to someone that’s not you – you didn’t love him. You’re happily married to a man who treats you like a queen and is modern enough to have accept your open marriage.

What bothered you is that he didn’t tell you about it. Having sex with other people is only fine when all parties agree to it. He tried to argue that it was the same as your marriage, but you were quick to stomp out his bullshit.

That was when you told Rusty you had to end the relationship with him.

Looking out the panoramic windows of your high-rise apartment, he watches the city from above as you take the dirty empty dishes to the kitchen.

“Isn’t your husband coming home?”

“No. He’s in New York for the week.”

“Does he know you’re seeing me again?”

You pause and glance at him.

“Whatever happened to don’t ask, don’t tell?”

Rusty never liked talking about your husband. Deep down, he felt a little sting of jealousy in his chest. He was never really fond of sharing his toys, but he would never tell you that.

“Just curious as to how you guys make it work?”

“He knows, yes” you reply sitting back on the couch. “And he doesn’t like you.”

“How come he lets you still me?”

“Because choosing who I fuck is decided by me, not him.”

He smirks at your boldness, surprised as he tries to paint a mental image of you talking to your husband about the other guy you fuck.

“I guess that’s only fair” he nods.

“He just doesn’t want me to get into trouble. Your last mistress did end up dead, after all.”

Rusty’s head falls forward as he watches himself wring his hands. You didn’t think before sayin it and his reaction makes you realize how harsh it really sounds.

There’s a tug at your heartstrings that unbridles a guilt you didn’t even know you had inside.

“I’m sorry, Rusty. That came out a lot worse than-“

“It’s alright.”

You can’t tell it’s not. He’s not. Being reminded of Carolyn’s death and the way she was murdered is like a wet rag over a flame.

“I should get going,” Rusty moves to stand feeling like a guest who’s overstayed their welcome.

“No. Stay.”

Your plea comes with a hand on his arm. He looks at your gentle touch and watches it moves to his thigh, slowly caressing the thick muscle there.

“Stay with me, hm?” you whisper as his eyes meet yours.

Cautiously closing the space between you both, you place a tender kiss to his cheek. He closes his eyes, letting your affection melt his worries away. He knows he shouldn’t. It should feel wrong. But his head tilts to the side and meet your butterfly kisses with his lips.

Your legs sweep over his and you move to straddle his lap, quick to unzip his hoodie that shields his shirtless body. His large hands squeeze your thighs and ass here and there as they explore your body.

Your open palms frolic over his furry chest, indulging in the thick layer of dark hair that sends butterflies fluttering around his stomach. Already excited for what’s to come, heat bubbles in his core.

Kneading your ass, his thick fingers slip to your waist to untie the knot of the robe. You let it fall open, too mesmerized by his unyielding kisses on your neck as the silky fabric slides down your shoulders.

Rusty likes to think of your body as a magical map. He knows all the secrets to a world only he knows, filled with hidden paths to the extraordinary highs not even you knew how to unlock.

He knows how to make you come undone; he had made his personal mission to do so and you reciprocated with lust of the same intensity.

Your exposed sex presses against his hardened member. You can feel it as it twitches in his gray sweatpants when his hands capture your breast, squeezing at the soft flesh.

“Take this off.”

His eagerness doesn’t allow him to wait for you to slip your arms from the sleeves, so his hasty hands do the work for you. It forces him to pull away from your neck and cease his bruising mauling. He tosses the t-shirt to the ground; your bra follows and lands on top of it.

Heat pools in your depths like fire under a cauldron as fleeting kisses trail down your sternum and stop in the valley between your breast.

Gravely moans hum out from the back of his throat as he deeply inhales the delightful aroma left on your skin by your favorite body wash.

His hungry lips take their turns altering from one nipple to the other, latching and suckling at the hardening buttons. His restless tongue circles around each of them as he squeezes your breasts together as if he could swallow them both.

Your back arches into his touch which sends waves of pleasure straight to your core, especially when his teeth and growing 5 o’clock shadow scrap along your tender tits.

Skin burning feverishly, you moan his name over and over, telling him how good he’s making you feel. Your praises never fail to ignite something darker in him.

“Lemme taste you again” he breathes against your lips.

Arousal moistens your sex at his request, damp with your lust for him. You nod excitedly just thinking about how well he ate you out just a couple hours ago.

He lays down on the couch, stretching his tall frame along its length. With his legs being too long, he has to bend his knees to rest his soles on the cushion while you watch him adjust, waiting for the right moment to straddle his head.

Fully naked, he reaches for your thighs to pull you closer. You carefully settle your knees on either side of his head and remove the back cushion of his sofa to make room for your position.

Tucking your bare feet under his arms, he impatiently snakes his arms around your frame and grope at your breasts. Your hips lower and you finally take your seat on his face.

His tongue hungrily laps your drenched plushy lips, licking up every drop of your arousal. One of your hands combs through his dark hair while the other rests on the sofa’s arm, keeping you balanced.  

Your hips slowly rock back and forth, hovering over his mouth just enough to let his tongue sandwich itself between your juicy lips.  

Hands gliding down your front, his fingers eagerly creep down past your hips to reach your cunt. They gently pull at your sweet lips, parting them in such a way that makes fire rise to your cheeks at the extreme exposure.

Finding your sensitive bundle of nerves, he suckles at it and alters to and from the circling of his tongue. He drives you quickly closer and closer towards that familiar climax through faint rippling waves.

As the pleasure builds, his finger rubs at your throbbing nub over and over while his tongue delves deeper, hungrily lapping at the sweet juices trickling from your walls. Grinding down against his face, his finger is replaced by his nose, nudging your pulsing bundle of nerves with every thrust.

Rusty smiles to himself watching your breasts bounce. He revels in his ability of making you contort and whine as he pushes you over that mind-numbing apex that has your body trembling with pleasure.

“Fuck!” you breath heavily rolling your hips along his face. “You like that huh? You like it when I sit on your face?”

He nods with dark devilish eyes, holding your hips aggressively to force them down.

“Don’t tap out quick on me, Rusty.”

You smirk almost evilly as you smother his nose and mouth with your pussy, forcing his wiggling tongue to fuck your soaking hole. Watching the veins on his temples throb, you chuckle as the weight suffocates him.

“Atta boy. Taking it like a champ for me. Can’t get enough of this pussy, can ya? Little more. Little more! You can take it!”

You giggle as his eyes begin to glaze with darkness and his hand finally taps your tummy, a silent request to breathe.

“Such a good boy for me, baby” you praise him as he pants breathlessly, reaching his hand down to stroke his stiff aching cock.

“No,” you order firmly with a contradicting smile. “You don’t get to control that pleasure. That’s my job.”

“Y-yes” he pants.

Rusty’s eyes never leave the sight of your pussy, even when you stand and remove yourself from your human seat.

With a nod of your head, you command him to scoot further down as you hand him one of the decorative pillows to place under his head. Your leg lifts again and you straddle him once more, only this time, you grant yourself the view of his dick as his mouth begins its work again.

Releasing his heavily hard and thick member, you push his sweat pants down and slide them off his legs with his help. The second your hand wraps around it, his hands squeeze your ass cheeks.

You press his leaking tip to your lips, pushing your spit onto his head. Judging from the precum, he doesn’t need much, but you like it when things get messy.

Rusty has to contain himself and refrain from combusting when he feels your mouth on his cock. The work you do with your mouth is incomparable and the reason he always tries to be ‘good’ for you – to get himself a blowjob that he’ll touch himself over the following months.

Although you love your husband very much and are more than content with his package, it’s undeniable that Rusty’s is far bigger in length and in girth.

You moan as you take him in deep with your finger and thumb at the base, his tip hitting the back of your throat with ease. As your head bobs up and down, your other hand moves lower to cup his balls and gingerly squeeze them.

One at a time, you’re careful to not apply too much pressure too soon. You work him up to that slowly until you’re able to tourniquet them with your fingers. You squeeze them, making them plump for punishment.  

“Ready to be a good boy again, baby?”

He hums but you feel his head nod between your leg, drenched in the sticky slimy mess he’s made of your cunt.

“You’re not gonna cum, are you?” you smirk gently grazing your open palm over the delicate swollen sack.

He shakes his head eagerly.

You deliver the first slap. Not too hard; just enough to allow to prepare stronger ones. He groans as his body trembles underneath yours.

“Tell me how it feels, baby.”

“F-feels so fucking good!” he whimpers squeezing your ass as he braces for more blows.

The delicious pain overwhelms him enough to lose track of your pleasure, so you order him to get back to work and threaten to stop. You laugh at how quick he is to bury his face back into your sopping pussy.

After a few more and harder blows to his balls, separated by the bobbing of your head and stroking of his dick, he pushes you firmly with a firm slap to your ass.

“Gimme this fucking pussy,” he begs.

He doesn’t bother to wipe your juices off his face as you both stand. You can taste yourself when his lips desperately crash on you. Dipping his larger frame, he taps at your thighs as an unspoken invitation to jump.

His strong arms are quick to effortlessly lift you up until your legs are able to hug his hips. He guides you backwards and pins you to the panoramic wall of sturdy glass.

Using your hand, you align his cock to your entrance and him penetrate you with ease. You moan as you relish in the fullness and stretch of him inside you. He smirks to himself watching your mouth hang open in a daze.

“Let’s give my neighbors a show, baby.”

[tinytennisskirt]

Good Luck Charm

Art x Gf!reader

Summary: Art has had one of the worst days in a while and reader is so far away, not being able to make it back for his tournament. After a day of inconveniences and bad luck, Art is sure of one thing and it’s that time without you isn’t something he wants to experience ever again.

Warnings: kissing, proposal moment, shorter fic, unedited from my notes app

All Art did that day was lose. And he had so many chances. And the losing started even before the games did, with a failed alarm and a faulty hotel room key. Your flight had been moved back a day and you were going to miss every game of his until the very last match of the day the way the plane schedule was set.

He was late, but he was groggy and slept badly and worst thing is he missed you. He got up and he stretched and he had his smoothie and it was all fast-paced and rushed and he felt awful.

First match was okay, he didn’t win but he chalked it up to some sort of nerves and a bad morning. The day went on, he had time to practice, but he ended up on the phone with you for half of it.

“They delayed my plane, I’m so sorry, Art,” you sighed over the phone. You weren’t even on the plane yet. “I’m so sorry.”

He knew it wasn’t your fault, he rubbed his eyes and shook his head, “It’s okay. I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” you replied. And he told you about his first game loss and you told him to keep trying, encouraging him softly. But he didn’t have any motivation left.

He moved onto his next match. It was close but he just lost by a few points and lost more at the very end for an audible obscenity. It was hard, things were harsh, you were so far.

The day went on, Art losing a scrimmage game, then another real one. He had one more game and you were supposed to be there for that one but you were stuck on some plane coming home. He almost wanted to half-ass the game, he was so discouraged. But he tried, he played, and he nearly won, but he lost. Keeping sportsmanship he shook his opponents hand. Nobody was happy. It was loss all around.

Art went to get food after and they were out of everything he could possibly want to eat, so he left. He called a taxi back to the hotel but it didn’t come for forty minutes after it said it would and the driver got lost, yet wouldn’t reimburse him for the time.

Art moped up the stairs to his hotel room on the 7th floor, the elevator had broken while he was out. His feet hurt, his shoulders and arms ached from all the tennis. He made it to his room and tossed his things aside. He showered and ordered room service, but the order than came was wrong. Art succumbed to the problems of the day and just ate it anyway. Too many problems.

He sat on the edge of his bed and rubbed his face, hair just finished drying from his shower. He sat in his big t-shirt and his loose shorts, rubbing over his mouth, under his chin, reflecting on the day. Every game lost, every match a trial and complete error. At least it wasn’t important, Art thought. Just a bunch of games for no greater purpose. But it still ruined his day.

It got later into the evening and Art just sat and stared emptily, just thinking, more thinking than he’d been able to do.

A knock on the hotel door. Art half expected another disturbance, a problem with his card, the maids coming by, any inconvenience. He sighed, getting up from the couch, running a hand through his hair as he tiredly opened the door. And it was you.

“Hey,“ and the force of which Art stepped into the hall and hugged you almost knocked the wind out of you. You dropped your bags as his arms reached around you and held you tight, your arms wrapping around his neck. One of your hands held the back of his head as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. You were expecting a hug but not like this.

You held him just as tight as he held you and he stayed that way for a minute, you in his arms and him in yours in the middle of the hotel hallway. Neither of you said a word. Art just took the moment to stay close to you, inhaling the scent he’d been away from too long, holding the girl he’d been missing for much longer. Eventually, after a minute or so, he loosened his grip, kissing you on the shoulder and neck, not sexually, but casually. Sweet.

“Are you okay?” You asked, cupping his face with one hand. His eyes were tired, sad.

“Better now,” he said, small smile pulling at one side of his mouth. God, you missed him. “You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had.”

“Give me five minutes and you can tell me all about it?” You suggested, rubbing your thumb over his cheek and he nodded, kissing your palm gently and letting you into the room. You took the five minutes to set your bags down and have the quickest refresher shower known to man. You got out of the shower and Art, sitting on the hotel sink counter passed you one of his big shirts to sleep in. The ones he liked to sleep in. You smiled and put it on, putting your hair in a towel. You turned the lights off as you passed them, turning on the bedside lamp to dim the room to something gentler.

You crawled onto the bed, propping yourself against the pile of pillows the beds always had. You opened your arms and Art gladly followed you onto the bed, crawling over you. He kissed you, it was soft and sweet and to him, meant the world to have. He then laid down on your lower chest, arms digging under you to wrap around your waist, his body fitting perfectly between your legs. Your hand instinctually went to his soft hair, your fingernails digging softly into his scalp as he told you about his day, about the inconveniences and the game losses, what they felt like. You told him about yours and they were honestly quite similar, minus the tennis.

You sighed, letting your nails trace down over his neck, his ear, the top of his back, the other squeezing his upper arm gently. “I’m so sorry,” you said quietly.

“It’s not your fault,” Art said, his words a little muffled from his cheek pressed against you. “But I missed you. I’m glad you’re back.”

“I missed you too,” you smiled. He couldn’t see it, but he knew. “I tried to get here as soon as I could.”

His hand pulled one of yours down to your side, making it accessible to him to kiss gently up your wrist, to kiss your hand, your fingers, his thumb pressing on the pads of your palms softly. “I can’t help but think-“ he kissed your wrist again, “- That if you were there today, I would have-“ he kissed your wrist once more, “Won. Or at least done better.” He confessed.

You giggled a little, “Oh, like a good luck charm?”

“A good luck charm,” Art echoed. He hummed as your nails slid over his scalp to behind his ear. “Something like that. You might be mine.”

“I would love that,” you grinned. You continued, squeezing him just a little tighter, “I don’t have another business trip for ages so I promise to fulfill my good luck charm duties from here, forward.”

Art, eyes shut, smiled as well. “Mmm, I’d like that.” He kissed you where his mouth rested and went back to caressing your hand. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it after this day we’ve both had,” you said. “Honestly I think travelling without my good luck charm is what delayed the flights.”

Art chuckled at that. “So it’s settled then.”

You grinned, “Mhm. We just never leave each others’ side again. You’re stuck with me.”

“Sounds perfect,” Art mumbled. You could feel the soft beat of his heart against you. “I wouldn’t dream of a better solution.” He raised his head, propping himself up just a little. His eyes were soft as your hand slipped to cup his cheek again, he rested against it. Your thumb, as per usual, caressed over his skin. “I love you.” He said. Words you had heard a thousand million times. But he looked at you with every single time he’d said it compiled in his eyes. You could see it, you could feel it.

You almost pouted with the way he looked. He was gorgeous and kind and he loved you and you loved him. “I love you too,” you told him, feeling about the same as he did. “So much.” You hoped he felt it, your hands pushing hair out of his face as you spoke.

He looked at you through his perfect eyelashes, “Marry me.” He said. Your hand stopped where it was and your heart immediately picked up pace.

“Hm?” you wondered if you’d heard him wrong.

But you didn’t. “Marry me,” he repeated, a small smirk growing on his face. “I’ll do things properly, but I want to ask you. Because I love you and the days that pass without you are my worst.” He said, your hand tracing his cheek. You had always felt that any talk of this with Art would bring unbridled excitement, but as much as you felt excited, you also felt at peace. That was because you knew you were meant to be with Art as if it was just willed into existence that way. Pre-written.

“I’ll marry you,” you grinned. And he grinned, fully, for what felt like the first time that day. He moved upward and kissed you with all of the ‘I love you’s on his lips this time. All of yours on your lips, exchanged like the way they were spoken, from the very first to this one in this moment. Your hands that held his face moved down as he kissed you, taking his turn to hold your face. He kissed you and you kissed him and it was set in stone that neither of you wanted to leave the other’s side. Not ever. “I love you too.” You replied.

Art proposed a second time so your family could be there, but you didn’t tell anyone about the impromptu first take, even though it was the one you truly loved more. When it wasn’t posed like a question because Art knew. And so did you. That it was meant to be that way. There was never a chance you’d say no anyway.

In enough time there were tangible good luck charms in the form of wedding bands, but you both never truly stopped being each other’s.

[sunflowersandsapphires]

A Brewing Storm

In All The World, Chapter 1.2

Series Masterlist         Next Chapter

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader 

summary: This series of one-shots follows Matt and the music teacher he is steadily falling for, despite her distant familial connection to The Punisher.

warnings: angsty Matthew, Matt and Frank being little shits (mostly Frank), fluff, hints at smut

w/c: 2.3k

a/n: I KNOW THIS DIDN’T WIN THE POLL BUT I WASN’T ABLE TO FINISH THE OTHER FICLET, I’M SORRY! I hope this is a decent consolation prize for you all. The comfort piece should be done by next week! 

There are a few things mentioned in this chapter that I won’t go into unless people are interested but here’s the rundown: Matt and Reader started their relationship after her testimony, though the trial had not yet ended. The ABA code of ethics doesn’t really have much to say about attorneys and witnesses, but the general rule is after they’ve testified (as long as the trial isn’t discussed) they can begin a personal relationship. The ethics rules are much more concerned about lawyers and their clients than witnesses. However, Matt asked her out during proceedings so, in his head, he did something wrong. I wasn’t planning on writing their beginning, but if that’s something you all are interested in, let me know!

Trusting the men to keep their word, you left Frank standing over the door mat while you grabbed some bath towels and a jacket he'd forgotten on your couch months ago. Returning to a room frigid with their disdain for each other, you stifled an eye roll while you passed over the items in your hold. “Here. Dry off if you can. Are you hungry? I can set another place for dinner.”

Matt stiffened from his seat at the table, blowing an annoyed breath out of his nose. Smirking in satisfaction, Frank rubbed the towel over his hair, splattering your floor with leftover rain. “Sure, kid.”

Pretending not to see your boyfriend's twisted frown, you padded over to the stove to scoop the remaining noodles into a clean bowl.

“Ok, it's not much, but I wasn't planning on cooking for three–”

“How long?” Came Frank's curt question.

Running the tip of your tongue against your molars, you blew out a breath, shoving Frank's food over to him.

“Um...”

“Eight months.” Matt answered, chest puffing out ever so slightly. Swatting at him with a glare, you grimaced as Frank gnashed his teeth again.

“For fuck's sake. During the trial?”

“Well, that is how we met.” Matt snapped back, posture rounding as the Devil slipped back into control.

“And you thought what, Red? That you could treat my case like your own personal dating pool? You of all people know how dangerous that was for her.”

“I think we are all familiar with the risks taken last summer.” You retorted, taking your seat at Matt's side, letting your knee brush against his in what you hoped was a grounding touch.

What Frank was insinuating wasn't far fetched. You had run into trouble after coming forward as a character witness, but your relationship with Matt hadn't caused that, your role in the trial had. No matter how much guilt he carried over the incident, your boyfriend was in no way responsible for the actions of the Kitchen Irish. Matt regularly got stuck in his head, castigating himself for giving in to temptation. Despite making it ostentatiously clear that you were interested in him from the moment you met, your self-conscious partner was convinced he’d somehow violated an unwritten code of ethics and manipulated you into going out with him. It had taken months of promises before Matt began to believe that your consent had been honest and voluntary the whole time–his fragile acceptance would surely combust if Frank continued to cast more doubt over the dubious start of your relationship. He didn’t need anyone’s help to make him feel like a monster.

Matt nudged your knee with his in response to your touch, though his expression was stony. You could see his walls going up brick by brick, his confidence waning as someone confirmed his worst fears.

“Are 'we'? Cause I, for one, ain’t dyin’ for you to be bleedin’ out in my bathroom again.” Frank hissed, eyes still locked on Matt as he referenced your previous injuries. “You think she's safe with you? You can’t protect her. Fuck's sake, Red–you're covered in blood at her table right now. She doesn't need to be dragged into your bullshit–”

“Enough.” You snarled, cutting Frank off. Inhaling deeply, you lowered your voice and softened your tone. “Matt, can you give us a minute, love?”

Ignoring Frank's sneer at the pet name, you placed a hand over Matt's knee, rubbing circles into it with your thumb. “Can you wait for me in my room? I'll be right in.”

“I can just go home,” Matt shifted uncomfortably, looking defeated and agonized as he slowly clambered to his feet.

“I’ll only be a minute, love. Don't leave yet please.” You squeezed his hand where it hung limp by his side, hoping that his barely noticeable nod was conveying his true intentions.

You set your jaw, watching Matt stalk into the bedroom before whirling towards Frank who was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, looking all too pleased with himself. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Frank?”

“There ain’t nothin’—”

“Nope, it's not your turn yet.” You bit out, cutting him off. “I'm not unhappy to see you, because it means you're still breathing, but you have some damn nerve coming into my house and speaking to my boyfriend as if I'm not in the room. I am not an object, nor am I anyone’s property. You do not get to dictate what is or isn't good for me, regardless of how you feel about it.“

Frank winced slightly, but he didn’t make any other indication that your words were getting through his thick skull.

Sitting back in your seat, you clasped your hands in your lap. “I appreciate you looking out for me, Frank. Lord knows you've saved my life more times than I can count, but Matt is good for me. Your views on our start and on him as a person won't change that.“

Frank scoffed, rolling his eyes to the popcorn ceiling. You grit your teeth. “Alright, if you want to be pissed, that's your prerogative. I'm sorry you didn't find out about us directly from me, but I refuse to accept full responsibility for that because you haven't responded to me for months. You don't get to just pop back into my life when it's most convenient for you.”

The towering man didn’t respond. Fine. If he wasn't in a headspace to hear what you had to say, then you were done talking. Stretching over to a nearby cabinet you pulled out a tupperware and tossed it to him. He caught it without glancing up.

“Have a good night, Frank. Text me if you ever decide you want to listen. And take that food home with you or I will be obligated to hunt you down.”

Using the seat of your chair to leverage your weight, you stood up and paced away from Frank, crossing your fingers that Matt was still in the bedroom when you reached it.

Matt’s hearing was powerful enough to register conversations a block away, let alone one room over, so ignoring the voices beyond your bedroom walls should’ve been difficult. However, Frank’s implications had worn him down, rehashing a mess of anxiety and spurning his feelings of unworthiness. If you hadn’t asked him to stay, he would’ve gone back out to find a distraction lurking in the city streets before passing out on any surface in his apartment. Instead, he lay in your bed, coiled in a ball beneath the sheets, drained of energy–feeling small and useless.

Frank apparently didn’t have much more to say because it was only minutes before he heard you approaching the closed door obscuring him. Your footfalls were light, as always. You did whatever you could to make his existence easier. It was one of the many reasons he loved you. 

Your heartbeat grew stronger as you entered, leaving the door open only briefly in an effort to preserve the hideout Matt had taken shelter in. Gently crouching until you were seated on the mattress, you curled your body around Matt’s–shielding him from the abundance of sensory input and surrounding him with the subtle scent of your body wash. It was warm and sweet, comforting like the brief whiff of sugar you smell when walking past a bakery. A stark contrast to the harsh remnants of gunpowder and leather drifting in from Frank’s now abandoned seat. 

“How much of that did you hear?” You asked, tracing over his prickly cheek with a finger. 

“Bits and pieces.” Matt exhaled roughly. “Did you want me not to listen?”

“Sweetheart, I would never ask that of you. That’s not really something you can control when we’re twenty feet away.” Turning his head into your touch, Matt placed a gentle kiss on the pad of your finger. You took a moment to study him, heart clenching at the weary expression on his face. His posture was tight, you could tell he was holding back. “C’mere, lovely.” 

At your prompting, Matt’s blank face twitched, his sorrow peeking through as he shifted on the mattress.

“I’m sorry I let him in.” You murmured, threading your fingers into Matt’s hair as he wriggled until his face was squished into your stomach. “I should’ve forced him to calm down, or take it out on me. It wasn’t fair to subject you to that.” 

“I’m a big boy. I can handle it.” Matt chuckled breathily, the sound coming out choked with emotion. 

“I know, handsome. But that doesn’t mean you deserve to be screamed at over a misunderstanding.” Sliding down until Matt was resting against your chest, you tucked his head under your chin, wrapping him in an embrace. He hummed against you, not trusting himself to speak on the matter.

“Matty, you do know that what he said was complete and utter horseshit, right?” Your blunt question made him snort, the noise muffled against your collarbone. “No, I’m serious. He was mad that we caught him off guard, so he said that crap to get under your skin. Classic Frank tactic. He did the same shit when we were kids.”

“Did he really?” Came Matt's amused question.

“Oh yah. He’s damn good at it too. The day I knocked him off the Dig Dug leaderboard at our local arcade, he told me I was adopted. My parents were FURIOUS to hear he’d let that cat out of the bag.” You laughed, your nose crinkling as you pictured Frank hanging his head on your family’s tattered leather couch as he got chewed out by your dad.

Matt made a mournful noise, pressing impossibly closer. Rubbing his shoulders with a flat hand, you kissed his crown. “But, the next week, he took me back to the arcade so I could show him how I did it. And when the dude running the candy counter made a sexist comment about how I shouldn’t even be there, Frank forced him to apologize.” 

“What’d he do? Shoot him?” Matt asked dryly. 

“Just a stern talking to. With his fists.” You joked, pinching Matt’s waist. His lips tickled your skin as he smiled. 

“Moral of the story is: Frank speaks without thinking sometimes, just like the rest of us. And he tends to be protective of the people he cares about, myself included.” Sliding your hand beneath Matt’s shirt, you cradled his waist tenderly, drawing delicate patterns with your thumb. “You have that in common.” 

“A talent for lashing out?” Matt quipped. 

Ignoring his attempt to deflect, you continued. “You want to protect me.”

“Apparently, I’m not as good at it as I thought.” Matt remarked icily. 

“Yes. You are.” You poked him, tone stern. “You protect me and the rest of Hell’s Kitchen every day, regardless of what Frank thinks. You are an amazing man and a wonderful partner, and I wouldn’t trade what we have for anything, love.” 

“I love you.” Matt whispered reverently, feeling his insecurities beginning to subside. You always had that effect on him. Your melodic voice and persistently kind nature acting as a life preserver when his own mind seemed determined to drown him. 

“And I love you, Matty. All of you. Always.” Cupping his chin with one hand, you drew him towards your face, pecking his lips lightly. “Why don’t I help you change out of your suit so we can shower? If I’m tired, I know you’ve gotta be wiped out.”

Smirking, Matt cocked his head at you—his confidence finally reappearing after the disaster of a night you’d had. “Are you trying to get me naked, sweetheart?”

“Desperately.” You muttered, trailing a finger over the waistband of his pants. “I have not seen nearly enough of you today.”

“It must be so difficult for you,” He lamented, flopping flat on the mattress with a sigh. “Not seeing your partner.”

Snorting out a laugh, you shoved his chest playfully. “Both of us know that is not what I meant.”

He chuckled, fingers of his left hand loosening the knot of rope around his other wrist.

“Let me,” You suggested, cradling Matt’s dominant hand with both of your own, rotating it and unwinding the cord with a gentle tug. As the dirt and blood stained material fell from Matt's arm, it revealed a crisscross pattern of reddened indents in his skin—angry from being bound by the woven line for so long. Tutting in sympathy, you bent forward, kissing the marks gently before releasing your hold.

Without speaking, you tangled your fingers around his other arm, inching one finger beneath the rope, repeating the motions until he was free of them. Trailing another line of kisses down his arm towards his palm, you smiled triumphantly.

With two fingers, you pried the hem of his shirt away from his sweaty abdomen. ”May I?”

Matt nodded, a lopsided smile hanging on his lips as he arched his back off the mattress to allow you to remove his top. Rolling the fabric up and over his head, you dragged your nails up his spine, grinning at the soft whine you got in response.

“Feel good, Matty?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but the sound dissipated into a moan when you licked a stripe over his pulse point.

“How about I mark you up this time, hm? Take care of you first for once?”

Matt rumbled beneath your lips with a small moan, his head falling back as he arched off the mattress. 

Giggling, you dragged your teeth over the pulsing vein in his neck, provoking a soft mewl in the back of Matt’s throat. “C’mon, sweet boy. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Leaping from the bed, Matt flew after you, snatching you by the waist and locking your lips together as you clumsily stumbled toward the bathroom. 

Taglist: @marytheweefrenchie @cheshirecat484 @siampie @xxdrixx @gracethyomen @abucketofweird @ignore-mp3 @silas-aeiou

[lulublack90]

Prompt 14 - The Hog's Head

@wolfstarmicrofic November 14, word count 525

Previous part First part

They rushed into a dingy little pub. Everything was sticky with spilt beverages, there was straw on the floor and a distinct smell of goats, even though Sirius could neither see nor hear any. A man with a scruffy white beard and the dirtiest dishcloth Sirius had ever seen, wiping the inside of a glass, appeared behind the bar. 

“Finally made it then, did you? Dorcas said you’d be here days ago,” The man grumbled. 

“So what’s the trick here then?” Sirius asked, his head twisting to take in the entire pub floor. Something should have happened by now. He was waiting for a killer unicorn or some other hell beast, like a bunny, to appear. But nothing came thundering out of the shadows, and when he turned back at the barman, he was looking at Sirius like he was a total idiot. 

“Are you alright, son?” The barman looked to Remus. “Did the willow bonk him on the head?” Remus shook his furry head but didn’t take his eyes off the barman. 

“You know Dorcas?” Sirius asked, still on full alert. 

“Yup. I’m the one she sends all her strays to. It used to be my brother, but apparently, he has better things to be doing these days. So I’m afraid you’re stuck with me,”

“And who exactly are you?” Sirius asked, his eyes flicking back to the man as he spoke to him. 

“Aberforth,” Aberforth said simply. Sirius ground his teeth together. 

“Okay, hi Aberforth. Say, Aberforth, what exactly are we doing here?” Sirius was quickly losing patience with the man. 

“This is it—the end of your journey. You won,” Aberforth continued when Sirius’s eye twitched. 

“The trials are over?” Hope filled his voice as he reached out for Remus, his fingers tangling in the soft fur around his neck. 

“Yup. Well, apart from the last bit in here before you go to claim your reward,” Sirius and Remus were back on alert at his words and watched as he bent behind the bar and set the now full glass he'd been ‘cleaning’ on the counter along with an equally grimy looking tankard filled with the same gold coloured liquid. “Drink this and the door under the hog’s head will appear and take you to your final destination,” Aberforth told them, as he pointed at the giant stuffed hog’s head on the wall beside the bar. 

Sirius picked up the two drinks and grimaced. The glass was somehow greasy and gritty at the same time. He gipped as he brought it to his lips.

"This had better not be poisoned," Sirius grumbled at Aberforth and downed the contents. 

It was actually quite pleasant. Warm and tasting of butterscotch. He held up the tankard and helped Remus to drink it down. As soon as both drinks were drunk, the wall under the taxidermy hog's head began to glow. “Go on then,” Aberforth urged. “And well done,” His dower face broke into a smile, crinkling the skin around his eyes until he looked quite friendly with his periwinkle blue eyes. 

Together, Sirius and Remus passed through the glowing door, blinded by the white light. 

Next part

[thatcrazypercyjacksonfan]

Now, I’m not sure if anyone in the TOA fandom has ever mentioned “Tongs A Lot, Dad”, a short story found in Camp Half-Blood confidential, but I strongly believe it adds (or perhaps reinforces) a lot when looked at with the additional context and characterisation the Trials of Apollo provides. 

An almost diary entry like addition in the short book, the story is told by Connor Stoll, following him and his brother as they poke around the old attic where the Oracle of Delphi remained for decades in the interest of scoring loot. At this they are semi successful, as they are made almost ridiculously vital to the canon plot of HoO with the find of celestial bronze tongs, which are inscribed with the instructions “for plucking the Tartarus Napkin from fire”. And if you are reading this post, you probably have a pretty good idea of why that’s important.

Now, what does this have to do with Apollo? Well, I find it highly probable that this was Apollo’s doing, for multiple reasons. 

1. The tongs were found in the oracle of Delphi's old abode, which is obviously Apollo’s domain, a place you would think he’d be very familiar with- the original place of the Oracle of Delphi was sacred ground, in fact, and even if that doesn’t quite translate to modern day... there is that theory about him being Camp Half Bloods Patron, pioneered by @tsarisfanfiction, I believe. Whatever hold the ancient laws have on the gods, I think we can somewhat assume that places such as these allow more wriggle room. 

 2. This notably happened basically simultaneously with Rachel becoming the Oracle, as seen here, “While everyone else was waiting to see if Rachel, the new Oracle, would survive....we made our move around to the back door of the Big House.” At this point, we’ve just wrapped up PJO. How would Apollo of known to set this up now? Well, we already know from Octavian in SoN that Apollo talked to him personally, and that their talk must of happened before Olympus closed, because he was stuck on Delos after. So if Apollo can put that into play, why not set up this? After all, Apollo is the god of prophecy - he could of understood it was needed. He obviously knew there was a threat. 

3. In the books (before ToA) we only see Apollo in Camp Half Blood twice- once to take Percy’s group and the hunters there in TTC, and once at the end of PJO to, as Conner so delightfully puts it, wait to see if Rachel would survive the Oracle. He was right there. And if that’s not enough for you, the reason Conner picks out the bag with the tongs? A “beam of golden light, shot upward from the floor” startles him. We find out later in another story that Apollo is directly confirmed to have been the one to do this- gifting Rachel the famous tripod stool of the Oracle. It fits almost to well.

“But!” You might say, protesting, “The title confirms who did it! I mean, it’s not like Apollo is Connor Stoll’s dad!” And to that I say- although the title does suggest that Hermes is responsible, it’s never confirmed, and more importantly- it’s in Connor’s POV. Why shouldn’t he assume it’s his dad? And why would he know otherwise? Perhaps you could make another connection with Hermes due to his shrine in Tartarus and point at that as his involvement, but wouldn’t it make more sense if Apollo knew it was a Child of Hermes who had to have the tongs, and acted accordingly? Afterall, last we saw Hermes he had a significant grudge against Annabeth, and more importantly has done nothing to suggest he’s capable of such foresight, especially at this point.

Now that I have (hopefully) convinced you of Apollo’s involvement, another titular question must be answered- why does it matter? What’s the ramifications of this? Well, considering that this napkin basically ends the civil war between the Greeks and the Romans... a lot, actually. Specifically, it allows Annabeth to communicate that reconciliation can be reached if Reyna, a Roman, returns the Athena Parthenos, an important Greek statue to the Greeks. (Also interesting to note she addresses this to Rachel, Apollo’s Oracle... another subtle connection). 

In ToA, Zeus punishes Apollo mainly for two stated reasons: Revealing the Prophecy to soon, which becomes pretty clear is not how prophecy works. And encouraging Octavian to declare war on the Greeks. But wait? If the Napkin succeeds due to Apollo, that means that he is trying to stop the war, which in my opinion follows more along with his characterisation in ToA. So what happened with Octavian? The fact of the matter is, people more clever then me have attempted to solve this question, such as @zazzander and @fearlessinger (Highly recommend this post if you are interested in the topic!) 

The tongs (and thus the potential for the Napkin) was put into place months before any true threat would be realised by most characters. So it wasn’t a frantic backpedal of trying to fix his mistakes to avoid punishment by Apollo. It was deliberate. Premeditated. Now, it could be that Apollo just knew the tongs would be needed, but not what for. Unfortunately, we don’t know how his powers work. But that’s boring. However, if you take the view that Apollo’s communication with Octavian was part of a larger strategy to reunite the camps... (again, see the linked post). Well. Funny thing, because that’s exactly what the Napkin facilitates. The two camps stop fighting because of this one, simple message, and the effect it had. They focus on the true enemy. Gaia.

What does this tell us then about Apollo, then?

Well...not much new, surprisingly. ToA does it’s job well. We know Apollo cares, deeply, about his kids and demigods as a whole. We know he often acts subtly, through quiet actions that he’ll never admit to. It’s maybe the final piece of evidence you could point to and say definitively that Zeus’s punishment was unjust, but we already knew that (although funnily enough, Zeus doesn’t- and even if he did, he’d probably just point to the violation of the interference laws and punish Apollo anyway.) What it does is add on to a very firm characterisation that ToA finalises, and showcases how once again Apollo is so much more then he first appears. 

[everythingandeveryplace]

Dramione Prompt Request:

Draco being obsessed with Hermiones Hair.

Taking prompt requests in my messages ✨

*******************************

Pansy was in a vile mood, her emerald painted fingernails tapping the oak dining hall table impatiently, and an offset grimace on her severe face.

This wasn’t new for the youngest Parkinson, she wasn’t known for her cheerful disposition but since the war, her elaborate temper tantrums were far and few in between. He’d grown up with her, knew the tell tale signs of a storm about to rise from his fellow slytherin heiress. Judging by the very prominent puffs of frustrated air she was deliberately sighing all over his dinner, a hurricane was on the horizon.

“Pans, would you knock it the fuck off! You’re giving me anxiety.” Blaise pulled his lunch tray closer to his chest and fixed the dark haired girl with a stern glare.

“Oh! So you can tell I’m upset and you’re not even going to ask me why!” Her arms flung out dramatically, nearly sending his pumpkin juice flying.

Theo beamed from his place directly across from the fuming princess.

“I know why you’re upset.” His handsome face twisted into a sickeningly smug smirk.

Pansy tossed a grape directly at Theos forehead and hissed

“Shut up, Nott. You’re actually useless.”

Now he was curious, what could send Pansy Parkinson on the war path but leave Theo busting like a pre pubescent teenager?

“And I suppose you have no opinion on the matter, hmm Malfoy?” She turned her attention towards him, a warning in her eyes.

He chewed slowly before putting down his fork and sighing “considering I have absolutely no idea what this argument is even about? No, I have absolutely no opinion.”

“Here she goes,” Theo mumbled under his breath.

In a rather dramatic flourish, Pansy dropped her forehead to the table

“Hermione is cutting all off her hair off.” She mumbled against the oak.

Blaise took that moment to drop his half eaten Sandwhich and moan

“Are you fucking kidding me? You’ve been putting for the last fifteen minutes because granger wants a Bob? You are nuts Parkinson, certifiably insane.”

“You don’t understand!” The raven haired teen pouted “she’s only doing it because she thinks “guys don’t like her unruly nest.” That’s so unlike her! And Theo is encouraging it! He told her she had the cheekbones for it!” Her voice raised an octave only dolphins could hear.

“I personally think she’ll look great with short hair, it’s actually incredibly sexy.” Nott grinned.

“Of course she’ll look great with short hair, she’s gorgeous! But you’re only saying that because you know it will piss me off! Hermione isn’t Hermione without her massive curls! Everyone knows that!” Pansy huffed, practically in tears.

Blaise sighed and reached across the table to tap her hand gently “we know you don’t like change Pans, but this one isn’t up to you.”

He didn’t hear the rest of the conversation because he was already up and heading directly to the Head girls dormitory. It was beyond strange to witness the blossoming friendship between the war heroine and the pack of ex death eaters but after the war Hermione had been nothing short of welcoming. Pansy took to her like a lost puppy and Theo confided in her in things he wouldn’t even tell his closest friends. She’d spoken for them in all of their trials and was the one to start the initiative to welcome them back to Hogwarts after the war to finish their eighth year.

He’d kept his distance, cautious of over stepping. the image of her writhing around the floor of his family home always tucked away in the back of his mind.

It was difficult, especially when she occupied every spare moment of his thoughts.

Hermione Granger had infiltrated Draco Malfoys entire being. He thought about her smile, perfect and white and so close to sunlight it was shocking. Her wit and her humor, foreign and strange but so uniquely her it was a marvel to experience. She was of course, still just as stuck up as before the war but now it was impossible to deny that she was in fact the brightest witch of her age. She’d saved the wizarding world for bloody sake. And her forgiveness, the letter she’d written to his mother actually thanking her, for saving Harry and for making the right choice when she knew how hard that must have been.

But her hair?

That was one of his absolute favorite things.

A lions mane of cinnamon curls, cascading like ocean waves down her back, her hair was the cloak she wore to declare her a warrior. He’d spent nights imagining running his hands though the tangle of autumn silk, fingers getting caught up in knots and swirls. The way it had gotten so long it just barely dipped below the small of her back, swishing vanilla scented air everytime she turned his way in transfiguration class. Gone was the puff of frizz he’d met when she was nearly 12 but it was still just as wild, the only part of her that wasn’t entirely put together.

And to think, some moronic wizard had led her to believe she needed to change an inch of herself for his approval. He planned on finding out exactly who had said something to stick so vibrantly in the otherwise, dangerously confident witches mind. He was a former death eater, there wasn’t a whole lot he wouldn’t do.

But first…

Hermiones door was left open, she often did that in case anyone needed her and her head was buried in a book. It took him all of twelve seconds to slip through the cracked wood and slam his palms on her worn in desk, ink pot shaking in the process. Coffee eyes widened comically and she nearly spit out the sugar twill that was hanging from her lips.

“Draco!” Her hand flew to her chest “you nearly scared me half to death! Are you alright?!”

“You can’t cut your hair.”

Hermione flung up from her desk chair

“Oh for heavens sake! Did Pansy put you up to this?! I cannot believe we’re still having this conversation. I will do whatever I please with my hair considering the fact that it is exactly that! MY hair.” She growled , moving to sit cross legged on her bed while he occupied her rolling chair and swiveled up directly in front.

“Pansy said it’s for some bloke.” There was absolutely a sneer in his face, he could practically feel the twitching of his lip.

“Pansy has no idea what she’s talking about.”

Draco laughed, tugging on a loose thread on her comforter,

“I tend to agree . But this time she seemed pretty convinced.”

Hermione sighed “it isn’t what you think. I’m incredibly confident in who I am as a woman. I’m quite the catch you know?” She huffed. “I’m simply being realistic. My hair is…” she trailed off, tugging a piece and examining the ends.

“Perfect.” Draco supplied.

The witch was in her own head at this point, barely registering his words.

“…childish I think. I’ve been using it as a security blanket and I think maybe if I want to be noticed for the right reasons i ought to consider.. a makeover of sorts."

"bullshit."

Hermione caught that one, leveling draco with a stern look.

"it isnt! im not doing this for ego reasons. Im doing this for.. "

"notice." he finished.

"stop doing that!" she snapped before her voice softened and she sighed "im 18 now and ive had a .. trying year to say the least. i dont want to be lonely anymore."

her vulnerability was almost jarring.

“You aren’t alone you have potter and Weasley and Pansy and Theo and..”

“You know what I mean draco .” She smiled sadly and it was in that moment he knew,

He had to be brave, it was his turn, for both of them.

“then you have me.” He spoke boldly. Eyes locking in on hers, ice meet earth.

“I don’t think you understand..” Hermione shook her head, beggining to explain.

“You want someone to notice? That’s me. I’ve been noticing every single thing about you for the past six months. I know that today you didn’t blowdry your hair, the curls are all tied together but yesterday you smoothed them out. I like them

Both ways but today might be my favorite.” He settled in the place beside her on the bed and twined a loose strand around his pointer finger.

She swallowed thickly, following his movements.

“Draco..”

“I noticed you like coffee but prefer tea at night, decaf so you can sleep.”

She nodded slowly, confused. Her silence urging him on.

“I noticed you read wizarding books once and put them away but keep muggle books in your backpack for months, reading them over and over.”

“I like…” she coughed “ I like fiction “

“I also noticed you use vanilla honey shampoo here but every time you come home from a weekend with your parents you smell like peaches.”

“That’s my moms shampoo.” She whispered in awe.

“And I don’t know if you noticed it yet Hermione but I’m crazy about you. Every single part of you from your wild mess of curls to your ridiculously full brain.” He rambled “you don’t have to give me a chance just because I sound like a pathetic groupie but..” his hand fell to the back of her neck, bunching up a thick handful of velvet strands. “I’d sure be fucking grateful If you did “

Hermione was silent for a moment, brain racing with a million and one thoughts all recklessly bouncing through her head at once, was he serious? Did he mean it or did he just feel bad for her? Did he know she was hopelessly in love with him and he was taking pity on her? Or was this what she’d been waiting for months.

“I won’t cut it,” she whispered.

Draco’s smile lit up the entire room.

“Shave it for all I care, as long as you’re still Hermione granger under all that dna.”

The laugh that’s pulled from her lips was entirely involuntary and when she leaned into his touch

“I couldn’t stop being Hermione Granger even if I tried.”

Draco bent his head in her direction, lips just a whisper from hers

“ I’m counting on it, love.”

[i-am-a-l0st-gh0st]

We listen to a lotta true crime- Wrio x Gn!reader- Part 3

But it's alright, she'll be fine t/w- prison, Wriothesley flirts(?) with you, kissing (consent cause consent is sexy) summary-you've been wrongly accused of trying to murder your ex-husband and wriothesleys determined to get you out

Part 1, Part 2

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The kiss that had happened the previous day had felt like a dream. The way his lips were so soft and gentle. Wriothesley was just perfect. The whole night you sat there blushing and kicking your legs like a little girl, anyone who walked in would’ve guessed what happened.

The next day Wriothesley came to your room once again. “Y/n wake up.”

His voice was stern and his face wasn’t much different. He walked right in sitting down next to you on the bed. “The Knave contacted me, She heard you were in prison.”

Your family has supported the House of Hearth for many years and Arlecchino was like a mother to you when your parents died. You grew up and eventually backed the orphanage financially, which she was very grateful for. The news had reached her ears because of Lyney.

He was one of your closest friends and you too always stuck together. Makes sense he would worry.

“She sounded terribly worried and asked what would happen. I told her about our plan and she said she can help in any way.”

“That's great! We have someone on our side.”

“Oh and also your court hearing is in a week.”

“What?”

“For the appeal.”

“Ah yes.”

You too continued to talk and figure out how you could win the court over. Over about an hour you could fell Wriothesley moving closer and closer, till you ended up in his arms. It was nice and warm, can’t say it helped you think too much but it was nice. Your ex-husband had never shown you affection the way Wriothesley does to you.

A week later

(Look I honestly have no idea how court things work, I have tried to write one before, but that story never finished.)

You and Wriothesley walked into the courtroom, but only one of you was confident. You were sweating and was almost not breathing properly. Wrio noticed this and began to help you. “Hey y/n, look at me okay? Its gonna work. And if it doesn't you can come back down to the fortress with me.”

“Wriothesley, I have a life… I need to get back to it.”

“I see.”

The judge began to silence the room and started the proceedings. She called you to the stand to present your brief. You felt like so many eyes were watching and almost couldn’t take it. THis was something you had to do… If you wanted out that is.

You took the stand and began to speak.

“I had an unfair trial as I barely had one at all. My ex-husband framed me for attempted murder for what reason I don't know. I was out with some friends all day and had hardly seen him, the witnesses are here. When i got home the police were already at my house and my husband was one the floor covered in what seemed to be blood. The next thing i knew i was in prison and now i am here. There is no evidence that i even tried to murder my husband, no finger prints and no other forms of DNA. Thank you for your time.”

The judge seemed to think over your statement before inviting your husband to the stand. After the proceedings, it was time for a final verdict.

“The defending party is declared not guilty.”

You and Wriothesley in happiness. You had won, you were free. You weren’t a criminal. You felt a large pair of arms pull you in for a hug.

“You won…”

You hugged him back pulling him into a tighter embrace, how could you leave him behind?

After you had recovered from the shock of winning Wriothesley took you out to dinner.

“So whatcha gonna do now?”

“Go back to my normal life.”

Wriothesley seemed slightly hurt, he wasn’t really included in your normal live, as he lived underwater. He knew he couldn’t get too hurt because he’d only met you, what a week ago?

“I’m assuming I’m not included.

“Wrio.. I really like you, I'm just not quite sure how it would work.”

“May i have this last night with you?”

“You may.”

Taglist

@pandragonsoul, @atsukawolfcat, @milkwithspicyicecubes, @pookiebearcave. @c0smouche, @with3ringh3ights, @kitsunechan707, @kpopmenace143

[slapjacq]

there’s about to be a slew of thoughts coming from me for this very last episode probably over the next few days, but I’m gonna put them out as such.

For starters:

The funniest part about the ending of this episode was the fact that Louis’ response to everyone talking the most insane amount of shit was truly, in the most American response possible: aight bet pull up then pussy you won’t

A true man after my own heart

Like talk your shit Louis good for you man. I can’t lie wasn’t the smartest thing to do but at least he’s standing on business and I gotta respect that

Generally watching him just plow through the coven and let loose was actually incredible. Like yes girl you didn’t need to leave Paris, you needed to wrong all the mfs that wronged you. Sometimes you just need to open up a can of whoopass and by god did he do that. Santiago’s death was deeply satisfying. I’m happy my blue eyed pretty boy got to use the talents his mama gave him to really read a bitch to filth.

Watching him get back to his roots and rock that post divorce glow was everything, and as someone who has moved from a city to a much different place, the feeling of your city’s air is something that resonated with me so much. I saw someone’s post say something about that already, but I digress. His redecorating of his apartment in Dubai, his “bitch try my me I’m a new man” feel is truly incredible look on him, always and forever routing for Louis DPDL

On top of that Jacob’s work with Sam in the reunion scene is EVERYTHING

Speaking of Sam Reid:

“Siri pause” took me out. I think I was laughing on the floor for twenty minutes. 10/10 comedy gold. I adore Lestat in the modern world and can’t wait to see more of it.The scene in the shack moved me to tears. Lestat better be haunted by Claudia. It would almost be out of character for him not to be. Sam does such an incredible job really giving us Lestat’s guilt. The longing between them, the whole idea of actually seeing Lestat for the first time ever was genuinely wonderful.

Also his scenes in flashback to Paris post trial were also, and I mean dripping with Lestatian emotion.

A part that stuck out to me though, as satisfying as it was, even though I love my doe eyed gremlin, it almost sounded like Armand was regressing back into that scared little kid who was terrified of loosing everyone again, WHICH MIGHT BE A REASKN WHY he turned Daniel, but I’ll hop on my soapbox later about that. Anyways I’m not saying I feel total empathy for the fucker, but it was a little bit sad to hear what I would imagine how some of the conversations/negotiations went with Marius. Genuinely kind of sad but BABY GIRL YOU NEEDED THAT ASS WHOOPING. Like this is all of his fault and by god even though I’m loving every minute of watching his ass get handed to him, I do feel bad for him to an extent. New season wish for Armand: get a therapist, try being single for a decade or two. Like I can’t actually believe that this idiot deluded himself into thinking that the rebound/revenge relationship was gonna be eternal. Like bitch be for real. Idk. Hope my little puppy eyed freak gets his shit together.

DANIEL. MY MAN, MY DUDE. His questions, pulling Louis from the slowly whirring current of Armand’s manipulation was so fucking masterful and cheeky, like they really showed us first hand the reason as to why the man’s got two Pulitzer. And then his turning???? Like he really showed that twink how fucking fascinating he was within a month, ruined an 80 year marriage, and most likely fucked and was turned by the same dude he was out for blood for. No one is doing it like Daniel Molloy. I’m putting money down now that he looked through the paramours file off screen, and knew the advantage was his. I don’t think we’re gonna get a lot of information on that until season 3, but I’m putting it down now. Also shoutout Daniel, the new vampire, live your best life big dawg, do the crazy shit you’ve always wanted to do. The man almost had a post coital glow with the amount of swagger he carried compared to when he was a jaded human. Just generally, Eric fucking crushed it this season. This man is gonna have so much fun next season. Like idk what god or entity I have to bargain with to ensure Eric Bogosian actually lives forever because his characterization of Daniel is actually so spectacular.

This goes for everyone too by the way: EVERYONE, and I mean EVERYONE, knocked it out of the fucking park this season. Genuinely spectacular. I am going to continue to dickride this show so fucking hard in the coming future because all of this effort and all this show-stopping work should not only be seen by just a decently sized community of little freaks but by everyone because every single person on the cast and crew deserve nothing but love and recognition for what they have done with the franchise so far.

Also shout out Sam, we love to see a bad bitch escape with his life.

Can’t wait to see what bullshit he’s got going in 2026

[another-rogue-trevelyan]

I’m in Lucanis hell so here is Lucanis and Elora’s first meeting

——————————————————————————

All Lucanis wanted was a decent cup of coffee, and Viago de Riva was making that impossible.

After finishing his most recent contract, the First Talon had sent Lucanis to House de Riva with some sensitive information. Instead of being quick and easy, it seemed Viago had a thousand things he wanted brought to Caterina’s attention, not the least of which being his latest batch of recruits.

“They’re coming along in the de Riva tradition - stealth, combat, and poisons. We’re surprising them with their poison trial tonight, and I’m hoping we don’t lose as many as we did last time. You would think I didn’t spend hours instructing them - wasted hours, apparently.”

Lucanis sighed, accepting he was going nowhere any time soon. “You said you have a large cohort this time?”

“Five. Certainly more than usual.”

“And did you give them all ridiculous code names like you do your poisons?”

Viago grinned. “We all need a little levity in this line of work, Lucanis. And yes, they’re chess pieces this time - King, Queen, Chevalier, Priestess, and Rook.”

“Hate to be the King. That’s asking for assassination.”

After what felt like hours, Viago finally dismissed him back to House Dellamorte. It was too late in the evening for Café Pietra, so he’d have to settle for coffee at home.

He passed by the Fifth Talon’s artwork in the halls, largely of plants he could use to kill people, and paused briefly to enter a large sitting room. Plush velvet chairs, a roaring fireplace with intricate carvings, expensive decor - no one could say Viago didn’t have taste. He was just pausing to examine a sculpted bust on a pedestal when he heard a crash behind him.

Lucanis whipped around, knives out, and bounded to the door in two silent steps. He stood back to the wall, weapons at the ready - one gifted to him by Caterina many years ago - and slowly peered around the doorframe. Then he relaxed and lowered his knives.

A young elven girl had stumbled into one of Viago’s porcelain vases, sending it crashing to the floor. The girl was clinging to the pedestal it had been placed upon. Blonde hair stuck to her forehead, which even in the dim firelights Lucanis could see was slick with sweat. She was shivering, sickly and pale, her green eyes bloodshot. She stumbled a few steps toward a large flowerpot and promptly vomited into into it.

“Mierda!” Lucanis sighed. The girl could be no older than sixteen, at most. She finished heaving, tried to stand, and promptly stumbled. Lucanis caught her just before she could smack her head on the corner of another one of Viago’s displays.

“Are you an initiate?” Lucanis asked as he painstakingly lead her into the sitting room.

“R…Rook,” she coughed out. Lucanis guided her onto the sofa, laid on her side in case she vomited again, and started searching through Viago’s cabinets. He knew Viago well enough to know he had a stock of poison antidotes in every room. Despite himself he chuckled when he found what he was looking for - a small vial labeled, “up and adder.”

“You’re lucky Viago uses the same poison in every initiate trial. Here, drink this.”

The elven girl - Rook - shakily took the bottle and drank it. She looked relieved a few minutes later when the shaking began to ease, but she was clearly exhausted.

“I don’t understand,” she slurred through heavy eyelids.

“What don’t you understand?” Lucanis asked.

“You’re supposed to let me die.”

She was asleep before he could answer, a bit of color returning to her cheeks. Lucanis took one of Viago’s expensive blankets and placed it over her.

“Not everyone needs to die,” he murmured, and went home to make himself a cup of coffee.

[kinnporsche]

hello again! yes, i am indeed posting yet another kinn & porsche fic rec. these fuckers are living in my head rent-free, truly. you guys know the drill by now—like the others, this list is ordered according to length (from longest to shortest), and each fic is by a different author (to share my love and appreciation)! all fics that are not yet complete have been marked with (wip). lastly, make sure to read the tags, and show the authors some love, because we are simply beyond blessed to have such an abundance of talented writers in this fandom! [part 7/?]

— what a tangled web we weave by fortunehasgivenup – explicit / 80.7k words

After the betrayal of his first husband, King Anakinn Theerapanyakul vows to never love again. Once a week, he takes a new husband, a young man who will not live to see another dawn.

Porsche Kittisawat has spent the years since the death of his parents living under the shaky generosity of his uncle, running errands in Thee’s brothel. Anything to protect Chay, his younger brother.

When a nobleman comes to find a young man to adopt and marry off to the king in place of his own son, Thee chooses Chay.

Faced with an outcome that he refuses to contemplate, Porsche steps in and takes Chay’s place. He only has one request for the king—to be allowed to tell his brother one last bedtime story.

(Or: An AU based on the story of Scheherazade.)

— his kingdom to keep by bleakyblues – explicit / 51.8k words (wip)

And for each piece he keeps, there is a piece he has to sell. Because when you deal with the Devil, you only barter with your soul.

(Or: What happens after Porsche is handed over the ring and the power that goes with it.)

— after ever after by thelaziestmotherfucker – mature / 43.6k words (wip)

“Porsche,” she whispered one night as he laid down with his head in her lap. His eyes were so puffy they felt like they were swollen shut. His nose was runny and his lips felt dry. He couldn’t cry anymore that night. He looked up into her loving eyes as she said, “you must never tell anyone of your gift.”

Porsche’s body tensed up at the command. He knew why she asked it, but little could she fathom that Porsche would be left forever isolated with this secret. He would only be able to hope that no one found out.

She passed away in her bed two days later. Porsche had only just turned thirteen.

— how i know you by nuwildcat – explicit / 31.2k words

The looming shadow of the Dragon Throne has long been on Porsche’s mind. The empire has swept closer and closer to his lands, snatching up smaller kingdoms and grinding them under its boots, all at the hand of one man:

Prince Kinn.

Now that army is on Porsche’s doorstep, and he has a choice to make. He can’t fight off the army, but he can protect his country if he consents to become Kinn’s.

For his kingdom, for his people, Porsche will sacrifice anything, but the real question is, what does he have to gain?

— trials & tribulations by rainbowcolored7 – explicit / 26.3k words

In which Kinn is a renowned lawyer for TK & Associates, as well as a certified bastard, and Porsche is his new assistant who isn’t sure whether he’ll scald him with hot coffee or fuck him before he decides to quit.

— a perpetual unscattering by concernedlily – explicit / 31.4k words

“Where did you say he came from?”

“Pissing in bottles behind a cocktail bar,” Kinn said. “But Pa gave him to me, so I’m stuck with him.” To a visibly furious Porsche he said, “You don’t know the minor family? Never come across any of them before?”

“How would I know the fucking minor family?” Porsche snapped.

— she’s god and i’ve found her by yeetlegay – explicit / 8.4k words

“I—” Porsche’s voice cracks. Her eyes, now that they’re open, can’t seem to look away from Kinn, wandering from her face to her torso, the shirt half-unbuttoned to expose her breasts, suit jacket tossed somewhere on the floor nearby. Her gaze is molten, greedy, when she meets Kinn’s eyes again. “What would you give me?” she asks.

Kinn isn’t prepared for that, or for the effect it has on her, the instinct it unlocks. She moves without thinking. Tugs Porsche’s hips down to meet hers. Brings her mouth close enough to feel her breath, to taste the soft gasp she lets out.

Kinn whispers the word, lips not quite brushing hers. “Anything.”

— running from the daylight by ahdriking – explicit / 7.9k words

“It will be fine,” Kinn snaps, suddenly sitting upright. “I have perfect control.”

Porsche snorts. “No alpha has perfect control. Not in rut.”

Kinn looks at him sharply. “You think me a beast?” He snarls. “That I’ll hump the nearest thing that moves, like some kind of animal?”

“I don’t know,” Porsche shoots back. “But seeing as the nearest moving thing is me, you can understand my concern.”

(Or: Stuck in the forest, handcuffed together, Kinn goes into rut.)

— and seek to mend by vesna (mrsronweasley) – explicit / 7.3k words

Porsche is thinking about something that’s been niggling at him for a while, and he thinks, yes. He can probably bring it up now. “I was just thinking,” he starts, wondering how Kinn will react. “Just wondering…”

“Yeah?” Kinn doesn’t stop running his hand up and down Porsche’s back in slow, soothing motions.

Porsche clears his throat, then says, as nonchalantly as he can manage, “Have you ever been fucked?”

— if you leave it ‘til later, you lose by mslunita – explicit / 6.9k words

Kinn’s night at the sex club he frequents is ruined when a rich newcomer takes everyone’s attention. The bartender is pretty hot, but there’s no way he’d go home with Kinn... right?

(Or: Porsche is a bartender at a sex club and Kinn wants him.)

— haunt me when you’re not around by butterflylungs – explicit / 6.3k words

He turns his head back around and he comes to a sudden stop, so fast he almost trips face first into the gun pointed at him. Fear explodes in his chest before Porsche shoves it down, because he can’t afford to be scared. Because Kinn, standing in front of him right now, would smell the fear and jump on it.

“Got you,” Kinn says, finger on the trigger.

— i see nobody, nobody but you by kurtstiel – explicit / 6.3k words

“What’s the matter?” Porsche breathes. “Are you afraid Vegas would be a better kisser than you? Fuck me better than you?”

Kinn goes completely still. He draws back slowly; a cold, detached kind of anger on his face, like he’s transcended rage completely. The part of Porsche that should be frightened has been replaced by the overwhelming, empty ache between his legs.

Porsche gazes at him, knowing he’s about to get exactly what he wants. “You don’t have any kind of claim on me. I don’t belong to you.”

(Or: Kinn catches Porsche arriving home on Vegas’ motorcycle in Episode 5.)

— our little remedy by mirrorofprinces – explicit / 5.8k words

Porsche hesitates.

Kinn snorts, grabbing a fresh towel off the rack behind him. “You let me shoot an apple off your head, but this is too scary? Get over here. I’ll do it myself.”

— home is not a place by thewayside – explicit / 4.2k words

Somewhere between Kinn arriving at Porsche’s and everything going to hell, they have each other.

(Or: Set during Episode 12 after Kinn & Porsche go back to the alleyway behind Hum Bar where they first met.)

— you’ve got to beg to be proud by starstrung – explicit / 2.4k words

Kinn and Porsche have a rule. Their work may take them to dangerous places. They might have to make hard decisions, be threatening, be charming, or a deadly mixture of the two.

They always come home to each other.

[charcadett]

MILO please please please headcanon request for what it would be like being part of Team Skull and dating Guzma after TS disbands?

Hiii Charlie. Okay unsure how I feel about this one because I never finished the Ultra Moon post game or watched the anime so I’m sure there’s something he’s ACTUALLY doing. But man. I have no idea what that is.

Dating Guzma After Team Skull Disbands

- While Team Skull disbands and ceases annoying trial goers, they also technically stick together. Most of the members who stuck around still live in Po Town, including you, Guzma, and Plumeria. The first order of business is cleaning up. Although the result isn’t perfect considering it's being done by a group of people who are essentially twenty-something college dropouts. Of course, in true dropout fashion, this results in a massive trash-burning bonfire. The blaze lasts until Nanu drops by, asking if anyone is aware that that is illegal. He’s hit with a resounding no.

- “What do you mean? People burn wood and shit all the time,” One grunt says.

- Nanu picks up a large stick another grunt was using to stoke the fire. “I see a mattress, at least five plastic bags, and… ten tires. That’s incredibly toxic. Get away from there.”

- The cleaning operation results in Guzma finally cleaning his room. The chest of Buginium Z is given elsewhere to be distributed to trial goers rather than hoarded, his bed is made, the carpet is vacuumed, and the throne is tossed in a dumpster. Much to your dismay. There was no denying the inherent hotness of the throne, even if its removal frees up a significant amount of space for decorating. An activity Guzma leaves to you. He can do the heavy lifting, but interior decoration is not his forte. If it were up to him, his mattress would be on the floor, and he’d use a crate as a table.

- Guzma deals with a lot of toxic masculinity. Being vulnerable, especially in front of others, is hard for him. Guzma's working on that right now. It’s still hard for him to tell you how he feels, to talk to you if he’s jealous rather than intimidate the other guy into submission, but he’s working on it. He wants to be a good partner to you and he knows this is the best way to do it. His compliments are clumsy for a bit. Guzma can tell you how hot you look with little issue. When it comes down to more intimate details, he clams up. He does notice the little things. Your laugh is nice. It makes him get butterflies in his stomach when you smile at him, he loves the way his heart flips when you kiss him, though these are things he’s unable to articulate well. He gets better eventually. For now, you smile while he stumbles his way through how pretty your eyes are.

[yourfavoritebookclub]

WINGLEADER: A Xaden Riorson POV Fanfiction

CHAPTER 3

I'm alone at the bottom of the turret now, all the candidates having made their way up the stairs in the last few hours. I’m walking so fast I might as well be running, but I have to find somewhere to piece myself back together.

There’s a small alcove at the back of the Healers Quadrant, and I throw myself into it before anyone else can witness the panic that’s radiating off of my body. I throw up a wall of shadows and shrug out of my jacket, letting it drop to the stone floor.

My whole body feels tight with adrenaline. 

I don’t do this. I don’t lose control.

I can’t afford to lose control.

I can’t afford to lose 107 lives.

I twine my fingers around the back of my neck, and my thumb brushes over one of the scars on my shoulder.

For them, I’ll keep it together. 

I’m so close to getting back so many things.

I can’t let anything get in the way of that.

I won’t let anything get in the way.

Not even Brennan’s sister.

I care for Brennan, and the sacrifices he’s made, but that does not mean Violet is worthy of my care. 

I press the pads of my fingers into my eyelids until I’m seeing spots. 

Two breaths. 

I blow out the last, shaky breath, pick up my rain soaked jacket, and step out of the shadows into a suddenly sunny day.

…

I make it up to the Rider’s Quadrant long before the parapet trial is over.

Leadership is supposed to meet in the courtyard once the last of the candidates' finish, but if I go now Panchek will wonder why I left my post early.

Instead I wind my way up the spiral staircase to the third-year dorms, letting my shadows unravel behind me. 

My signet doesn’t actually create shadows. It pulls from the shadows that exist in the world around me, anchoring them to me so that I have control over them. Keeping them contained is often more exhausting than allowing them to roam. 

I open the door to my room. 

I’ve tried to make it mine. I was taught meticulously to respect the space I occupy my entire life.

My father reminded me often,

“Xaden, your room is yours, and yours alone. Treat it with care, keep it safe, sanctimonious. Your mind is the same.” He taps his temple with his pointer finger, “You will need it when you become a rider. Practice now and you will find your feet firmly planted when you’re ready.”

I hear his voice so often when my control begins to slip. 

A reminder of what I lost, of what I have to do to regain the scraps that are left. Of why I read in the wide seated armchair by the bed the way my mother used to.

Three deep breaths. 

I smooth out my hair and straighten my flight leathers before walking to the door and twisting the knob. 

Sgaeyl, always passively present, says quietly, “Remember who you are now. Let go of the girl, of Brennan. It is done. And it is not important.”

I swallow the lump in my throat.

For all of her ferocity, and endless desire for perfection in battle, she knows when to use a gentle hand.

And I appreciate her even more when she doesn’t wait for me to respond.

•••

The day has warmed considerably since I made my way to the quadrant an hour ago. I find Bodhi leaning against one of the stone archways at the edge of the courtyard.

“Garrick still at the parapet?”

He nods, a mischievous grin spreading across his face, “I just got here, he got stuck ushering the first-years.”

I manage a small smile, and I mean it as I picture the tall, imposing rider stuck with all the babies.

Bodhi softly clears his throat before shifting his body to the right and staring at something over to the side.

Rather, someone.

Fucking Bodhi. 

At the front of the Healers Tents is Violet, standing next to Dain Aetos. 

Her skin is concerningly pale, and she looks weary as hell on her feet, but she’s still standing.

It’s not a secret that Aetos’ father and General Sorrengail have been close friends for almost two decades now. 

Aetos is a good Squad leader. An absolute shit, with no nuance when it comes to the rules, but I respect his drive. Though his conviction would be more respectable if it was channeled to the right side of the rebellion.

Bodhi clears his throat again and I cut a sideways look at him. 

“I heard your new friend made quite the display after she crossed the parapet.”

“I’m sure you’ll continue to tell me about it.” I scowl.

“She stuck a knife in between Jack Barlowe’s balls and essentially told the little shit to fuck off.”

I feel the corner of my mouth tip up, “That spells a bit of trouble, doesn’t it.”

I do a quick scan of the crowd of new first years and then glance down at the floor, toeing the stone beneath my feet. The only indication of the anxiety that’s coursing through my body.  

“Is Liam…?” I trail off.

“Yes,” his breath snags and I know he’s as relieved as I am,“ Yea, he’s here. It’s part of the reason I left early. I didn’t want you to have to wait to find out.”

I smile at him.

Fucking Bodhi. 

Before relief can set in, the clock tower bell rings a clear, echoing note, and Bodhi and I begin moving.

We stick to the shadows, and I pull just a touch of them around our bodies to go unnoticed as we make our way to the back of the group. 

Garrick is standing behind the line of cadets. 

He hits us both with an annoyed look. “Aren’t you two a sight for sore eyes.” He mutters. 

Bodhi breaks off to join the other second-years throwing a cocky grin over his shoulder.

Garrick narrows his eyes at Bodhi's retreating form, "You let him get away with too much Xaden. Someone might think you're being nepotistic."

"Oh, I absolutely am." I say with a grin.

Garrick and I continue walking over to the side of the dais. We sidle up to the rest of the wingleaders and stand in formation. Chin up, spine straight, and hands behind our backs. We symbolize a "unified front" according to Panchek.

These are the moments where I sink into myself. I stand firmly in who I am, and who I aim to be.

I am a leader. And I am good at what I do.

Panchek begins speaking, a near identical speech to the one he gave our first year, “Three hundred and one of you have survived the parapet to become cadets today.” He pauses, scanning the crowd, “Good job. Sixty-seven did not.” 

Pancheck raises both hands towards the crowd in a dramatic gesture and says, his voice booming, “As the Codex says, now you begin the true crucible! You will be tested by your superiors, hunted by your peers, and guided by your instincts. If you survive to Threshing, and if you are chosen, you will be riders. Then we’ll see how many of you make it to graduation.”

Three hundred and sixty-eight people attempted to make it to the Rider’s Quadrant this morning. Almost twenty percent more than my first year. 

“Your instructors will teach you. It’s up to you how well you learn. Discipline falls to your units, and your wingleader is the last word.” I smile, just a bit. 

It’s not that I desire power, but I know how to harness it. How to use it effectively. 

Power is a weapon just like anything else.

“If I get involved…You don’t want me involved.” He threatens with a smile. “With that said, I’ll leave you to your wingleaders. My best advice? Don't die.” Then it’s just us on the stage and we’re all sizing up the newest cadets. 

Nyra, our senior wingleader introduces herself, “I’m Nyra, the senior wingleader of the quadrant and the head of the First Wing. Section leaders and squad leaders, take your positions now.” 

The Wingleaders divvy up the cadets until everyone is in their proper squads. 

I’m not paying attention to the squads though.

I find myself watching Violet again.

Her gaze drifts up to mine like she can feel my stare. She lifts her chin, just the smallest display of defiance.

I just want to see what might happen. What she could make happen, if she harnesses all of that potential.

If she has enough of Brennan in her.

It’s a dangerous gamble. I can’t shake the hate that roiled between us earlier. But Brennan’s description of his youngest sister painted her as empathetic, someone who seems morally aligned with us. “She’s a skeptic as any scribe should be.” he said during one of the late nights we spent on the hills of Aretia, trying to reconcile the lives we left behind.

I can work with that.

But first I need her in my quadrant. 

I want it bad enough that I’ll put up with Dain.

It’s a simple ask, and I have enough pull among the Wingleaders that there’s only the briefest of objections before everyone agrees that there’s no point in arguing with me.

We all turn and I can’t help the small, triumphant smile that’s now on my face.

Nyra inclines her head towards Flame Sections Second Squad, “Dain Aetos, you and your squad will switch with Aura Beinhaven’s.”

A minute later, Violet Sorrengail is standing in the Fourth Wing.

My wing.

Nyra’s done giving orders and I step forward to the front of the stage.

“Take a look at your squad.” I don’t have to try to keep my voice clear and steady anymore. I know every syllable needs to portray my authority to each one of these cadets. 

“These are the only people guaranteed by the Codex not to kill you. But just because they can’t end your life doesn’t mean others won’t. You want a dragon?” A few of them nod.

“Earn one.”

There’s a smattering of cheers that grow louder as I say, “And I bet you feel pretty badass right now, don’t you first-years? You feel invincible after the parapet, don’t you?” I’m shouting now, drowning out every arrogant cheer. 

“You think you’re untouchable! You’re on the way to become the elite! The few! The chosen!” They cheer like they’ve won something. I can’t help but feel a little smug at their naivety as the thunder of wings grows louder. 

The dragons fly overhead and bank, a great gust of wind pushing through the crowd. 

A few screams pierce the air and I feel just a little pity at those who will die in the coming minutes. There’s always a few.

Saegyl is easy to pick out as she lands in front of Violet and the rest of the Fourth wing.

The dragons all sit atop the walls.

I know the names of each one, have seen them everyday for almost 3 years, and it still never fails to steal the breath from me.

My eyes snap forward as a cadet breaks formation and races toward the keep. 

And I can’t help but sigh inwardly as one of the dragons opens its mouth and reduces the recently awarded cadet into barely there ash.

“It’s better he goes now rather than later,” Sgaeyl exhales with the same sigh. 

There are more deserters, and a few more piles of ash before everyone has learned their lesson. 

“She is hurt all over.” Sgaeyl huffs. 

I sneak a small glance to where Sgaeyl is perched, assessing Violet.

“Wh- where?” There’s an involuntary edge to my voice, making my thoughts stutter.

“Her stance would suggest everywhere.”

“Do you wish to be her healer, wingleader?” Tairn chortles. 

I close my eyes, biting down on an exasperated groan. I direct my thoughts toward Tairn, “Are you contented to mock me today?”

“Yes.” 

I sense surprise, and…delight? From Sgaeyl.

My dragon is playing with Violet. Or trying to scare her. Whatever Sgaeyl has seen on Violet’s face has impressed her.

A rare occurrence.

“She will be interesting indeed.” And I have to stifle another groan at my meddling dragon. 

I block out both of them before addressing the crowd again, “Anyone else feeling like changing their mind? No? Excellent. Roughly half of you will be dead by this time next summer.” The formation grows quiet. “A third of you again the year after that, and the same your last year. No one cares who your mommy or daddy is here. Even King Tauri’s second son died during his Threshing.”

A few have started outright crying.

“So tell me again: Do you feel invincible now that you’ve made it into the Riders Quadrant? Untouchable? Elite? Because you’re not untouchable or special to them.” I lean forward and point at Sgaeyl for emphasis, “To them, you’re just the prey.”

•••

I’m getting antsy. 

I managed to catch Imogen in time to have her give Liam my room number, but it always takes a while to get the first-years settled. 

I haven’t stopped pacing, and I’m starting to get light headed as my breaths become shallower and shallower.

I need to breathe. I clench and unclench my fists, letting small tendrils of shadow pull away from me before walking over to the armchair by the bed.

I force myself to sit down. Counting my breaths in an effort to regain a scrap of control after the events of today.

My shadows have started edging their way down the hall when there’s a single rap on the wood. I’m practically sprinting toward the door.

I snatch at the handle and open it a fraction.

All I can see is blonde hair and bright blue eyes as Liam Mairi slips through the door, closing it softly behind him.

He turns towards me and I stand rooted to the spot, taking him in.

He’s gained muscle.

He took my advice and kept training, and while he looks exhausted, and a little older, he looks strong and healthy.

His presence still feels the way it did when I left.

We both stand frozen for another heartbeat, taking in the changes.

Before I get a chance to move, Liam has me in a tight, back breaking hug. I wrap my arms around him, and my eyes start to sting. Only Liam could reduce me to tears like this. 

“I missed you, bud.” I say, ruffling the hair on the back of his head.

“I missed you, too.” He says, before pulling out of my grip.

He’s got a broad smile on his face and it takes me a minute to work past the crushing joy I feel at seeing him in front of me.

“You look like shit brother.” He says it with a smirk, but I can see the worry in the slant of his brow.

Before I can respond he walks over to the armchair by the bed and sits, giving me a few more seconds to be frozen in the moment before he gestures to the foot of the bed, “Tell me everything.”

[lizzie-is-here]

like the dawn

part xv- the canyon

“to me you are the desert and the sea and everything secretive” - ingeborg bachmann

summary: you, bucky, and steve are in dire need of a vacation. and once you get the russian assassin out of your head, that’ll be a piece of cake

wordcount: 3.8k

warnings: violence, angst, cussing, flashbacks, fluff, cheesy shit, brief allusion to sexy time, the trio being domestic, me giving y’all some last fluff before i wreck your souls

taglist: @whelvedfeelingsstuff @sebsgirl71479 @rebloggingmyrecs @babyblublossom @local-mr-frog @thenyxsky @capsiclesdoll @moonlightreader649 @saranghaey @almosttoopizza @itsivymusic

a/n: lmao y’all i’m sorry again. finals have been on my ass so updates have been slow. ALSO i’m going to put this series on a month-long hiatus that will end after christmas, cause i wanna try and do a christmas mini-series so tell me if y’all like that idea. hope y’all enjoy 🫶🫶🫶

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Siberia, 1968.

You didn’t know what year it was. You didn’t know how long you’d been stuck in that facility.

Zola had just given the order to pull you from cryo. He’d just successfully wiped the other American asset, and he was sure it would work on you, too.

The telltale hissing sound emanated around the room.

Ice clung to your hair and wings, your muscles stiff and the sudden change in temperature threw you into consciousness after ten years asleep.

You screamed, a silent gasp of icy-cold air escaping your lungs. The pain seared through your body as a burning sensation covered your skin.

Your legs fell out from under you, and two guards grabbed your shoulders and started leading you through the building. You’d done this many times before. You knew where they were taking you.

You stopped fighting them a long time ago.

Today, however, there were more soldiers in the formidable room. They surrounded the upper railing, buzzing with excitement.

You spotted some senior officers amongst the crowd and furrowed your brow.

“What is this?” you demanded, voice weak and wet as the ice in your lungs slowly melted. It was never enough water to pose a threat, just cause pain.

You didn’t receive an answer. Instead, a tactical vest was shoved onto your torso, gloves were yanked on your hands, and a scientist took your pulse.

“Fucking hell, take it easy,” you grumbled. There really wasn’t a point in complaining about something so small. But you’d take what you could.

A man barked an order in Russian. The soldiers in the room suddenly retreated to the upper levels, and the scientists scampered away like mice.

“What the hell…” you whispered to yourself. Your wings were still thawing, but you could feel your powers returning to normal.

An intercom crackled, and Arnim Zola’s nasally voice echoed through the room.

“Agent (L/N), this is the culmination of my work,” he crowed. “When you were brought here so long ago-“

So long? You didn’t know how long it had been. The only indicator of the time that passed was the aging of the scientist, evident in his growing wrinkles.

“- We thought that your… combative tendencies would hinder your usefulness to HYDRA.”

“I’m more than thrilled to say that it has not.”

You assumed that this was another one of their gladiator-like trials. A way to test your powers and take out a traitorous agent all at once.

“Then why am I still calling you a wrinkly old-“

The door opened behind you.

You turned around, preparing to fight another scared agent sentenced to death by entering the room with you.

But you don’t see an agent.

“Bucky?”

Tears welled up in your eyes instantly. You’d been demanding to know something, anything about him for the whole time you’d been stuck in this hellhole.

The men in the room chuckle, quietly exchanging words in languages you couldn’t understand.

“I’ve- you’re alive,” you sobbed. Hurrying across the floor, you stretched out your arms in a hug.

But when you got close enough to touch your best friend, he grabbed your wrist with a painfully firm grip.

“Bucky?” you asked, still sniffling. It’s only then that you spotted the metal arm. In your excitement, you’d managed to completely miss it. “What are you doing?”

He didn’t respond. His eyes were cold, almost like he didn’t recognize you.

And then he threw your arm back and grabbed a knife.

You stumbled back, shaking as you realized what was happening. Whatever fucked-up project Zola had been orchestrating, he’d done it.

And now Bucky… wasn’t Bucky.

You flew upwards in a desperate attempt to avoid hurting him, but a grappling hook latched onto your vest and yanked you down.

You slammed into the concrete floor, crying harder as you tried to get away from your best friend.

“James, please, I don’t want to hurt you. I won’t,” you begged. He didn’t respond to the name, only continued marching towards you.

You stood, unsure of what to do. You couldn’t forgive yourself if you hurt him. But the only other option was to let him beat you. But “beating” you didn’t mean that you yielded.

These fights almost always ended in a casualty.

Maybe you could break through Zola’s experiment. You rushed towards Bucky, and he readied the knife.

You knocked it from his grip, kicking it away before you flipped him onto his back.

“James, please, you have to recognize me.”

He grunts before stilling. “Who’s James?” he asks.

No. This was worse than you’d thought. You thought that they’d made him forget you. But they’d taken all of his memories. Or, most of them, if he couldn’t remember his own name.

He took your moment of shock, and you gasped as a sharp pain entered your back.

You coughed, blinking rapidly.

“Jamie?” you asked. It was more of a whimper, really.

Bucky’s eyes rolled back, and when he blinked again, he finally reacted to you.

“(Y/N)? What’s-“

More doors opened, and soldiers flooded in. They were going to separate you.

You screamed out for him, clinging to him as he did the same. You were ripped away by dozens of hands, held back as they yanked him to his feet.

“Bucky!” you shouted. He made eye contact for a brief moment, and you signaled for him to look away.

The light that flashed through that room should’ve done more than blind the men. But instead, more came out to replace those screaming on the floor.

You struck down man after man, ruthless in your attacks. Until a soldier shouted from behind you.

He and two others had Bucky restrained with a gun to his head.

In broken English, he barked out, “I will shoot! Stand down!”

Bucky shook his head. “(Y/N).” Your breath wavered. “It’s okay. Get out of here.”

Shaking your head, you held up your hands, letting the light fade away.

“If I leave, it’s with you,” you whispered. “Until the end of the line.”

Before he could protest, he was dragged screaming and crying to the chair, and your stomach dropped.

They were going to make you watch him get wiped.

Bucky was locked into the seat, voice cracking as he protested. Even as his silver arm strained against the cuffs they locked down, he couldn’t escape.

It was when they shoved the headset on that you broke. You tried to run forward, ready to strike down more guards without remorse, but they grabbed you, five guards barely holding you back.

The machine buzzed to life, and Bucky’s screams got louder.

“James!” you yelled, struggling to escape confinement. You threw one guard off and fired a blast through his head, not flinching as you did the same to two others.

But when you took one down, more arrived. You couldn’t win.

Arnim started calling out words in Russian, and each one seemed to cause Bucky more pain. The rolling language caused him to twist and shake in the chair, until finally the headset was removed.

The man left behind was shivering despite dripping in sweat, blankly staring ahead. His eyes couldn’t seem to focus on anything, dropping with each second.

“What did you do to him?” you asked, voice quiet as you watched them lead him away.

“The same thing we’re about to do to you,” Zola said. “Put her in the chair.”

The knife was still lodged in your back, but a soldier ripped it out with a tug, causing you to cry out. They grabbed you while the wound was still healing, shoving you into the chair before locking you in place.

You tilted your chin up in defiance. Your lip quivered as the headset was lowered, but you stared the scientist down anyway.

At least, you stared him down until a near-lethal amount of electricity shot through you. You felt every muscle tense under the burning sensation, screams that you couldn’t hear leaving your lips.

Zola circled the chair, and started saying the words.

———————————————————————

“Свет [Light].” Ayo watches you carefully as she says the first word, waiting for your eyes to glaze and for you to turn into a killing machine. You’re waiting for it too.

“Небо [Sky],” she continues. You feel something in your head, like a tugging force in your brain.

But it worked on Bucky. It had to work on you.

“Прирост [growth], начало [dawn], восемнадцать [eighteen].”

You bite your tongue, determined to tough it out to the end. Ayo barrels on, even as your hands begin to shake and you see the fire in front of you grow brighter.

“Душа [Soul], девять [nine].”

You take a shaky inhale, quietly begging the universe to give you this. To give you your freedom back after seven decades.

“Испытующий [searching], один [one]...”

The force grows stronger, and you can feel yourself slipping. You’re fighting, fighting, fighting.

And then it’s like time stops.

You push the Angel out of your mind. She falls away far easier than you expect.

Like she understands.

“Ущелье [Ravine].”

You breathe in.

And out.

You open your eyes, almost hesitantly. It’s like you expect to wake up in a dream.

But your boys are right in front of you, and you’re still sitting in front of a fire in Wakanda.

“(Y/N)?” Steve hesitates. He doesn’t want to assume that, just because it worked on Bucky, it will work on you.

You’re so quiet, that they fear the worst. Ayo adjusts her grip on her spear.

Then, your eyes start watering, and you let out a soft chuckle.

“Did it-“ you begin. Ayo nods.

“You’re free as well, Agent.” Your hand flies to your mouth as you thank her.

Bucky and Steve are quick to wrap their arms around you, somewhere between laughing and crying as the meaning of the results finally sets in.

“We did it,” Bucky whispers to you. For a moment, the three of you forget about his arm, about your wings, about how lonely Steve’s been for weeks.

“We’re free.”

———————————————————————

“No, no, no. You need to take a right,” you say, stretching over the driver’s seat to point at the exit. Steve nods and takes it, before swatting Bucky’s hand away from the radio.

It was a month after becoming “free”.

Your nightmares have decreased, and the three of you have only become more, as Tony puts it, “disgustingly in love”. He’s not wrong. You really do love them.

Once you were fully cleared for release, you came to the unanimous decision to take a well-earned vacation.

Tony was kind enough to provide a high-tech yet low-profile minivan. It was bulletproof and enhanced with Stark tech, perfect for three famous super-soldiers who want to travel the country. Plus, it ran off of a mini arc reactor, so no ridiculous gas prices.

You’ve just left the compound, and are on the way up the East Coast.

“So, Acadia National Park first?” the brunet asks, pointing to the map. Even though all three of you have phones, the large sheets of paper are familiar.

The carefully drawn route starts in New York and ends in the place you’ve all wanted to go for decades. The Grand Canyon.

“Yeah, then we’ll just see where the route takes us,” Steve confirms. The highway in front of you is full of cars, moving so slowly that they might as well be still. The blond groans. “Damn bottlenecks.”

“70 years and you still don’t have any patience, Stevie.” You press an endearing kiss to the top of his head.

Tension leaves his shoulders, and the following kiss from Bucky practically melts him.

He loses himself in the way you and Bucky pepper kisses on his head and hand respectively, relaxing and zoning out. It’s bliss. He doesn’t have to worry about the government chasing you down, or planning the next mission, or being that perfect leader the world wants. He can enjoy this. Just him, Bucky, and you-

A loud honking sound scares the shit out of all of you. You whip around, glaring at the offending car behind you.

“Alright! I’m going,” Steve calls to no one in particular, sheepishly driving forward and out of the traffic jam.

After a few minutes, the road becomes much less crowded. You credit it to how fast people drive now, always in a rush to get to the next place.

It sounds old-fashioned, but after endless fighting and work, you’re more than happy to enjoy the time in between. The long, stretching highway that sprawls out in front of you seems more like an escape than an obstacle.

At least, for a little bit. Bucky shifts in the oddly plush seat, staring at the passing trees.

“Are we there yet?”

———————————————————————

Your first stop is in Maine. A picturesque National Park that lives up to its reputation.

Hiking comes easily. Super-soldier serum makes most things easy, to be honest.

But the lakes are gorgeous and the snow-capped peaks are equally so, so you’re more than content. The homey cabin you’ve rented also helps the situation.

It’s the end of day two on the trail when you hear a thud from behind you.

When you turn around, Steve’s on the ground, foot caught on a rock.

“Steve!” you laugh. Bucky helps him up, brushing the dust off of the blond. “Are you alright?”

He blushes furiously and drops his head on your shoulder to hide the redness. The brunet pats his back.

“Time to head back?” he asks. You wouldn’t mind turning in. It’s late. And the comfortable bed is sounding better by the second.

The three of you all agree and are back within the hour. The short return time may or may not be due to Bucky calling for a race back to the cabin, but you’ll never tell.

That night, when you’re wrapped around each other, warm and safe, you manage to shoo away the last of your worry about the trip. The way Steve’s hand never leaves your waist and Bucky mumbles to you in his sleep makes it more than worth it.

———————————————————————

Florida came next.

It was an easy decision to avoid major cities, but people still recognized you.

Drunken barhoppers ask for pictures or sometimes a fight, both of which you turn down. There’s always some random man yelling and running the beach at night.

The ocean makes up for the strange people, and the rolling waves and endless beaches make for a great getaway.

You’re currently underwater, watching as a school of impossibly tiny fish swim around you. Your wings scare them a bit, but the mesmerizing flash of their scales is far too entertaining to leave them be.

Thankfully, you don’t have to. Your lungs aren’t heaving for oxygen, even though you’ve been under for over a minute and a half, and the salt water doesn’t seem to bother your eyes.

A strong wave passes over you, and the following current throws you to the side. At the sudden movement, the fish dart away.

You come up for air, basking in the heat and the refreshing water all around you. Water has long soaked your feathers, but you can’t bring yourself to mind.

“I could stay forever, I think,” Steve says, swimming up next to you. “The weather is perfect.” You’re not surprised by his appreciation of the constant warmth. Out of all of you, he handles cold the worst.

Bucky nods, movements lazy. “Can’t disagree. Could jus’ go to sleep out here.”

“In the ocean?” you tease, watching as the waves lull him deeper into drowsiness.

He mumbles a yes, still half-floating atop the ocean. “Half-floating” because the weight of his metal arm ended up tilting the left side of his body into the water.

Steve smiles at the two of you. You both look… lighter. He feels so, too.

In one smooth motion, he scoops Bucky up in his arms and starts bridal-carrying him back to the shore. The brunet’s protests are met with shushing.

“I can’t have you falling asleep out there,” he says, kissing him on the forehead. You follow them, eager to dry off.

Later, after you eat dinner and desecrate the beach house’s kitchen with your post-dessert activities, the team calls.

They say you’re all glowing. The positive effects of the vacation have clearly been working.

Tony mentions that Thor -the actual Norse god of thunder, much to your surprise- stopped by Earth recently, with his brother in tow. Something about his father going missing.

Nat and Wanda say they miss you at training and wish you well. The call ends when Vision accidentally phases through their phone.

———————————————————————

A few days later, you’re driving through Texas when Steve very suddenly needs to piss very badly. You call Sam in a panic, unfamiliar with the area.

“Just go stop at a Buc-ee’s,” he says.

You pause, pointing at him. “Bucky?”

“No, Buc-ee’s.” He’s very adamant. But Bucky’s never lived in Texas?

“That’s what I said,” you insist, growing agitated.

From the driver’s seat, Steve groans. “No, love, it’s a gas station chain.”

“They named a gas station after me?” Bucky asks, eyes wide. From the facetime call, you can see Sam roll his eyes.

“No, you dumbass,” he chuckles. “Buc-ee’s. With a hyphen.”

“Where in ‘Bucky’ is there a fucking hyphen?!” you exclaim, causing Steve to jump. The situation only grows more chaotic from there, but you manage to spot the gas station, pulling in as the captain rushes out of the car.

You’re just glad you made it before Steve pissed himself.

———————————————————————

You pass through several more states. Frigid slopes up north and places so hot you swear that your feathers are melting off. Arizona is one of the latter, but it’s all worth it when you finally arrive at your final stop.

“Close your eyes, Buck,” Steve insists, trying to simultaneously cover his face and drive at the same time. You do the former for him, gently wrapping a hand over the brunet’s eyes.

“This seems a bit childish,” he chuckles. You shrug, although he can’t see it. The car comes to a stop at the parking lot, and you squeeze out and stretch your wings. Bucky, eyes now closed, is led out by Steve.

You make it up a small hill, and the view almost knocks the wind from your lungs.

Sure, you knew the Park was huge. But that knowledge didn’t quite translate into what lay before you.

“It’s gorgeous,” you whisper. Your boys nod.

You glance over to Bucky. It’s been his dream to come here, and he was the one who roped you two in on it. He’d ramble about traveling the world during class, ending with all of you in trouble for not paying attention. It never deterred him. He spent countless nights in the library, researching everywhere he wanted to go.

But that was before money got tight. That was before his dad left and he was working adults’ hours at 14 to make sure his ma and Rebecca wouldn’t have to struggle. That was before the war.

His eyes are teary as he surveys the view.

On your other side, Steve is similarly misty-eyed. But it’s not from the view.

This trip has taken away so much of his stress. You see it in how he holds himself, the way he’s finally sleeping in and doesn’t jump up at 5:35 sharp to go on a run and start his day. He’s been happily laying in bed with you two, slowly waking up and spending the early hours of your morning just talking and relaxing in each others’ arms.

And maybe your powers let you tune into his emotions better. Maybe.

It’s silent for a while. After a few minutes, your feet start to move.

Walking up closer to the railing, you peer over the edge. The drop is steep, but you’ve never been afraid of heights.

“Are you thinking-“ Steve begins. You nod.

“Is that a bad idea?” you ask. It’s definitely breaking some park rules, maybe even some local laws.

Bucky speaks up, breaking his stupor. “There’s no one around, doll.” He takes one of your hands. “Besides, we’re with the Captain America, you won’t get into trouble.” His teasing tone is followed by a wink to the blond.

With his help, you climb up onto the railing. The wind swirls around you, and you cast an unsure glance at your boys.

With a more serious nod from them, you let go.

The plummet is breathtaking. For as many times as you’ve dropped, this is different.

The orange and red rock rises and falls on cliffs and rivers, dry and warm in the low sun. You spread your wings and make a sharp turn around a craggy spire, trusting years of experience to guide you through the narrow paths.

Despite the trauma that is tied to your wings, you know they won’t fail you. You could navigate this canyon blindfolded.

As you’re circling a cliff, it clicks into place. An epiphany.

HYDRA never broke you.

No, if they broke you, you wouldn’t be here.

They hurt you. More than you could truly comprehend– even now. But you never broke. You fought until they took your mind from you, and then you fought silently until you won it back seventy years later.

It took that long. But you weren’t in those seventy years anymore. You were in… now.

Now, where your wings are soaring on warm drafts in the place you’d wanted to go since a geography class in 3rd grade and the loves of your life are waiting back on the hill.

So lost in your bliss, you narrowly avoid slamming into a small outcropping.

You slow to a stop, staring curiously at the light pink flowers that grow on the ledge.

It’s a dry area. They really shouldn’t be there. The lush green and soft hues are garishly out of place in the rust-colored rock.

But maybe you’re a bit out of place, too. By all odds, none of you should be alive. You and Bucky shouldn’t be free.

Yet here you are. And so are the flowers.

You recognize them now; phlox. They used to be used medically for body aches. Symbols of united souls.

You gently lift the small bunch of flowers out of the soil, cradling them as you fly back to the hill.

Bucky and Steve have watched you the whole time. Watching the way you coasted on thin air in effortless movements.

“Did you find something?” Steve asks, eyeing the flowers. You nod, brushing some dirt away from the roots.

Your boys offer feather-light kisses, and you brush the dirt from your shoes as you head back to the car. 2,400 miles from here to the compound is a long ways to go. And you’re going to enjoy every second.

[deancasswitchbang]

Missionary Man

Author: AmberXBoone (@amberxboone​) Artist: Tallula03 (@alicetallula​) Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence  Tags: Murder Husbands, AU (no Supernatural), Lawyer Castiel, neuroscientist Dean WInchester, rock band Dean Winchester, anal sex, oral sex, shower sex,  References to gun violence, stabbings, gore, references to domestic violence, unsafe sex, blood covered sex, drug use/drug use reference

Summary: Castiel Novak, Esq. is a struggling Manhattan attorney who has made one too many mistakes at work. In order to make up for it, partners Chuck Shurley and Zachariah Adler task him with killing the star witness in the firm's biggest trial, a fraud case against Niveus Pharmaceuticals. That witness is disgraced whistleblower neuroscientist Dean Winchester, who has been playing rock star since being fired from his job. But after stalking Dean in the bars and clubs where his band plays, Castiel winds up in Dean's bed instead, and the two decide to take out the people after them to save themselves. Promo: Dean reaches down to Castiel, pulls him back up until he’s standing, kisses Castiel like no one has kissed him before. “Who are you, Castiel? Why have you been everywhere I’ve been for like a week?”

Castiel kisses him back, slips his tongue along the edges of Dean’s lips. “I’m supposed to kill you.”

“Yeah, I kind of figured that.” Dean’s fingers move up to Castiel’s face. “You’re not doing a good job.”

“I know. I don’t really think I ever intended to do a good job.” Castiel lets his hands fall to Dean’s waist. “At least, not once I saw you.”

“So who sent you to do it? Hitman hired by my ex-boss to stop me from telling the truth at that fucking trial next month?” Dean presses his forehead into Castiel’s. “I always hated that asshole. How much did he say he’d pay you?”

“No, no not a hitman, or whatever. Not professionally, I mean.” Castiel can still feel the water raining down on his body. “I’m a lawyer—for the firm representing Niveus”

“They’re sending lawyers to kill people now?” Dean’s lips brush against Castiel’s as he speaks. “Do you charge hourly for that?”

“I don’t know, probably.” Castiel’s knee is in between Dean’s legs, pinning him up against the wall. “It was basically get you out of the way or lose my job. I think I know which way things are going now.”

“You can kill me right now. I won’t make a sound.” Dean kisses Castiel’s again, fingertips running along his jaw.

“The only thing I want to do to you is this—what we did last night, what we’re doing right now.” Castiel takes a step back, away from Dean, just enough to see all of him. His soaking wet body, the way droplets of water run down his chest, to his stomach, dripping off his thighs. “Fuck, that’s all I can even think about right now.”

Dean slips around Castiel, letting their skin touch as he climbs out of the shower. He runs a towel over his face, the eyeliner traces disappearing, before tying it around his waist. Strands of hair are all stuck to his forehead, and Castiel can

barely even remember how wound up here, or why he’s here. All he can do is watch Dean under the stark white bathroom lights and imagine all the things he wants to do to him, to his body. He wants to bend Dean over right here, over the bathroom counter, fuck him until he can’t take being fucked any more. Hold Dean face-down on the floor, spread him apart, make forget about every word Castiel had just told him. Make him forget about everything, everyone in the entire goddamn world, but Castiel.

But Dean turns off the shower, pulls Castiel by the wrists, until he’s back on the tiled floor, until their bodies are touching again. “You know what’s going to happen now, right?”

“I lose my job. Maybe worse. Probably worse.” Castiel can feel the fabric of Dean’s towel rubbing into him. “Maybe I’m the one at the bottom of a river with my brains blown out by the end of the weekend.”

“No.” Dean’s tongue finds its way between Castiel’s teeth. “We get them before they get us.”

POSTING BETWEEN APRIL 23rd AND MAY 6th, 2023!  

[suckitsurveys]

What color are your eyes? They are green.

Is anyone you work with currently on maternity leave or vacation? Yeah, a few coworkers are on vacation this week.

Favorite boy’s name? I’ve always loved Eli.

Baked macaroni and cheese or regular? I like both but baked is SO good.

What’s the first thing you learned how to draw? I don’t know.

Name one of your friends’ children: None of my close friends have kids.

What was the name of your 5th grade teacher? Mr. Jacker.

Sterling silver or titanium? Whichever.

How many hours do you work in a day? 8 hours typically but I’ve been working 9 for some extra money.

Have you ever been to a casino? Yes, a few. Some here in the Chicago area and some out in Nevada (not LV).

Who wrote the last book you read? I haven’t read something in a while.

What’s the middle name of your bestfriend? Ann, Marie, Allen, Raymond.

What’s your favorite food? Sushi.

How far away do you live from the closest aquarium? Like half an hour.

Favorite girl’s name? Josie or Alexandra.

Name one of your candle scents: Gardenia.

What’s the name of your favorite restaurant? Any place with all you can eat sushi.

Are you in a relationship? If so, how long? Yes, I am married. We’ve been together a total of 13 years and married for 7.

Who in your family has a birthday in January? My mother’s birthday is the 28th.

When was the last time you lost power? How long was it out and the cause? A few weeks ago because of a storm.

Do you know any twins? Yes.

What’s your favorite flower? Gardenias.

Pick 3 random colors: Purple, orange, grey.

Would you ever dye your hair that color? I’ve had purple hair before. I don’t think I’d do like, straight up orange but I’d do a reddish orange. And I’ll have grey eventually.

Do you own any underwear that color? Yes.

Can this be used as a last name? Grey is a common last name.

What’s your favorite country song? Jolene by Dolly Parton.

Do you drink alcohol? Sometimes.

Do you use any food delivery services such as UberEats, DoorDash, etc? Sometimes.

What color is your mailbox? White.

What age did you lose your virginity? 20.

Dogs or cats? Cats.

Do you know anyone who’s been to prison? Yup.

What’s one thing on your shopping list? Snacks for our road trip next week!

Freeze tag or musical chairs? Freeze tag.

Where did you go on your last vacation? NOLA. I’m going to The Dells next week though.

Have you ever been stuck in the mud? Maybe?

What was the last thing you took a picture of? My cat.

Name someone you work with: Eric..

Chick-fil-A, Taco Bell or McDonald’s? Taco Bell.

Did you ever get an allowance as a child? Not a set amount, no.

What food do you see the most of at baby showers? I haven’t been to enough baby showers to notice a common food, but maybe cupcakes or some sort of sweet treat.

Do you know the capital of your state? Yes.

Have you ever rode on a motorcycle? Nope.

When’s the last time you ate any type of sweet? Yesterday I had one of those Reese’s Big Cups with caramel which is easily my new favorite candy.

Pizza rolls or bagel bites? Both are good.

What kind of flooring is in the room you’re in? Carpet tiles.

Is the internet connection good where you live at? Yeah.

Do you need to do laundry? We need some towels washed.

What’s your favorite scent? Gardenia.

Have you ever lived in a hotel before? Not lived, no.

What kind of pets does your grandmother have? My grandparents are all dead.

Do you follow any type of trials? Not really, no.

What’s the last show you really got into that you have to wait for the next season of? I mean, I’m waiting for the next seasons of The White Lotus and Stranger Things.

SpongeBob or Patrick? Plankton.

When’s the last time you saw fireworks? About a month ago on the 4th.

Have you ever witnessed a car accident? Yup.

Do you own a pair of fuzzy socks? Yes.

What kind of ice cream is your favorite? Butter Pecan.

Have you ever been skinny dipping? Yes.

Sprinkles or frosting? Frosting.

Do you like mushrooms? I looooove mushrooms.

How many tattoos do you have? 11.

Do you own any type of hand sanitizers? Yes, I almost always have some on me.

Have you ever worked in a grocery store? Nope.

What’s your Subway order? I dislike subway.

When was the last time you used the bathroom? Just a few moments ago.

Do you know how to roller skate? Yes, but I have not tried in a very long time.

Can you read sheet music? Nope.

How old is your youngest sibling? I am the youngest.

Do you have an Amazon account? Yes.

What day is payday? Twice a month on Fridays.

What’s one food your family has at Thanksgiving? My dad makes this amazing andouille sausage and cornbread stuffing.

Do you like painting? Sure.

Have you ever been swimming with dolphins? No.

What’s your favorite snack food? Chips and salsa/guac/cheese.

You’re watching Law & Order, is it the regular or SVU? I’m not into that show.

What were you doing last time it snowed? I don’t know, probably complaining about it.

Do you have to sleep with a fan on? Yes, or some kind of white noise.

Chapstick or lip gloss? Chapstick.

When was the last time you took a shower? Sunday night.

Do you know how to play basketball? For the most part.

Name one thing you put on a salad: Croutons.

Do you own anything that’s your favorite color? Yeah.

What’s the last thing you ordered from a Mexican restaurant? Tacos and chips and guac

Do you carry a purse or a backpack? I have a little mini backpack I used as a purse.

What kind of soda is your favorite? Root Beer, specifically Barq’s.

Have you ever cut yourself shaving? Oh yeah.

Penguins or pandas? Pandas. Do you like your in-laws? I FUCKING HATE my brother in law (sister’s husband) with a fucking fiery burning passion greater and hotter than the force of 10000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000 suns. BUT my husband’s family is awesome and his mom loves me and is so kind and sweet to me. They’re really great.

What do you usually do for Christmas? Last year we started a new tradition where we do “Christmas morning” with my sister and her family on Christmas eve morning at my dad’s house, and then we have an extended family party. Christmas morning we haven’t figured out yet; we’d usually celebrate with my sister and her family but they got tired of having to rush through to make it to her husband’s side of the family’s party. Last year Mark and I went over to my dad’s and just hung out with him for a bit

Have you ever used any type of Aromatherapy? Yeah.

Toe socks or ankle socks? Ankle. Who’s your favorite Pokémon character? Human? Ash. Actual Pokemon? Pikachu, always.

What’s the temperature range in your area? It’s 67F right now.

Does your trash need to be taken out? No, I took it out last night.

Nachos or chips and salsa? Both.

What’s the name of your pets? Friday, Sake, Ramona.

Have you been around anyone that creeped you out? Yes.

What’s your Chick-fil-A order? I don’t eat there.

Regular or pink lemonade? Both are nice.

Do you know anyone who’s lost their house in a natural disaster? I don’t think so.

What’s your favorite candy? Kit Kats, Sour Patch Kids, and those new Reese’s Big Cups with caramel. Chinese or Japanese cuisine? Japanese.

Colored pencils or sharpies? Sharpies.

Do you own a pair of Crocs? Nope.

Have you ever been to DisneyWorld? I have not.

Does anyone in your family have a birthday in February? Yes, my cousin’s daughter and my nephew-in-law.

How long does it take for your phone to fully charge? I have no idea.

What color is your hairbrush? Pink and black.

Is there any movies out that you want to see? I want to see Wicked and the new Beetlejuice movie.

Do you know how to run a cash register? I did at one point but it’s been a while.

Chicken or beef noodles? Beef I guess, although in general I’m not a fan of noodles.

What year did you get your drivers license? Uhhhhhh 2010.

What kind of makeup do you wear? When I do wear make up it’s foundation, eyeliner, mascara and maybe lipstick.

What’s your Taco Bell order? Crunchy tacos and nachos and a Baja Blast.

Do you wear any type of shimmer spray or glitter? Not usually.

Have you ever lived in a trailer/doublewide? No.

What’s your boyfriends/girlfriends middle name? My husband’s middle name is Allen.

Are you into anime? Eh, there’s a couple I like but I wouldn’t say I’m “into” it.

Pizza or nacho lunchables? I don’t remember having nacho ones, just pizza.

Have you ever been to a strip club? Nope.

Do you know how to play any instruments? Nope.

Have you ever been inside of a courtroom? Yes.

What kind of restaurants do you eat at while you’re on vacation? I mean, depends, but I like to try local foods.

Did you ever participate in any pageants when you were younger? Nope.

What kind of cheese is your favorite? Goat cheese, sharp cheddar, fresh mozz.

Does your phone have any cracks or scuffs? Yeah, but just on the case, which I suppose is the reason I have a case lol.

Have you ever had a professional massage? Nope.

Which would you rather have, twins or triplets? If I had no other choice, twins.

Do you drink energy drinks? No.

Can you swim? Yes.

Make the perfect taco salad: Lettuce, ground beef, salsa, cheese, guac, dressing.

Have you ever lived with friends or a roommate? Just my husband.

Who in your family has a birthday in March? My cousin Kelly.

What kind of pasta do you like? Yes.

Do you know how to play volleyball? I've never tried.

How much decorating do you do around the holidays? I like to deck out my dad’s house since he has the Christmas Eve party every year.

Have you ever been on a cruise? Yeah when I was little.

At what age did you learn how to tie your shoes? I was around 5 I think.

Oreos or chocolate chip cookies? Both.

What did you dress up for Halloween as a child? I can’t remember EVERY costume but I was definitely your basic ghost, witch, vampire, black cat array.

Can you count to ten in Spanish? Yeah.

Name a character from your favorite TV show: Princess Carolyn.

Do you like going to arcades? Sure.

What was the last personal care item you bought from the store? Deodorant.

Airplanes or helicopters? Planes.

Have you ever been camping for more than a week? Not more than a week, no.

What kind of meat do you like the most? Seafood.

Do you actually stop and pet dogs you actually see? No. Unless the dog seems interested in me, I will then ask the owner if I can pet them.

Have you ever been in an ambulance? Nope.

What’s the craziest thing you’ve found at a hotel before? I don’t know.

How far is the closest Target? There’s one a few blocks from us now.

Snakes or spiders? Spiders.

What’s your Panera Bread order? I rarely go.

Do you have any cool keychains? Sure.

How old is your oldest living grandparent? --

Do you watch movies? Sure.

Who in your family has a birthday in April? My dad and two of my cousins.

Have you ever had your nails done professionally? Yup.

What color Christmas tree do you use? Green.

What’s your go to dipping sauces? Definitely depends on what I am dipping.

Do you know how to properly pack a U-Haul truck? Sure?

What was your least favorite math? All of it.

Have you ever been published in a magazine? Not that I know of.

What color is your snow gloves? Black.

How old were you when you last went to the dentist? Oops it’s been a bit.

Do you own a printer? Nope.

What’s your Applebees order? I've been to Applebee’s like maybe 3 times.

Do you bring home seashells from the beach? Sometimes.

What kind of video games do you play? I don’t really play video games. Sometimes Wii Bowing and Super Smash Bros but not much else.

Is anyone in your family in law enforcement? I don’t think so.

How long ago was the last funeral you attended? At the beginning of June.

What color is the blanket on your bed? Navy blue.

Where did you get your name from? A movie my mom liked.

Do you wear lipstick? Sometimes.

What’s a fruit you dislike? Raspberries.

What kind of donuts do you like? Jelly filled or Boston cream.

Do you know how to braid hair? Yes, but only basic braids.

What’s one accessory you wear? I have a permanent bracelet on my left wrist.

How many hoodies/jackets do you own? A good handful.

What was the last name of the road you lived on? Not sharing that as I still frequent that house.

What brand of chocolate do you prefer? I’m not picky.

Nike or Adidas? Adidas.

What will your future wedding colors be? I wore a sapphire blue dress.

Do you have a phone mount in your car? Yeah.

Make the perfect omelet: Mushrooms, spinach, feta, cheddar.

[miles-and-waylon]

Crawling out from Hell

-

I haven’t written anything for Outlast in a hot minute, but I really loved the new stuff we’re seeing with Cold War Trials! Got a little inspired lol.

So here’s a little thing about Blake having a chance at a more bittersweet ending.

-

“That’s him.”

Words, real words, only rarely broached Blake’s mind. Somewhere, in his catatonia, he registered a female voice, but could do nothing to respond. He’s trapped. Sleeping. Dreaming endlessly, and having done nothing but that for…days? Weeks? Months?

However long it’s been, this sudden, sharp pain in his neck is the first tangible sensation to reach him in all that time. The gears in his skull twist and turn, suddenly working again to finally end his stupor.

There’s warmth at his cheek. A hand cupping his face, gentle and kind. Blake came out of his dreamy haze with the sensation dredging memories of awakening from nightmares, his wife there to comfort him with that exact same gesture.

“Lynn?” It comes out gasping and croaking. His voice was left rusty with disuse.

The light of the room *hurt* now that he could register it. Pupils that were oh-so dilated just moments ago slowly contracted and adjusted, not that it helped much without his glasses. The woman in front of him isn’t Lynn. Her skin is too dark, hair too long and curly. The walls all around them were white, almost making her appear to glow. Her blurry face twisted.

“No. I’m sorry, but it’s okay. I’m a friend.”

Confusion worked to protect his mind from just how jarring it was going from Temple Gate to…wherever he was now. Lynn is…gone. There was his baby, his new daughter, and Jessica—why was Jessica there? No. No, wait, of course she wasn’t. That wasn’t real. Then there was the infinite dreaming up to now. The last one before the woman reached him had Blake wandering toward a light.

“We need to get out of here, okay? Let me get you out of this chair.”

Oh. He’s in a chair. His wrists and ankles were bound tight in leather cuffs, and—oh. Oh, there’s something stuck to his head. Something metal. It…it’s not just stuck, there’s something sharp inside the helmet, inside him. Right then, Blake also realized the abstract shape in her hand is a syringe.

The protective bewilderment is gone. Blake began to freak out, hyperventilating, his heart pounding in his chest as if trying to escape from his ribcage. A heart monitor he didn’t even know about began to beep frantically to match. The woman’s eyes widened.

“Hey, hey, hey! This is scary. I know. I know, honey, but just breathe. I…I, uh…Oh! here.”

The syringe is tossed aside. Her hands whipped something out of her pocket. Blake struggled at first, but before he knew it, a pair of glasses were slid onto his face. His, of course. The woman’s expression proved kind, not a hint of malice hiding in her gaze. She was wearing a janitor’s jumpsuit about a size too big for her, with a masculine nametag that didn’t seem to fit her (or maybe it was her surname?).

Something black crawled down from her hairline and down her face. Blake didn’t know if it was real or if he was hallucinating.

“That’s better, yeah?”

He nodded dumbly. Better in some ways, though unfortunately it made it easier to see the room around him. Not all white. Nope. There were poorly cleaned stains of blood all around the floor, dark with age. There were unfamiliar machines around, trays next to his chair with some dirty, intimidating implements scattered over them.

“Where am I?” He asked, still hoarse.

“We’ll explain what we can later.”

“We?”

The woman undid the cuffs. First thing he did with his freed arms was shoot up to get the helmet out. The effort made his muscles ache and burn. “Ah, ah!” The woman snatched them right back down.

“There’s a trick to this. Don’t give yourself any more brain damage than you already got, huh?” She pressed a few buttons on the helmet, and there was a sick, slick sound. Blake whimpered at the sensation of the needle keeping the helmet attached receding from his skull and into its sheath. Again, he reached up, noticing the way the holes in his hands had poorly healed and horribly scarred. That spot on his head was wet with blood.

“Don’t think about it. We’re gonna walk outta here now, just the two of us. Focus on me. Can you stand?”

She helped him to his feet. Blake was slow, weak, barely able to actually straighten out. He was much taller than her, though she handled his weight up against her side with ease.

“I’m Lisa,” she told him. The door out of this room was opened with a keycard that was definitely stolen. “And you’re free.”

“L…” Lynn. It’s right on his tongue. It’s the name that wants to slip out, the name he’s desperate to hear and answer to. “Lisa…”

The hallway is completely sterile compared to the room. White floors and pale blue walls. Fluorescent lights that buzzed. He was so tired of buzzing. As a sound. As a feeling. As an itch scratching from within his skull. There’s countless cameras, all angled down to show their lack of function.

“What if someone sees?” Doesn’t take a genius to figure out someone really wanted him in that chair.

“They won’t,” she…Lisa…said with a smile. “We got a pretty big distraction covering us.

They entered an elevator. It led up, up, up to a much more apparently typical office lobby. The ride took a little too long for comfort. How deep down was he? It was also empty. Almost disturbingly so.

“Almost there. Almost…You’re doing a good job.”

“Wa…” He wheezed. “Wait…” Blake pulled back just a bit in protest. “…Baby. My…my baby. Where’s my baby?”

Again, like when Lynn’s name came up, her face twisted. Blake’s heart sank with the possibilities that expression implied.

“My daughter…she needs her dad, she—“

“We can talk about that later.”

Lisa hauled him out. There was a full parking lot outside, far past the gate also opened with the keycard, so where were all the people the cars must’ve belonged to? What kind of distraction would draw so many away from their multiple posts?

In one car in the way back, black and modded all to hell, there was someone. A man. He climbed out when he saw the pair. “That’s him?”

“I got him. Just like I said I would.”

“It’s not like I ever doubted you. Never.”

“Oh, Waylon, baby, you were so nervous. Come on, I told you, everyone knows you and Miles’ faces, but the average Murkoff shill isn’t gonna know me.”

“And what if someone did recognize you?” The man walked with a slight limp. He opened the car door and went to help Lisa get Blake inside. He hesitated only for a moment. Wherever that car would take him had to be better than here. With a needle in his head.

But the baby…

“Well, that’s why I stuffed a can of pepper spray in my bra. Also, I had the Walrider with me.” Lisa lifted her finger to the tip of her ear, and a single, black ant crawled onto it. “Or, a part of it. Enough to warn Miles if I was in danger. Any word from him? Is he almost done?”

“I’m giving him three more minutes to wipe all of today’s security footage and finish wrecking the place before we start off without him. He’s caught up before.”

“…What…” it was like they were talking in a whole other language. Blake blinked a few times. “What’s going on? Who are you? What…what happened to me?” The sharp pain faded, blood dried, but now there was this throbbing ache instead. “You need to tell me about Jessica.”

That would be her name. Jessica Lynn Langermann. Those people that took him, they wouldn’t hurt a baby, right? Maybe she just wasn’t here?

“…You’re helping me. You also need to help my daughter.”

“Files didn’t say anything about a daughter,” Waylon said with unintentional callousness. Lisa shot him a look.

“But…I held her! She couldn’t be anywhere other than with me when I was found!”

“I…” Lisa winced.

She didn’t have to give any bad news immediately, at least. A black swarm came rushing out of the building toward the car, and Blake cowered in a god-fearing terror at the sight.

“Miles,” Waylon sighed with a contrasting relief.

“You punch it the second he’s inside, baby. We’re going north.” Lisa turned in the seat to face Blake. “We’re going to get to safety. Somewhere we can lay low for a few days. You’ll get to shower, get to eat—I imagine you must be starving—then we can go over everything we know, okay? Maybe we missed something in your files about a baby. We’ll go over it together.”

“…I have files?”

They would drive off as fast as the struggling little sedan could go. Miles was…really something. Blake definitely didn’t like being seated next to him. Not when his eyes were black as coal, when every part of him seemed to ooze a dark liquid. However, Lisa and Waylon treated him no differently than the average Joe.

Safe. Why was he there? In that place? He’s having a hard time remembering everything from Temple Gate, like his mind was safeguarding those memories to keep him from losing his mind right after getting it back again. Safe. They kept assuring him of that fact. Lisa was the most convincing on that matter. She poured warmth with every word and gesture.

Safe.