#just finished chapter two! we’re not making it out of this one lads.

[fishareglorious]

Hi. Vertin kept Schneider’s dress and coat.

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 6

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a (!) player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, you get your very own samantha from her (2013) lol, time skips as a plot device!, this has an arc i promise, if anybody here plays disco elysium you’ll find that i took concepts of “the pale” as inspo at some points in this chapter lmao A/N: Oof this one’s a little longer than any of the previous chapters. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it! <3 (and just a heads up, this might be the last chapter I post before I kick it off for the holidays. advance happy holidays! if you guys celebrate that sort of thing.) 

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10

There’s a quiet stillness brought by the morning after that makes the problems of a heavier night seem like a fairly distant memory. 

For at least a few minutes past the moment you blink away the stubborn grit in your eyes—you don’t remember the last time you’ve been this well-rested in ages—you lie, listless, on the soft powder-blue bedding of your twin-size mattress, watching specks of dander and dust drift from the amber sunlight that filters through the cracked panes of the casement window. 

It floats aimlessly; unhurried. Much like you.

The echo of last night’s events return to you in sporadic flashes—fragmented and unsteady. The whispered exchanges, the playful banter between you and your unlikely conversation partner play back in your mind, like some half-finished supercut. 

And the more you recall, the more awake you feel, chipping away the last traces of daytime lethargy weighing you down. 

“So, what happens now?”

The sound of a car backfiring breaks through from the outside, like a starting pistol signalling the beginning of another day. A familiar, heavy weight presses against your side, and you thread your fingers through the scraggly fur of the purring feline who’s taken the empty space on your left, just above the covers. 

You breathe in deeply, closing your eyes. 

“I wish I had an answer—I’m still trying to figure that out myself.”

You realize how many questions still linger, a lot more left unanswered. Far more than what you were able to glean, at least. From what little you’ve learned, an entirely new moral dilemma emerges—one you never imagined you'd have to contend with. 

There’s a lot of things you’ve never expected to happen. Yet here you are. 

“Seems we’re at an impasse.” 

It’s an odd thing in itself. You keep waiting for the disbelief to catch up, for a shred of sanity to surface and make you reject the situation you’ve found yourself entangled in. You should be feeling the same, pesky feelings that pulled you sharply out of your flight of fancy last night; a sense of trepidation for what lies ahead in this tenuous game of two. 

But instead, you’re here. Now fully awake, and already looking forward to the day with wary acceptance. Looking forward to resuming where you’ve left off with that charming anomaly who’s upended your world, and left you suspended in an exhilarating limbo of uncertainty and excitement.

“...Indeed.”

You crave it—like the first stirrings of a neophyte druggie teetering on the edge of an irreversible habit. 

You need another hit. 

“Why the long face, little dove?”

Because if desire could manifest into being, it would’ve been Sylus. 

“We can figure this out together, can’t we?” 

You pick up your phone. 

––––

“You’re here? Make yourself at home.” 

You look at him, deadpan. He looks back at you serenely. 

Your voice takes on a dry monotone when you respond, “Keep talking like that, I’m about to cum.” 

There’s a shocked silence; then––

Sylus barks out a surprised laugh, immediately breaking character. 

You snort. “Good morning to you too, I guess.” 

He meets your gaze with a look of scandalized amusement, his smile wide enough to flash teeth. 

"Good morning, indeed."

––––

You two fall into a natural rhythm even before the day comes to a close. Perceptive as he is, Sylus hasn’t let you linger in the unease left over from last night any longer than necessary—which to say, should be left buried and forgotten, past its provenance. 

“So you could, like–hypothetically, top up my ascension materials… indefinitely?” There’s a manic shine to your eyes when you confront him back at the home screen, gleeful and triumphant after you boost almost all the 5-star cards you have of him up to max level. “Like an infinite glitch?” 

He’s content to just simply listen to your excited chatter from his languid perch on the seat, one palm resting against the side of his face as he watches you—half-lidded and relaxed. Utterly entertained by your antics.

The slight twitching of his mouth, the subtle tilt of his head… each minute shift in his expression makes a whole world of difference from the version you’ve known him longest—almost a lifetime ago. 

Now he acts so human, so alive, that it’s almost unreal. 

(It’s almost imperceptible, but you swear the air also feels different; like the pixelated space around him is bending, stretching, to accommodate this newer him.) 

“Sure,” he shrugs, lips quirking up into a half-smile as he notices the deep crease forming between your brows. 

He knows the question you’re about to ask—curious thing that you are.

“How, though? Like, what are ‘materials’ to you?” You make air quotes with your fingers, making you appear all the more endearing to him look at, in your process to make sense of a world that’s unfamiliar to you.

“Think of it as upgrades,” Sylus explains patiently. “You place the order to modify the equipment I use, in whichever situation calls for it.”

“And Memory Cards?”

“... A video reel, maybe. Or a restricted case file—locked until you’ve got enough to trade for the information you want.”

“And I suppose the dealer in question here is you?”

He arches an eyebrow. “Who else?”

“Huh,” you say, considering. “So, Deepspace Trials. That’s something you do on the daily? Because I… make you?”

“More or less.”

“And you never thought to question that?” 

“Mm, maybe I’ll start charging for my services this time around.”

You roll your eyes, already accepting his analogy for what it is. “Oh, please. With the amount of money I’ve spent on this game, consider yourself paid in full.” 

––––

You were right about your earlier prediction—this new Sylus in combat mode is something else. 

For starters, he’s a lot chattier.

“Ouch, kitten– don’t charge in like that.”

“Why are you using a sword? Don’t you like the guns I’ve given you specifically for this?” 

“What are you waiting for? Make her resonate with me now.” 

And, instead of sticking to his lines and responding to whatever the MC’s programmed to say during battle, he focuses on whatever you’re fussing over—no matter how… moronic it is.

“Ah, fuck! I hate that spinning thing!” 

“Move, then. Let me handle it.” 

“Block it, block it!”

“I would, if you weren’t halfway across the field. Stick closer to your partner next time, yeah?” 

He doesn’t say any of his usual lines. Nothing from his scripted prompts. When all Wanderers are defeated, there’s no post-battle banter between him and the MC. 

“Goddamn, you’re strong!” You whoop giddily, completely energized by straight winning almost twelve Orbit trials in a row. I guess that’s what a fully awakened Solar pair gets you, huh? 

Sylus lets out a chuckle, infected by your enthusiasm. He doesn’t sound the least bit winded, despite all the damned fighting you’ve put him through.

“We make a good team,” he allows. And because he likes the little nose scrunch you do when you’re annoyed— “Although your dodging really needs more practice, sweetie.” 

Before you could think of a comeback, the pop-up window for the next stage comes up. Ass.

––––

Come Monday morning and you’re once again swamped with work. 

You barely have enough time to scrounge something up for lunch—if it weren’t for the persistent reminders from Sylus, chiming in every five minutes once the digital clock on your phone had hit eleven-thirty, you’d probably skip eating altogether.

And make something else than just boiling a pot of instant ramen, sweetheart. You’re on track for an early grave at this rate. 

“I could… add an egg?” You suggest, unsure. “Maybe cut up some tofu, make it gourmet?”  

He doesn’t even dignify the egg suggestion with a response. Tofu’s a good start. Now, what else do you have in your pantry that has nutritional value? 

“I despise that,” you mutter, but start rifling through the cupboards anyway. 

After amassing enough ingredients—or what looks more like a sad pile—that might, with some effort, turn into something healthier than your usual go-to fix, you start Googling recipes online.

‘tofu easy lunch recipe’

‘10 mins tofu recipes’   

‘begginer recipe using tofu frozen dory mixed veg—’ Ping!

… Really, kitten? 

You don’t even have to see him to know he’s giving you that look, the one that’s practically dripping with judgment over your dubious life choices. 

(You know it all too well. Personally, in fact. You see it on some relatives' faces at the family get-togethers you’re always required to attend.) 

Great. Heat creeps up your face as you mumble defensively, “Stop. Not everyone’s a culinary genius, okay?”

After that, he lets you be – something you’re thankful for, really. He’s being too distracting anyway. 

Swallowing down the–stubborn and suffocating–embarrassment that's now stuck in your throat, you keep scrolling through Tasty dot co, praying you can whip up something edible with what (little) you have. You’re fully aware that you’re a grown-ass woman who can’t manage a basic life skill and that you’re probably about to burn down your kitchen—

Another notification pops up.

Pull up your tabs, sweetie. I think you’ll find something there that we could put together easily.

Confused, you do as he says. Sure enough, four tofu-related recipes are neatly grouped together in your Chrome browser, ready to be tried and tested.  

Your eyes widen. “Wait—you did this? How?”

He doesn’t answer your question. He does, however, offer: Want me to coach you through it? Cooking’s more fun done with a partner, I’d say. 

-

-

In the end, you manage to make something that tasted way better than you thought you could do by yourself. You have him to thank for that.

“You happy with it?” Sylus asks, grinning at the satisfied look on your face.

“Mhm!” you hum around a mouthful of food. “Fanks, Sy.”

“Anytime, darling.”

––––

“Do you really have to call me ‘kitten’? You sound like a Discord mod.” 

Sylus has no idea what a Discord mod is, but judging by the contempt in your voice, it’s clear that you’re not giving him a compliment.

"What do you prefer, then? Princess? Poppet? Sweet thing?" He pauses, tilting his head. "Baby?"

You blush and look away. "... Ugh, whatever. Kitten's fine."

––––

Your routine with Sylus settles into a seamless, effortless flow as the days go by; it’s almost second nature, talking to him. So much so that you’d think nothing could faze you anymore.

Well. Almost nothing. 

A message bubble from an unknown number appears on your lock screen: Hi, sweetheart. X

You almost ignore it—brushing it off as some dumb prank from a bored rando—when, not even five seconds later, another text pops up. 

+0063-XXXXXX: Its Sylus.

… Huh? 

“Is someone fucking with me right now, or…” 

+0063-XXXXXX: Nobodys ‘fucking with you,’ kitten. 

Then–

+0063-XXXXXX: Send a reply so I can see how it shows up on my end.

Your jaw drops. “Holy shit—you can text?? How are you doing that?” and, “Did you just cuss...?” 

+0063-XXXXXX: 👍

+0063-XXXXXX: And Ill let you know if you text me the question 🙄

So you do. You tack on a now spill?? at the end for good measure. 

You watch the “typing…” bubble appear, holding your breath.

+0063-XXXXXX: Its a complex mix of technical code and harnessing the energy from a dormant protofield Ive discovered, just south of Vagrants Land.  

+0063-XXXXXX: The energy I got from it felt different somehow from your normal protofield. I figured I could put it to good use. 

+0063-XXXXXX: Oddly enough, theres an… indescribable effect to oneself when youre nearing the centre of disturbance, shall we say. 

+0063-XXXXXX: I can only decrypt the waveforms by the rarefield border surrounding the AoR. Any further and Im afraid the adverse effects may do more harm than good.

+0063-XXXXXX: But if amplified, it seems responsive to the filament of what connects your signal from deep space to this planet.

+0063-XXXXXX: Who knew it could act as a transmitter to send you something as rudimentary as a telegraph? 

… Sometimes you forget how smart Sylus really is. 

You: that’s pretty amazing ?? wtf sylus  

+0063-XXXXXX: I get by OK. 

You could practically feel his smugness radiating from those four words. You scoff, shaking your head in a mix of awe and begrudging admiration.

He sends two more messages. 

+0063-XXXXXX: Im just glad we can communicate through other means, sweetie. 

Sy-Sy (??): Now save my number. Sy Sy will suffice 😉

––––

Since your latest discovery that Sylus can now text (!!), you’ve been talking to him outside the game non-stop. It’s like talking to a very active friend who never leaves you on read, and you couldn’t be more ecstatic. 

You: so no one else in ur universe knows anything abt ur situation?

You: no one else acting funny or sumn ? >.>

Sy-Sy (??): None that I know of, no. I prefer to keep it under wraps. 

Sy-Sy (??): Now that you mention it, Mephisto has been acting quite suspicious lately. 

You: ?? suspicious-suspicious or just reg suspicious??

Sy-Sy (??): Hes with his other crow friends now. They might be attempting a murder. 

You: ………. is that…. supposed 2 be a joke……….

Sy-Sy (??): Im running on 3 hours of sleep, give me a break.   

Sy-Sy (??): Also your textspeak is horrendous, sweetie. 

"Um, hello—?" 

Your gaze snaps back to the–very real, very present–person sitting across from you at the table, sporting box-dyed blue hair and a frown. You're at the Annex House; a sleek, new-age Japandi-style bar downtown, just an easy five stations away from your place. You both decided to try it for their infamous Rotten Apple cocktail and, of course, your weekly catch-up.

Khol, your friend of eight years since college, is currently giving you a mildly annoyed look.

Oops. 

They point at you accusingly while complaining, "Ugh, we don’t use our phones when we’re hanging out! That’s the rule!"

You smile at them, sheepish, pocketing your phone as discreetly as you could. “I know, I know. Sorry.” 

Then, puffing out your cheeks, you meekly ask, “You were talking about Anna...?”

They roll their eyes but go over the gossip a second time, much to your benefit. Phew.

Your phone vibrates. Twice. 

…

You sneak a quick, final peek.

Sy-Sy (??): Enjoy your night out, darling ❤️ 

Sy-Sy (??): You let me know when youre back home, OK? 

Biting back a grin, you send out one last text in reply. 

You: will do !:9 

Sy-Sy (??): Good girl. 

––––

"Um–so this is my cat, Maru," you say by way of introduction, holding the plump, orange tabby in front of your phone that’s propped up against a carton of Koko Krunch. There’s a slight struggle in lifting his left paw between your fingers to wave at the man on the other side of the screen. "Say hi, Maru."

“Hello, Maru,” Sylus greets amicably in return, watching the both of you with clear amusement in his eyes. “Care to tell me the origin of this proud beast?” 

You recount the story where you’ve first seen Maru five years ago, nothing more than a scraggly little runt at the time, hiding in the gap between a dumpster and the interstice of a cragged wall. You were walking home from a night out drinking with your uni buddies, when you heard the incessant meowing. 

It drew you in like a siren’s call. If the siren in question had the vocal prowess of a warbling whale on the brink of death.

Upon closer inspection, the grimy fluffball revealed a stubby, crooked tail and wide, beady eyes. In your alcohol-fueled haze, you briefly wondered if you were staring at a tiny ginger rat.

“Well, it’s definitely all cat,” your friend Bee declared by noon the following day, calmly retracting a scratched and bloodied hand from the disgruntled feline, which promptly hissed and darted right back under the bed.

You hummed in agreement, passing her a wad of tissue. 

"I couldn’t decide between Nospurratu and Catpin Meow," you say matter-of-factly, giving your capricious son a scritch under his chin. "Bee suggested I stick to something simpler, like Maru. Hence the name."

Your explanation is punctuated by an offended nip on your pointer finger. 

Sylus is covering his mouth, but nods solemnly. “I think Maru is a nice name.” 

There’s a moment where the two seem locked in a silent standoff, neither breaking eye contact nor making any sort of outward reaction. Just as you’re about to step in and interrupt the bizarre staring contest, Maru gives a slow, deliberate blink.

Sylus takes it as a sign of victory—or perhaps a ceremonial seal of approval.

 With a faint smirk on his lips, he offers the cat a small bow in respect.

––––

You’ve practically emptied the entire arcade of plushies—enough to put it out of business if it were actually, you know, real—and you’re bored to tears. 

“Another round of Kitty Cards, perhaps?” Sylus suggests, but a single glance at your face is enough to let him know that you’d rather gnaw off your own hand. Or his. He might just let you.

Sighing dramatically, you complain about the limited playability of the “mini-games” in-game.

“There’s literally nothing else to do. Same old shit, over and over again.” There’s a pout on your face that Sylus wants to nibble on, not that you’re aware of the forming thoughts in his head. “No new banners. I’m stuck between Kitty Cards and the claw machines... I’m bored, Syyyyy,” you whine, stretching the last syllable for effect.  

To be fair, he has tried to make it a bit more challenging for you. He stopped fucking around during Kitty Cards—no more extra two cards in exchange for one of yours, no longer placing different colored kitties deliberately in the wrong cups. 

After six straight losses, your frustration is palpable. The fun is gone.

He makes audible commentaries during each of your six tries at the claw machine. Every time you manage to snag a plushie, he praises you for a job well done (It flusters you—not that he needs to know that). When your luck runs out and you grab onto nothing but air, he wryly points it out through some slight ribbing, but nothing that’s actually hurtful (This flusters you too—again, not that he needs to know any of this).   

There’s nothing else to do. It’s like you’ve exhausted all you could in this small, curated window of his that you’re privy to. If only there’s a way to leave the mini-games behind, to do something new, perhaps outside of what the game has to offer…

Oh, wait. 

“Hey, Sy,” you call the man to attention. “Wanna try something out?” 

-

-

You beat him at Words with Friends by a small margin.

“Ha! That’s thirty-nine points, buddy.” You crow proudly, after putting down Devotees in a straight column.

He eviscerates you at Zynga Poker. 

“... How are you so good at this??” 

“Comes with the package, sweetie,” he says with faux-modesty after revealing (yet another!!) full house, winking like he hasn’t just wiped the floor with you.

By the end of it, both of you are in high spirits—except, maybe, for your bruised ego.

––––

“Say my name, say my name… If no one is around you, say baby I love you…”

“It’s nice to know that we have another thing in common, little dove.”

 

It takes you a moment to process what he’s implying. 

You stop singing, affronted. “Wh—how dare you.” 

––––

“Are you having fun?” Sylus asks, his tone droll as he stands there, hands on his hips and a small scowl on his face. You’re too busy spinning him around, thoroughly entertained by the number of outfits and accessories you’ve forced upon your slightly reluctant model in the photoshoot that's currently taking place.

It’s more amusing, knowing that he’s fully-aware of what’s happening. And that you know he’s aware of what’s happening. 

He’s like your personal, sentient Ken doll—if Ken had ashy grey hair, red eyes, and a mercurial attitude.

“I am, actually,” you shoot back, grinning as you plop a tomato stuffie on top of his head. “Look, you two match!” 

He exhales a long-suffering sigh, shaking his head in mock exasperation.

Not that it stops you. Fluffy bunny ears, a fish headband, an uncharacteristic halo—you’re relentless. “Hey, can you try a different pose?”

“That depends on the pose… and how nicely you ask.”

“Dear Sylus,” you sing, jutting your bottom lip forward and fluttering your eyelashes exaggeratedly, “could you please, pretty please, flip the camera off?”

He snorts but obliges, raising his hand to deliver the most effortlessly cool middle finger you’ve ever seen. “Happy?”

Woah. That’s… hot. “Oh! Uh. Yeah. Yeah, that’s—”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by your reaction. You giggle nervously. “You look… hot.”

“Mm?” His smirk grows, teasing and predatory. “What was that?”

“Nothing!” you blurt out, but the pinking of your cheeks betrays you. He’s definitely enjoying this now.

“I could be convinced to do another one,” he murmurs, voice pitching a little lower.

You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting the urge to say the first thing that comes to mind. Stop, you whore. 

Your nerves get the best of you. Without thinking, you switch to putting the MC back on screen. 

Sylus blinks, red eyes narrowing as he looks at you, perplexed. 

“Uh,” you shift your gaze between her frozen stance and his idle figure. The sudden silence hangs a little heavy in the air. “Would–would you like to do poses? With her?”

He opens his mouth, an automatic response—but he stops, expression flickering into something unreadable. Confusion? Hesitation? 

His brows knit together, and for a short while, he just studies you, the space between you thick with unspoken questions. 

“Do you want me to?” he asks finally, his voice quieter, almost careful.

No–I don’t want you to— To pose with someone who looks so-–

perfectperfectperfect by your side—I only want to see you—

I want to see you––

Why do I care–?

I don’t care––I care, I care so much–– 

“Why not?” you choke out, the forced cheer in your voice grating even to your own ears. You shrug, nonchalant in all the ways you’re not. “I’ll dress her up real nice, and then—” You slap a pink bow onto his head. “You can try to keep up.” 

He doesn’t move, not paying the offending accessory any attention. His gaze is solely locked onto yours. 

I don’t care. I don’t. 

You take the first shot. 

____

“What’s the song you’re playing?”

You pause mid-mop, cocking your head to the side in slight surprise. 

“Uhh—Pedestal,” you answer unsurely. “By Portishead. You like it?” 

He hums, eyes glinting with interest. “I do. Play the rest.” 

And just like that, you’re introducing Sylus to modern twenty-first century music—and to Spotify.

____

From that point on, Sylus begins using your Spotify account to discover a whole new world of music—quite literally, in his case. Sometimes he steals the control from you, overriding what you’re currently listening to, just to hear the most random track play from your speakers.

In the middle of a mundane afternoon while you're completely locked in at work—hyperpop synths blaring in your ears—you’re suddenly jolted by the sound of heavy mandolins as an honest-to-god Russian military march blasts through your headphones, shattering your focus like a damn rhino in a china shop. 

And so with the level of patience that could put the Virgin Mary to shame, you painstakingly explain to your friend the courtesy of not stealing the proverbial AUX cord from the “driver,” especially when it’s their turn on the radio. 

The two of you reach a compromise, and thus the birth of your “shared” playlist. Sylus reluctantly agrees to explore on his own time—when you’re not using the app. Like when you’re busy with other things. Or when you're asleep. 

-

-

-

You wake up to the first strings of a Muse song. One of your favorites, in fact. 

Sy-Sy (??): Good morning, sweetie. 

Sy-Sy (??): Last night was enlightening. I have you to thank for that.

Sy-Sy (??): Oh, and I hope you could indulge me. I added some songs to our playlist. I think youll like them. We both seem to have a thing for alt-rock.

Sy-Sy (??): Give me time and Im sure Ill acquire a taste for electronic music too. Be patient. 

You huff out a laugh, lazily rolling over as you check your shared playlist. Sure enough, there’s twelve new songs on it.   

You: awe that’s great sy :)) and these songz r rly good !! u got sum of my faves here

You: based on what u like maybe u can try looking up sum david bowie, probz massive attack idk 

You: i’ll add stuff later for u to listen 2!!! <2

You: <3* 

Sy-Sy (??): Alright, sweetheart. Im looking forward to it. 

Sy-Sy (??): ♥️

____

From the outside, the studio is just another unit among endless rows of dull grey—small and unassuming. Tucked away on the sixth floor of a nondescript building, it’s built as unremarkable as the rest.

Through a window stained with a mix of corrosive ochre and burnt sienna, there’s a quiet hum—the presence of something that wasn’t there a week ago. Life has shifted, ever so subtly, from an oppressive achroma to a much warmer vibrancy.  

There’s a faint hint of movement. Inside, the young woman wears an almost-permanent smile, her phone an extension of her hand as she taps away with no semblance of rhyme nor rhythm—only in a continuous staccato. Her eyes are locked on the screen, as if drawn by an invisible force.

It’s elusive; this connection—something beyond. Supranatural. It weaves through the room like whispered secrets shared in the dead of the night, beneath a city blanketed in deep ultramarine. Soft, like a wind brushing through a still everglade. 

The apartment, once steeped in a self-inflicted solitude—one that went by unnoticed for a long period of time—comes alive as an intangible presence fills its nooks and crannies with the steady warmth of companionship. There’s a gentle heat to the space now, like the glow of an invisible hearth. 

The flickering of the string lights, the muted laughter shared with a voice through the tinny speakers of a handheld device, a slight signal interference… all feel like the genesis of an impossible story.

Outside, the evening sky is fading into twilight.

And as one looks out onto the street below from the sixth floor window, it’s almost as if the world outside doesn’t quite matter anymore. 

Inside, the air is full of life, in ways it has never been. 

____

“Come to me, just in a dream

Come on and rescue me

Yes, I know I can be wrong

And maybe you’re too headstrong

Our love is––”

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @i2sannie @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @slyfoxtsu @beomluvrr @milkandstarlight @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @tinyweebsstuff @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean

(if..... for some damn reason..... the tags still don't work i rly don't know what i'm doing wrong T_T i'm posting this from a macbook is that it, is the ghost of steve jobs fucking with me rn)

[captainjamster]

Observation Duty

Pairing(s): Price x fem!Reader Warnings: Manipulation, stalking, monitoring and surveillance, obsessive behaviour, non-consensual voyeurism, non-consensual mutual masturbation, non-consensual recording and photos Wordcount: 3.2k Summary: John isn't quite the captain everyone thinks he is, but he knows just how to act like it. No one would ever believe the things he does behind closed doors. AO3 Link: Right here! <3

A/N: PLEASE LOOK AT THE WARNINGS BEFORE YOU READ MORE! This is the first part of what should be two chapters, because I can't stop starting things without finishing them <3

If I miss any tags you think should be there, please let me know!

Full fic under the cut <3

John’s line of work has taught him that people are so, so easy to play with. Know the right person, the right place. Know what to say, who to say it to.

Keeping you safe, under his ever-observant eye, is easy in the barracks and on the field. You don’t make a single move he doesn’t see or hasn’t approved. But when you go home, away from him and his control, he just can’t help but worry. Are you safe, alone in that big, empty house? What do you get up to? Are you eating and drinking? Taking care of yourself? Who do you see? Do you invite anyone around? The idea of another man in your home makes him shudder, and in your bedroom isn’t something he even entertains. John needs to do something about it.

He’s been thinking for a while. Some way to watch you, every waking moment. A permanent eye on the wall. He knows your address; it’s right there in your files. There isn’t a single legal document or piece of information about you that he can’t obtain if he wants to. Every place you’ve lived, your parents, extended family, even your friendship circles. Your school results, community hobbies, bank purchases, every doctors trip – especially your birth control and fertility, he paid very close attention to those details. He knows how to play you; he listens to your grumbling, observes what makes you happy. Notices the moments where you’re less resistant, records what makes you flare up in defensiveness or fury. John is a well-educated man, one who could’ve been a scholar in another life, and he’s decided his favourite topic to study is you.

--- ︻デ═一 ---

“Remember to fill out your forms, lads. New policies coverin’ house insurance and maintenance, let me know if y’need any fixin’ at home.” He hands out the papers, carefully keeping yours separate without being too obvious. Soap’s head bobs up, glancing at you and taking the bait John has set out perfectly. “Oi bonnie, weren’t ye chattin’ ‘bout fixin’ a light o’ somethin’?”

Your face lights up at the mention, a bashful smile gracing your lips, and John would be mad that it’s not in his direction if he wasn’t so satisfied with himself. “I can’t believe you remembered that, yeah! I was going to wait until I got home.”

Gaz hums, hunched over his own form as he signs it. “Maybe Ghost can buy a piece of furniture this year.” His sentence is rewarded with a pen smacking into the side of his head, bouncing off him and onto the table as Ghost snorts in amusement, answering gruffly. “Fuck off, Garrick.”

It never goes wrong, but he still feels smug at how effortless it is to orchestrate an entire conversation before it starts. Getting your signature is as easy as an extra sheet, you can’t even tell the difference. No one reads terms and conditions, and he’s made extra sure you don’t - a couple of edited test forms a few months ago - to rule out the chance.

With the paperwork completed, he contacts the company and gives them a boring, digestible cover story. “Yeah, her husband. Installing cameras, yeah. Keepin’ it safe while we’re both on deployment. Just a light out the back to fix, cameras to install in and outside.”

They’re so quick to listen to the man playing the big, strong head of the house, not a single question about why everything but the payment would be in his ‘wife’s’ name instead. Lying, John finds, is easiest when others do the work for you; give vague details that seem right, and let them come to their own little conclusions. Let them assume you’re some kind of military wife who doddles along behind him, just an obedient little civilian pet while he organises the household. If only they knew what you were and what you did, he thinks. Though still, an obedient little pet is how he would like you. It just takes time to get there.

They come over and install the cameras in less than a week. John’s antsy the day he gets the call that they finished, waiting for it to be over so he can experiment with his new toy. He ignores the questioning looks from his inferiors as he dismisses his last evening meeting early, pushing out the door into the stream of soldiers heading for dinner, only departing from the pack when he reaches his office door.

John prepared a room for this in advance – the moment he set the plan in motion. A room at home, his central control that he could run unmanned and long-distance, circumnavigating his occupancy at the base. It’s almost undetectable; no pesky windows to peek in from the outside, entry hidden behind a locked door in his office. The numerous screens flicker to life, illuminating the room in a blue glow. The cameras are perfect; detailed quality, blur-less zoom. Every angle. It quickly becomes his favourite room to be in, despite only being in it once when he headed home to initially set everything up.

At the base, all he needs is an electronic device and an app to access the command. His favourite to use is his phone, flicking through each screen to take in the rooms, committing each detail and decoration to heart. Though to keep up all professional appearances, he often settles for his laptop, flicking between reports and gazing at the screens with every spare second. John takes the weeks leading up to break to memorise your house, seeing each room flickering on the back of his eyelids as lies in bed, tracing each path you’d take morning and night until he falls asleep.

He protects it. Types your address into his maps app, virtually scouting the neighbourhood to make sense of all your outside cameras, memorising every surrounding street. Plans escape routes, recording positions of defence and any weak spots he could reinforce, windows or vents that are just too easy to wrench open by perverse men like him. Within a month, he knows your house plan like his own; enough to contemplate how he would reorganise it if you wanted him to move in, how many little ones it could hold, tiny feet pattering up and down its hallways.

--- ︻デ═一 ---

When the last week before leave finally comes around, he’s beyond ecstatic. John is a carefully controlled slate around anyone else, but his boys know each twitch of his eyebrow and quirk of his lip. They clue you in to his unusually excited behaviour with teasing jokes and remarks that have him rolling his eyes, gruffly ordering them back to work. Soap is betting on a secret missus, making a point to sneak up behind Price when Soap catches him texting away on his phone.

When he finally arrives home, he’s delighted to see your house is still empty. It gives him time to unpack, running loads of laundry and showering. He keeps an eye on his phone, monitoring the screens until he finishes, bringing a cup of coffee and dinner to his little surveillance room.

The screens fill the wall, a 3x3 set-up that basks the room in a pale glow, yet still isn’t enough to display every camera hidden around your house. Everything is silent, the occasional rumble of a car getting his hopes up, but nothing happens until a few sips of his coffee and an article later. Movement from one of the screen catches his attention, his head straightening to watch your front door swing open.

A bag is the first thing that comes through the door, flung down the hallway with a dull thud. Your figure follows it in, heaving another heavy bag behind you. John frowns at the sight, mindlessly tutting as he crosses his arms. He could be there to do that for you. None of this silly straining yourself.

Leaning back and settling in, he watches how you unravel from your long absence. It pleases him that you’re practical in your return, taking the time to wash your laundry, circulate and dispel all the stagnant air (although Price dislikes seeing your windows open, so unattended), and give the place a general tidy up. There’s a ping from your phone a few times that puts John on edge. Who’s texting you already, when you’ve been back for less than a day? His prominent guess is family and close friends, excited to have their beloved child home and safe, but he can’t help from worrying that he’s wrong. Maybe you’re so pent up that you just can’t help it, using those silly dating apps you talk about with Gaz, eager for someone to unravel all that need within you. Maybe it’s an old friends-with-benefits situation you already have that’s eager to climb back in your bed. Maybe – maybe he should bug your devices.

His deliberations are disrupted as you reward your productivity with what Price thinks to be a party in your bathroom. The small haven of what should be privacy isn’t free from his omniscient gaze, either. He doesn’t care if it’s disgusting; there are no boundaries to him. There isn’t a single side of you he doesn’t want to see, doesn’t want to know.

The music comes through his speakers, some songs he recognises from the long travels spent in transport together. Melodies echo through your room as steam slowly gathers, whisps streaming in and out of his lens view as water slowly fills the bath. You trail from the room, meandering down the hall and grabbing some snacks from the kitchen, filling a glass with a carbonated drink you grab from the fridge. Snug in the corner above the entryway, paired neatly with the fire alarm, his camera catches the way you bend yourself over the counter, distracted by scrolling through some app.

He feels himself throb at the sight, fumbling to take a screenshot of the image. You tease him, staying bent like that as you wait for the bath, your ass swaying occasionally when a trendy song hums from your phone. Disappointment washes through him when you stand up, though he basks in the sight of your stomach peaking from under your shirt as you stretch, but his excitement is quickly renewed when you gather your snacks and head back to the bathroom.

The room has filled with a thick fog that blooms out into the hallway as you open the door. It clouds his vision, leaving him cursing for not considering the possibility. Your darkened figure is hardly visible as you move throughout the room, but from the soft, metallic clicks and flickering of light, he assumes you’re lighting something. Two lights blossom in front of you, remaining behind you as you crouch at the bath and start flicking the lighter again. The cloud has dispersed enough to let John see the fuzzy details of your face, watching as you bring a third candle to your face, inhaling with a hum of delight before you light the flame and return it to the bath’s edge. You strew the candles about the room, leaving a large one to glow on your vanity and putting the other one on your closed toilet lid.

You fiddle with the taps – running cold water, he guesses – and sit on the floor, sorting your snacks onto a long tray as the last of the mist spills from the room. He’s been lucky this time; had you not been treating yourself, taking the time to create a small sanctuary, the fog would’ve concealed any chance of John seeing you at such a vulnerable time. A flaw within his system that requires refinement. Perhaps a flaw he can turn into an excuse to visit you.

His thoughts fall flat when you stand up, slotting the tray into its position over the bath and silencing the taps with a few sharp turns. Finally. The point he’s been anticipating.

The captain waits with bated breath, eager to salivate over his uninvited striptease. It’s far from the first time he’s seen you undress, though it’s the first time you’ve been so beautifully unaware. Close proximity (and the resulting lack of privacy) is just another test of comradery – he’s showered next to you in just underwear and ripped your shirt or pants off to treat a stab wound more times than he can count.

But this time you undress, you don’t stop at your underwear.

There’s no to palaver or parade to your performance – there’s no real performance, just a one-sided show, and that alone has John’s cock aching. Capturing you without filter, pretences or social expectations, no song and dance of captain and soldier. You’re clumsy pulling off your underwear, catching the elastic on your toes and throwing it haphazardly onto the floor with the rest of your clothes through curses and grumbles. Inspecting yourself in the mirror, catching up on each new scar and burn, bending over and peering around to see the state of your backside and between your thighs. This is a side of you he can never glimpse on base, despite all his attempts.

The buzz of your phone distracts you, straightening up with a right, okay! and grabbing the small device, unlocking it to peer at the content as you gingerly slide a foot into the hot, soapy water. Bit by bit, you emerge yourself within the sudsy liquid, minding the tray as you let out an audible groan. John watches you melt into the bubbles, arms resting along the tub as your head falls back.

For a while, the two of you remain like that; John sat comfortably in his chair, ignoring the heat flickering in his lower stomach as he works through some papers, keeping an eye on your relaxed form as you decompress within the hot, sudsy water, picking at the tray of food and drink. His attention slips as the minutes go by, becoming more focused on his work – pushing the aching need between his legs further to the side - as he checks the screen every ten minutes.

The swishing of water becomes a tranquil ambience as you scrub at yourself, low voices from your phone that John doesn’t currently care to make out keeping you entertained through the process. You luxuriate in the tub for much longer than the barrack would ever allow, taking your time to scrub the build-up of product and dead skin that you give little concern during deployment.

A paper absorbs his attention, keeping his eyes occupied as he grumbles through writing. His concentration is only torn away as he finishes scribbling his signature, a sharp, unexpected moan filling his ears that has him looking up so fast his neck cricks. Scanning the screen, he quickly determines that it’s not coming from you – rather, your phone, and is now accompanied by a deep, masculine groan.

Your expression is clear on his screen, a flush to your cheeks as you gaze at your device, hand running along your chest teasingly to tug at a nipple. Whether it’s from the pornographic material playing on your phone or the heat of the water, John can’t tell.

The tent of his pants is already insufferably tight, and he swears there’ll be a zipper print against the red of his aching cock when he pulls it out. He wants to relish this, commit each moment of this first time to memory without the taint of his lust, but he can’t help the growing need between his legs. Ignoring it to finish paperwork, merely bask in the company of your unwinding routine, has been a challenge even for his steeled resolve.

As he watches your hand trail down the soft pudge of your torso, dipping into the bubbly water to follow the rise and dip of your stomach, he breaks. His cock springs out of his briefs like it’s gasping for air, bouncing angrily against his stomach with each haphazard tug at the elastic around his hips. He can only imagine how your fingers work between your legs at that sensitive skin, how you orchestrate your undoing.

The tray holds your phone conveniently, allowing both hands to roam your body, and John thanks his luck for at least the opportunity to watch you pinch and roll your nipples between your fingers. You tug at the sensitive buds with whimpered moans, water sloshing as your hips buck against your hand, teasing John with actions that he can’t see.

He’s damp to the touch as he grips his shaft, fingers immediately sticky with precum that’s been smeared throughout his briefs. Pearlescent beads drool from his tip in a lazy stream, lubricating his motions as he tugs lightly at his foreskin, already teetering the edge of climax. The slightest stimulation has his stomach tightening, listening to your gasps and whines grow in urgency.

You chase your orgasm eagerly, working with a pent up need that comes from the absence of full privacy within the miliary. Convulsions rack through you in synchronisation, moans combining in a harmony he wishes wasn’t separated by the screen. He wants to time it perfectly; fuck up into his fist and release as you reach your own peak, as if a flawless synchronisation is key to unlocking some phantom sensation of being buried between your thighs, clenched down around him.

It doesn’t take much more teasing before you catch up, your tiles wet as water breaches the rim with each careless thrust. The video in front of you has ended, long forgotten as your head lulls back, lost in the sensations that envelope your consciousness that prove to be too much. They push you over the edge with a ragged cry, your knees peaking from the water as your thighs clench around your hand, and John loses himself too.

All it takes it a few weak thrusts into his hand before his balls are tightening, seed spilling in enthusiastic spurts, striping his shirt and pants before it dies down to a dribble that John coaxes out with a groan. He sits there, watching your breathing even out as you wipe away at your mess, spent and catching his breath as the cum dries on his clothes. You’re quick in cleaning up the mess, pulling yourself up on unsteady limbs as you pull the plug, bending down to rinse your hands one last time for John to relish.

He's almost heartbroken when you step out the tub, droplets cascading down to drip from your form, only to reach for a towel to wrap around yourself. The fabric is a slim cover, leaving glimpses of your behind and chest as you dry yourself, humming a tune with a note of content John wishes he brought instead. John tucks himself back into the soiled briefs, shucking off his shirt and pants to wash momentarily, but not before he glimpses you one last time getting changed.

Before you can reach for the underwear placed in advance on the sink and discard your towel, the camera barely picks up the vibration of your phone, catching both his and your attention. Leaning over to the tray, your process is halted by a text on your screen that makes you smile, and whether it’s the drunken, post-orgasmic haze that clouds his mind, or the way it makes him more vulnerable to the surge of jealousy that flares up at your giggle, John finds himself fumbling through the lockscreen and pulling up your contact before he can stop himself.

If you’re not going to think about him during your masturbation, he’s sure as hell going to make sure you think of him after.

Dividers by cafekitsune

[chaosbarelycontained]

Do You Ever Question Your Life

North Country Boy Chapter 6

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x AFAB!OC

TW: Swearing

Words: 1.2k

Synopsis: A trip to the boozer with her new colleagues sparks some more memories for Simon and Jules.

Jules groaned blissfully as the warm water of the shower cascaded over her body. She rubbed jasmine-scented conditioner through her hair, working out the kinks from the braids she’d tamed it with whilst they’d been on exercise. After they’d arrived back at the barracks, cold and grimy, there’d been a thankfully short debrief before they’d been dismissed for the evening.

Any shower would have felt like luxury after a night in the chill, damp, Herefordshire spring air, and Jules made the most of it, buffing the life back into her skin with a salt scrub before rinsing and wrapping herself in one of the giant, soft, towels she’d ordered from Next online. She’d just finished drenching herself with moisturiser when a knock sounded at her door.

“Hey, Tiger, fancy going down the boozer?” Gaz called, not sounding even half as tired as Jules felt.

She gazed longingly at the pyjamas laid out on her bed and sighed.

“Yeah sure, what time?”

“We’re setting off in a few. Want me to wait?” he asked.

“No it’s OK, I’ll meet you there. Which pub?” she replied, already beginning to squeeze the water from her hair with the towel it was wrapped in.

“The Bell Inn. It’s not far,” he confirmed. “You sure you don’t want me to wait for you? I don’t mind.”

“It’s fine, honestly. Get us a pint in and I’ll be there soon as.”

“No worries. I owe you one for the brownie anyway. See y’in a bit.” Gaz gave her door a thump of confirmation before Jules heard his footsteps retreat down the corridor.

She dried her hair roughly with the hairdryer leaving it, she hoped, artfully tousled. Dressing quickly in jeans she also chose a slouched, cable knit sweater; she liked the soft cream wool and the deep V made sure her neck wouldn’t itch the whole night. Jules pulled on a pair of black motorcycle boots and then headed back over to the mirror in her small bathroom, which was now thankfully unfogged. Concealer covered the worst of her sleep-deprived dark circles, brows were tamed, and mascara applied. She added a touch of tinted lip balm and a spritz of perfume before fixing small gold hoops in her ears and the necklace she always wore when she was off duty.

It was only a short taxi ride to what she hoped was the right place, an off-white painted building decorated with hanging baskets that were just beginning to come into bloom. A stereotypical English countryside boozer, it even had a chalk-painted a-frame at the entrance advertising “Good Home-Cooked Food.”

Jules walked in, heading for the Tap Room rather than the Lounge and immediately spotted her squad, not that it would have been difficult, a group of five hulking soldiers stood out a mile no matter where they were. Gaz caught her eye and waved her over, the conversation around the table faltering as she sat and picked up her pint of lager, downing a third of it in two big swallows. With a sigh of satisfaction she raised her glass.

“Cheers,” she said before realising that she was the focus of all their attention.

“What’s up, lads? Never seen tits before or something?” she laughed awkwardly.

“Not a pair that drinks like that,” Roach coughed with a grin.

“Tits that can drink? Where?” Jules pretended to scan the room. “It’s a medical marvel, Shanghai ‘em, we’d make millions.”

Her words garnered amusement from the rest of the squad, even the stoic Captain, but one remained silent. Her eyes tracked across the table to where Ghost sat, his usual skull balaclava exchanged for a black surgical mask and a beanie that was pulled down low over his forehead with the hood of his jumper over the top of it all. His eyebrow twitched slightly as he glanced down at her chest then back up to her face and Jules would have sworn he smirked beneath his mask.

Her fingers tightened on her pint glass and she took another swig to stop herself from launching it at his head. It took another minute before she managed to lose herself in the banter around the table. Whilst she’d have loved nothing more than to put on her pyjamas and crawl into her bed, Jules had to admit that she was enjoying herself. As glasses began to empty she rose from her seat.

“Same again?” she asked, making a mental note of everyone’s orders.

“Aye,” Soap replied with a grateful grin.

“Rack ‘em up, Newbie,” Gaz responded.

“On it,” Jules confirmed, making her way over to the bar and leaning against it whilst she waited for the barman to finish serving in the other room.

“Four pints of Stella, a pint of John Smith’s, and a Guinness,” she asked when he returned and he nodded with a smile before starting on her order.

A figure leaned against the bar next to her and she stiffened, immediately recognising the presence as the one she least wanted to interact with.

“I’ll give you a hand,” Ghost rumbled, nodding a familiar greeting to the barman.

“No thanks,” Jules replied, turning away.

“Saves you two trips,” he pressed.

“I can carry a tray of drinks, I worked at The Plough long enough.”

“Yeah, I know. Do us a quick whisky, Bill?” he directed to the barman who paused in pouring pints for Jules to hand Ghost his request.

She couldn’t help turning her attention back to him as he raised his mask just enough to down the amber liquid, making a noise of satisfaction. He covered his face once more but not before Jules caught sight of his scruff-covered jaw, and the red scar that bisected his upper lip. Her breath caught in her throat.

“Nice necklace,” he nodded before picking up three pints in his large hands and taking them back to the table.

“Fuck you,” she muttered, unheard, as she paid for the drinks, picked up the other three glasses, and followed him back to their squad.

Of course he had to fucking notice, she thought as she caught herself pulling at her chain for the hundredth time that night, her fingers messing with the charms that hung from it. There was her Mum’s engagement ring, from an absentee father that never made good on his promise, a golden R for Rob and then…

“Oh my God, Si, it’s gorgeous.”

“Not as gorgeous as you, love,” he said, as he fastened the opal pendant around her neck.

With half a mind to rip the offending jewel from her neck, Jules shoved her stool back from the table and retreated to the sanctuary of the ladies’ room. A few splashes of water on her face and some deep breaths had her calm and back in the present once more, or at least as much as she could be. Leaving the bathroom she brushed past someone with a little more force than was necessary and she stopped in her tracks.

“God, sorry,” Jules said, turning to the person.

“No, my fault,” they replied, their voice a friendly rumble.

Jules looked up, and took in the face that accompanied the voice. The guy was hot, that was for sure, and still wore his work gear. A tradesman then, she assumed.

“Not seen you in here before, you visiting?” he asked goodnaturedly.

“Something like that,” Jules hummed as they reached the door to the tap room and the guy opened it for her.

“Ah, I get it, you’re from the base,” he nodded sagely before extending his hand. “Danny,” he offered.

“Jules,” she replied, shaking his hand in return.

“Now, I would offer to buy you a drink but I’m a little worried I might get lynched,” he chuckled, tipping his head to indicate over her shoulder.

Jules turned and let out a huff of exasperation at the sight of the five lads, even the Captain, leaning back in their seats with their arms folded across their chests, glaring daggers at her new friend.

“Jesus Christ,” she muttered. “Sorry about them. They obviously still have their watches set to the 18 hundreds.”

“No bother,” Danny replied, seemingly unperturbed. “I’ll leave you to it. Maybe I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Jules flushed a little, smiling back at him.

They parted ways and Jules headed back to her seat with an exasperated expression.

“Subtle boys, very subtle. You gonna insist on chaperoning me everywhere now? I don’t think it’s necessary, I mean, I managed to get a taxi here all by myself like a big girl…”

“We look after our own,” Price rumbled, taking a swig of his Guinness, but Jules caught the sly smile and wink he threw in her direction.

“God, I’m going to end up an old spinster aren’t I? Training recruits until I’m too old and crooked to do it any more, lamenting my lost chance of true love.”

She’d meant the words as a joke, and in any other company it would have been, but the laser-guided stare of the phantom across the table from her made her falter just slightly. Mentally shaking herself, she tried to cover it up with more sarcasm.

“Cavemen bodyguards weren’t mentioned in the transfer papers, Captain,” she joked.

“Must’ve forgotten to mention it,” Price replied. “I’ll speak to HR in the morning.”

“Bunch o’ twats,” Jules snickered into her pint, but her chest bloomed with a welcome feeling of camaraderie.

It felt like no time at all before the barman was calling last orders and Bravo Company began to work out the logistics of getting all six of them back to the base. Jules left them to it, paying another visit to the bathroom before heading outside into the crisp night air. The pub was falling into darkness now as the inside lights were turned off one by one and the last patrons wandered off to their relative destinations. She stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jacket and hunched her shoulders against the chill. There was only one other person outside now, leaning against the wall and taking a final drag of his cigarette before grinding it out on the floor.

“The others started walking,” Ghost rumbled, pushing off from the wall. “Said I’d wait for you.”

“Of course you fuckin’ did,” Jules muttered under her breath before turning to face him. “You don’t need to wait, I’ll just get a cab.”

“Already rang one,” he said, nodding towards the pair of headlights that were pulling up in front of the pub.

“Mint,” she replied, sarcasm bleeding through in her tone.

Wordlessly the pair of them climbed into the taxi and Jules told the driver their destination. Without even trying, Ghost took up most of the back seat and Jules scooted as far over as she could, pressing herself against the door for the short journey back to base, her eyes staring out of the window at the night-drenched countryside, her jaw set in a determinedly stubborn line.

* * * * *

Jules pushed​​ through the press of bodies to reach Rachel, leaning her chin on her friend’s shoulder as she grabbed them two drinks from the crowded bar. Turning, Rachel handed Jules the bottle of lemon Hooch and she took a grateful swing.

“Oh fuck,” Rachel hissed in surprise, gripping Jules’ arm. “Your brother’s here.”

“Shit!” Jules cursed, hunkering down a little to avoid being spotted, unsteady in her heels and tipsy state.

Through the dim light and haze of cigarette smoke she looked in the direction Rachel had indicated and saw Rob, his arm ‘round his latest bird, bobbing in time to the beat that blasted from the club’s speakers. Just behind him, in a pale blue shirt, was Simon bloody Riley.

“Your gob’s open,” Rachel grinned, nudging Jules with her elbow and nearly sending her flying.

“Piss off,” Jules grumbled, surreptitiously smoothing her hair.

“Thought he was seeing that Debbie from Athol Street?”

“Nah, she got caught with Skinny Mike round the back of the chippy. He sacked her off,” Jules sniffed, looking offended on Simon’s behalf.

“Oooooh, could be in with a chance now Jules!” Rachel teased drunkenly.

“Shurrupppppp!” Jules wailed, flushing red and hiding her face in her hands.

By the time they’d finished their drinks, and another three, the two girls were out on the dance floor, the threat of discovery all but forgotten. Rachel had managed to find herself a lad to grind against but Jules was content to just keep dancing, that is until the potential couple began to examine each other’s tonsils. She tapped Rachel on the back and headed to the bathroom, the quieter space a respite from the thud of the bass.

Tottering slightly, Jules washed her hands and smoothed her damp palms sloppily over her hair in a drunken attempt to tame any flyaways and then pushed her way back into the main body of the club. The wall of music and heat hit her and she swayed on her feet but someone caught her arm and kept her upright.

“Y’alright there Jules?” Simon asked, concern etched across his face.

“Simon!” she squealed happily, wrapping her arms around his neck, the alcohol finally making her forget how shy she usually was around him.

“What the ‘ell are you doin’ in ‘ere? How d’you even get in?” he asked, his hands at her waist.

“Flashed my tits at the bouncers,” she teased, her face falling when he pushed her back a little. “Jeez, I’m kidding, chill y’beans. Besides, what else would I be doin’ on a Saturday night? Sittin’ on the park drinkin’ shit cider wi’ all the high school kids?”

“Don’t let Rob see y’in this state,” he warned, knowing just how overprotective her brother could be.

“Don’t worry about it, he’s probably off in the corner shaggin’ Stef, or Sammy, or whatever her fuckin’ name is.”

Simon huffed out a laugh. “Where’s your mate?”

“Probably doin’ the same as Rob!” Jules threw her head back and cackled and Simon found himself grinning along with her.

The music transitioned into the soft intro of another dance track and Jules’ eyes widened in delight.

“Oh my God I love this one!” she exclaimed, throwing her head back and singing tunelessly along. “Do you ever question your life…do you ever wonder why…?”

Turning away from him she headed towards the dance floor but her fingers brushed a trail down his arm and hooked around his own and she tugged, looking over her shoulder at him with a devilish smile.

“Come on,” she mouthed.

Rolling his eyes, as if it were the last thing he wanted to do, he followed her out into the melee, just to keep an eye on her and make sure she stayed out of trouble.

By the time the DJ played the last track Rachel had found them again, her makeup smeared and her chin red from stubble rash. Jules’ feet were throbbing in her heels but she didn’t want the night to end. The only time Simon had left her side was to get them more drinks and she didn’t think she’d had as much fun in her life.

“You got a coat?” Simon asked when the music finally ended.

“Yeah!” Jules replied, shoving her hand down into her bra and fishing around for a moment before triumphantly presenting him with a crumpled, and slightly damp, ticket.

He disappeared just for a minute, returning with the cardigan she’d spent forever deciding on that afternoon, making sure it matched her royal blue velvet mini dress. Instead of putting it on she tied the sleeves around her waist and they joined the crush of people making their way outside, Simon kept a hold of her hand in an effort not to get separated and neither of them questioned the moment their fingers laced together.

“My feet are killin’ me,” Jules whined, her bottom lip jutting out in a pout.

Simon gave a long-suffering sigh but smiled cheekily as he hunkered down a little and patted over his shoulder.

“Come on then, Princess, if it’ll stop y’whinging,” he deadpanned.

Jules gave a squeal of delight and jumped on to his back, wrapping her arms around his neck as he hooked his arms under her thighs and hoisted her up.

“Lifesaver,” she thanked him, hugging him tighter.

When they reached the end of the queue for the taxis Simon released Jules and began to step towards the front of the cab but Rachel screeched “shotgun” and darted under his arm, grinning devilishly as she buckled herself into the front seat. He opened the back door for Jules, shutting it behind her before walking around the other side and climbing in.

“Gorton please, mate,” he said to the driver, giving him first Rachel’s address and then the street where he and Jules both lived.

Jules was strapped into the seat in the middle and, by the time they made it to Rachel's, her head was leaning against his chest, her eyes heavy with tiredness and alcohol. His arm had somehow found its way around her shoulders and Simon had convinced himself it was so she didn’t slump too far forwards and hurt her neck.

Helping her out of the cab wasn’t as much of a struggle as he thought it would be. She was steadier on her feet now and he walked her through the ginnel to the back door of her house just to make sure she got inside OK.

“Thanks for bringing me home, Simon,” she said, her words not even slurred now, despite the late hour.

“Anytime,” he replied, surprised when Jules popped up onto her toes and pressed a kiss against his cheek.

She did wobble then, falling into him a little more and his arms went around her waist to steady her. She giggled softly, looking up at him with a smile, their noses so close they almost touched. Neither of them moved and even their breath seemed to stop. Simon had half a thought that it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to…but then her lips were on his and he couldn’t for the life of him think of a reason not to pull her closer.

Taglist: @aykxz98

[gay-dorito-dust]

I know it’s a long task but what about an Adam warlock x you fic that’s a slow burn? Like it’s not immediately obvious that the two like each other.

Might not be what you wanted but I might have to make multiple parts for this but idk. I didn’t want to draw this out too much as I have a tendency of doing so. This could be considered a chapter 1 or a prologue at the very least. 🦦🦝

When you first met Adam Warlock it was when you offered to share your apartment with him temporarily until the reparations to the town, alongside the additional housing for the newcomers of Knowhere were finished. Now at the time you didn’t know what compelled you into offering up your apartment, but you could only assume that you wanted to be a Good Samaritan; seeing as how you couldn’t stand seeing him look so lost and all on his lonesome, swaddled in that insulation blanket of his.

‘He looks and acts like a newborn dawn struggling to find their legs in a life that doesn’t make sense, he needs a helping hand.’ Was what you said when further asked and whilst it was the truth, it was also something you used in hopes that it would put an end to any potential questioning later down the line; After all it wasn’t like you were taking advantage of him, the poor lad didn’t have anywhere to go nor belong to without someone having to tell him where he was supposed to be.

‘Come on Adam, we’re going home.’ You told him and he looked at you with furrowed brows.

‘Home?’ He repeats.

‘Yes, home.’ You replied, holding out a hand out to him, smiling once his hand gripped yours in wordless agreement to return with you.

So needless to say when you brought Adam back home, he was just as lost within this new location then he was before, his golden eyes darting from one corner of your apartment to another with awe and curiosity towards everything that seemed remotely new to him because it was; It seemed to you in that moment that Adam most likely never had the chance to stop and take a breather, which quite frankly made you feel even more sad for the golden being.

‘Nothings going to harm you here Adam.’ You told him when you found him cautiously looking at the vast amount of trinkets you had displayed across multiple surfaces throughout your living room. ‘I’m aware.’ Adam responded shortly. ‘I’m merely curious as to what theses things are.’ He trailed off as he leaned from the waist and made it so his eyes were level with the little fake succulent before reaching a hand out to poke it’s hard plastic leaves, jolting back like a frightened cat as he stared at the finger he touched the plant with; internally wondering why that leaf felt the way it did.

‘Y/n I believe there maybe something wrong with your plant.’ Adam told you. ‘Quick, we must get it to a doctor before it surbcomes to it’s illness.’ Just as he was about to pick up the fake succulent, you grasped his wrist, stopping him in his tracks which only proved to cause confusion within Adam as he looked at you with a look. ‘Why are you stopping me from helping your succulent, if we postpone it’s treatment it could die.’

‘It’s fake.’ You said, ‘the succulent is fake Adam, it’s meant to be like that as it’s made out of a hardened form of plastic so the buyer doesn’t have to provide care for the actual thing it’s based on.’ Adam’s brows furrow deeper. ‘Why would anyone do that, it just sounds like a lazy method as to get out of holding responsibility over something. If you’re not going to take care of the actual succulent, why settle for a fake one?’ He finishes and you shrugged, ‘mainly for decoration, it fills in the empty space when you don’t know what to do with it.’

‘I…don’t think I understand.’ The golden male said, really trying to understand the logic behind it but only to find it all the more confusing. Surely there has to be other decorative pieces that could’ve been chosen instead of a fake placeholder of a succulent you were never going to care for in the first place. ‘It’s okay if you don’t understand, just try not to think so hard on certain things because the reasonings to why aren’t always that deeply convoluted.’ You informed him, gently tugging him away from the fake succulent before he decided to do anything else to it.

‘What’s this?’ Adam then asks as his attention was brought towards an old blue teddy bear with a equally blue bow tie sat upon shelf, causing the breath in your throat to hitch and your blood to run cold, before he could touch it, you were quick to snatch it off the shelf and hold it firmly against your chest, shielding it away from Adam by presenting him him your back. Taken aback by your sudden movements Adam backed away, being fully aware of the tell tell signs of hostility, he knew he had crossed a boundary by bringing attention to the blue bear and upon your reaction, this wasn’t just some blue teddy bear that you kept on a shelf.

You put it there for a reason.

A reason he wasn’t privy to knowing.

Realising what you had done and looking upon Adam’s face, you apologised, ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know what came over me just then but this bear holds sentimental value and I’d prefer it if you don’t touch him.’ You said as you put the bear back onto the shelf in it’s precious positioning. ‘No, I should be the one apologising y/n. It’s clear that I’ve overstepped a boundary and will make certain that I won’t do it again.’ Adam reassures you, ‘but if I may ask, what’s the history behind this blue bear?’ The question shouldn’t have struck as deep as it did but you found it to be an hard question to answer as you felt a tightness in your throat that made swallowing a difficulty and your hands clam up at your sides. You weren’t ready.

‘All you need to know is that it’s a gift with deep sentimental value and that I treasure it greatly. Now let me show you where your going to sleep tonight.’ was all you said in response and Adam took that as the end of that conversation and decided it best not to pry any further and followed after you.

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter One (Part 2)

I swear that every new mobile home I’ve ever been inside has been exactly the same as the last. The Healy’s mobile is small and clad with painted wood. It’s full of old knick knacks and there is an ancient radio sitting on the windowsill, coated in layers of dust with its plastic cracking and bleached by the sun. A tiny, pale green laminate finish kitchen is squashed into the corner of the mobile. Its counters are worn down and shiny in places from decades of elbows and hands, scratches from the knives drawn across it and stains from food prepared. There is a calendar from last summer on the wall still. Cartoon cat themed. One stares out at me under the words AUGUST 2009, and I stare back, mesmerized by it’s eyes. It is hideous.

“I think that’s everything there, Evie.” Shane grunts as he drops two more clothes-stuffed gear bags onto the floor. One of them rolls immediately onto its side and something inside it makes a heavy thud, but neither of us attempts to pick it up. He’s breathing heavily from the effort of hauling our bags in, and his hair is wet. He glances down the narrow hallway towards the bedrooms, where I can hear my two friends chatting. 

“Kelly?” He calls out “That’s all the bags in, now.”

“Right, thanks” She calls back. He hesitates by the front door, fiddling with his car keys inside the pocket of his tracksuit bottoms. I wonder if he’s waiting for them to come out of the bedroom so he can have another look at Claire. They don’t emerge.

“I’m off, so” He says, still not making any moves to leave, and I feel awkward just watching him standing there, and am urged to say something to fill the silence. “Where are you staying again?” I say, wiping a winter’s worth of dust from the top of the oven and then analysing it on my finger. 

“Some friends down the other side of the beach” He tells me “Not any of my friends from home or anything, you wouldn’t know them. Just lads I know from all the summers we’d have come down here.”

“A caravan park too is it?”

“No, a house. One of the lads has a proper holiday home. His parents are letting us have it this summer because obviously we’re not going away anywhere for our leaving cert holiday.”

I nod. If we’d all been born three years earlier, the final years of our school experience would have been very different. When the economy crashed, foreign holidays were off the cards for so many of us. Where Shane and his friends might have gone to Majorca or Ibiza or Magaluf, the nation’s slimmer wallets meant that they were instead shacking up in someone’s presumably dusty holiday home on a wet and windy beach. I feel bad for them, just a little bit. It seemed to me like they were missing out on some kind of fundamental teenage experience. 

“Sure we’ll probably see you around the village at some point.” I say. 

“Ya” He says, finally stepping back over the threshold. “Enjoy the place anyway, don’t get up to too much havoc. I’ll be inspecting it in August.” He winks at me facetiously and shuts the door behind him. 

I join my friends at the back of the mobile, and together we discuss who will take each bedroom. We decide that because it’s Kelly’s family holiday home, she should get the double room. The other two rooms are tiny, so it doesn’t seem to matter too much who gets what. Claire suggests I take the twin room, insisting that it’s the better one because I could switch up where I sleep every night just to keep it interesting. She also pushes me on the view out the window between the beds. It’s the only room with a sea view. I know she wants me to take this room because she wants the extra wardrobe space in the other one, but I oblige anyway. The idea of being able to see the sea at night, even if it’s only the tiniest sliver between the dunes, feels romantic to me and I’m okay with sacrificing space for it. 

By the time we’ve unpacked our bags and filled the mini bathroom with our shampoos and toothbrushes, the rain has stopped, and Kelly hauls three wooden folding chairs out onto the deck in front of the mobile and cracks open a bottle of wine. We pour it into colourful plastic picnic cups and sit out looking at the ebbing sea in the distance. It is the longest day of the year, and the sun won’t dip below the horizon until ten tonight. Even when it finally does, we won’t get that true, inky black darkness again until late July. This is my favourite time of year. The days stretch out ahead of us endlessly, and everything feels slow and languid. I sip from my plastic cup, the smell of petrichor from the soaked tarmac is filling my nostrils, but the breeze is soft and warm again. I can’t hear the waves from here, but I can imagine how they’d sound if I was closer to them, feeling the sea water lapping gently against my ankles. 

An old man stops on the path and welcomes us to the park. Kelly knows him, and asks him about his family. He has grandchildren in a mobile home just around the corner and he tells her all about how they are. She and her family have spent every summer in this place. I bet they know every person on every corner in this whole village, and I wonder what that’s like. For me, the point of a holiday is to get away from the people who know you, to be free of the character you play for them for a little while, a chance to disappear into anonymity. I struggle to understand the appeal of being so known, to be a recognisable face in the area. 

The three of us laugh and chat together as the evening draws in, Kelly theatrically recounting all of her caravan park experiences, still remembering the names of all the boys she’d kissed behind bushes, on the tennis courts, on playground swings and in campsite shower rooms. Every childhood and teenage drama, her summer days like patchwork squares sewn together making her into the person she is. 

“He wasn’t actually Bono though, was he?” Claire said incredulously. “Like hardly it was the real one? Or..?”

“No!” Kelly cackled “He was hardly the real Bono. What, a fifty year old man hanging out with a load of fourteen year olds in a caravan park? Everybody just called him that, like, I’ve no idea why either. His real name was Cormac.” We all laugh as she empties the last of the wine into my cup. 

“I’d probably lead with that” I tell her “Like, ‘Bono touched my tit behind the village takeaway’ sounds so bad.” 

“Whatever!” She grins “Fine, Cormac did. Your one Amy from Sally Park was fuming about it too. She thought she’d be the first one of us to get to second base.”

I feel warm and fuzzy from the wine, and I let happiness flood into my body as I laugh and chat with my two best friends well into the night, as a crescent moon finally rises above the sea and the grasshoppers croak. The holiday homes that line the coast are now lit up with warm light, shining in a long line like a glittering string of beads in the distance. I wonder to myself if Shane and his friends are staying in one of them, and idly wonder if boys have these kinds of conversations with their friends. Maybe they’re on deck chairs too, drinking wine and talking about girls they’ve kissed and ones they wish they could.  

I promise to myself sleepily that tomorrow I’ll go for my first swim of the year. Maybe down to the other side of the beach. Something about those glittering lights is pulling on me.

Prev // Next

[my-favourite-zhent]

New Tricks - Chapter 2

Status: Work In Progress

Version: 2.01

Pairing: Rugan x AFAB!OC

Rating: NC-17 (This chapter PG-13)

Genre: Adventure/Romance Excerpt:

“Isn't this sort of thing beneath a man of your skills?” Eyes wide and innocent as she peered into his own, lower lip in a coy pout. “Would you like to be?” He wrapped his own hand around the wrist that held his jerkin. “Hmmm?” That honey sweet voice again, warm and inviting. “Beneath a man of my skills?”

Table of Contents

Read Here on AO3 or below the cut~

New Tricks - Chapter Two

The mood lightened considerably when the caravan finally made the city. Enough of the goods remained that they'd been paid a tidy some.

Jubilant shouts and cheers echoed across the warehouse as the loading got finished. The Gate crew was getting an early start on the usual payday celebrations, bottles of brandy being passed around freely.

The Waterdeep crews didn't share much in the mirth. They weren't unfriendly per se, but they kept to themselves.

“Locals are a bit moody ain’t they?” Bellar took a healthy swig of his bottle before passing it to Rugan.

“Zarys says they’ve been having trouble with the local thieves guild. We’re to be on our best behaviour so’s not to further upset the city guards.” Rugan took his own sip before passing to Olly in turn.

“Trouble? Zhents should be their top customers. Who else is gonna shift their shite?”

“Well not everyone can be as congenial as we Baldurians.”

Olly, who had had a bit too much to drink at this point, uncharacteristically piped up. “Zarys says you're a bit too congenial with Keene’s crew, Rugan.”

Rugan's voice raised in mock offence. “First of all lad, I wouldn't be taking lessons in congeniality from Zarys of all people. If you ever see that black-hearted vixen smile, run the other way. Me on the other hand; why, I simply help along negotiations. If anyone's too friendly, I heard it's Vol who's shagging their accountant.”

“The one in the mask?” Olly gaped.

“The very same!”

“No, you're making that up!” Bellar couldn't help laughing even as he said it.

“Why do you think he wears that mask? Her doggies got him!”

The three burst out in a fit of drunken laughter. Only broken up when Vol herself yelled down from the catwalk.

“Oi! If you lot don't shut it down there it's you I'll sick my dogs on!”

Rugan held a finger to his lips to indicate silence but this just brought on a fresh wave of, albeit quieter, laughter from the trio.

Vol stomped off muttering something about mouthy old bastards but left it at that.

When the laughter finally died down, Bellar wiped a tear from his eye before turning to Rugan, sotto voce. “Have that conversation with Brem yet?”

“Aye, why do you think he's been dodging me? Idiot feels proper embarrassed now and rightly so.”

“Ain't the first Zhent to get led astray by 'is little knife.””

“Right enough for Olly’s age. Brem’s seasoned enough to know better.”

“I wouldn’t pull something like that.” Olly interjected indignantly.

“Well obviously not you Olly, but the rest of us were a lot less… mature at your age.”

“We’re a lot less mature now.” Bellar snorted.

“Are you three still able to stand, or are you proper smashedcompletely wankered?” The trio hadn’t noticed Zarys’ approach and all stiffened at her question.

“We can stand.” Olly quickly replied.

“Good, come with us. We’re off to the office then.” Her smile reminded Rugan of a hyena’s bared fangs. He wondered idly if she had overheard him earlier.

Zarys led them to the lone stairwell to the office, glancing back over her shoulder. “Oh, and don’t think you can scarper off Rugan.”

Oh good, she had heard him.

Bellar gave Rugan’s shoulder a squeeze while suppressing a laugh.

Zarys took a seat at the solitary desk and gestured for Olly to shut the door.

“We've got another job comin’ up, lads.”

“We just done a job, Zarys.” Whined Bellar.

“Quit your whinging, it's just for one night. A duke's fancy bash needs some extra security, easy work.”

“Hardly any fights at those. Sounds like a job for the locals, yeah?”

“Locals might be known as Zhents.”

“We’re not going as Zhents then?”  Rugan blinked in surprise. Unusual, a job well done could bolster their reputation among the nobility.

“No, because that ain’t the real job.”

“Go on then, what’s the real job?” Rugan suspected he wasn't going to like it.

“You three are going to nick something from the duke’s estate.”

“Oi Zarys, we’re head crackers not sneak thieves.”

“Bellar’s right, this isn't exactly our area of expertise .”

“Then it's a good thing we’ll be the security team as well, isn’t it?” Zarys smirked. Rugan had to concede it was a smart plan.

“And what we takin, then?” Bellar's eyes narrowed with suspicion. 

“Nothing magical I hope,” added Rugan.

“Netherese tablets for a wizard back in Baldur's Gate.”

“Aah, I've gone and jinxed it,” Rugan lamented.

“They're not magic.” Zarys corrected him. “Just dead old. Some sort of relic. Small enough to easily smuggle out, I've been assured.”

Rugan sighed, Zarys had also been assured there wouldn’t be much trouble on the road.

He and Bellar shared a look, both doubting it would be as easy as she said.

“Not a word of this to the others though, special assignment. And cheer up, you lot, we're going to a party.” Zarys’ smiled viciously before waving them off. “You’re free to go now.”

The trio turned to leave.

“Oh, and leave the bottle. I reckon Rugan’s had quite enough. We don't need him to do any more mouthing off.”

“Couldn’t agree more.” Rugan agreed in a tone that was all resignation.

±++++

The ‘party’, if it could rightly be called one, was about as fun as a wet mop. 

‘ No, worse than that, ’ thought Rugan. ‘ At least you can beat someone with the handle end of a mop. ’

Not a single fight had broken out, there were no card games to be had, and all discussions revolved around trade or some bit of gossip about who had planted the wrong sort of hedges this year. To top it off, the entirety of the damn wait staff had been ordered to not serve any wine to the ‘security’ team.

“You'll want to have your wits about you gentlemen.” Duke Errol had condescended.

“Would really rather be crackin’ heads right about now.” Sighed Bellar, stealing a swig from a flask he surreptitiously retrieved from his vest.

“Oi, gimme that.” Rugan chided with his hand outstretched, as if chastising a willful child. “Black Hand knows what Zarys will do if she catches you with that.”

Begrudgingly Bellar handed over the canteen only for Rugan to bring it to his own lips.

“Hey!”

“There,” Rugan gulped as he finished the last of the wine. “Now you don't have to worry about being caught.”

“You're a prick Rugan.”

“Serves you right for not sharing.” He intoned as he handed back the empty vessel. “Why don't you go see what the lad’s gotten up to. Keep yourself busy.”

Bellar grumbled but went on his way. With any luck he'd be able to pilfer some more wine when backs were turned.

Rugan inhaled deeply, the night was cool but not uncomfortably so. The chill and fresh air were a pleasant contrast to the heat of the drink warming his face.

Spiralling stone steps wound up the hill from the base of the tower where he now stood. As he glanced up towards the night sky he saw a figure descending those stairs towards him.

‘“Nother rich tosser.’ He thought with a twinge of annoyance. Not that there would be guests of any other sort.

He could just make out the person now, a short lissome woman in a green dress. The light cotton was draped across itself forming a v-shaped neckline and was cinched at the waist with a leather braid. From there flowed two long strips of fabric that came to her calves but left the sides of her legs on full display. Nowhere to hide a weapon really, or anything else for that matter. The woman drew closer and he lifted his gaze to take in her face. She was a pretty thing with delicate features, gently framed in a mass of wavy black hair. 

Unlike the other guests who had come down this way she was staring intently at the tower, her lips twitching ever so slightly. He followed her gaze, ‘ She’s counting the windows .’ The realisation came with a touch of trepidation. Maybe this party did actually need security after all. Rugan straightened and held his hand up as she approached.

“This area is off limits, miss.” His voice was authoritative but not overly harsh.

The woman in green’s eyes widened and she smiled at him, noticing him for the first time.

“Security I take it?” She looked at him appraisingly, in much the same way he had just done her. Her voice was light and sweet, and he found her face all the more enjoyable up close.

“Aye, and I'll have to ask you to give the tower a wide berth.”

“You're not one of the duke's usual guards.” The woman was eyeing him more closely now. She took a step towards him, such that they were mere inches apart.

“Outside contractor.” He felt some of the usual charm slipping into his voice and a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. It couldn't be helped when a pretty lady was concerned.

“Hmmm.” She reached forward and pulled back the collar of his leather armour, revealing the winged snake pendant he had been wearing underneath. 

“Unusual work for a Zhent.” Her voice was low and conspiratorial, though there was no one else around to overhear them.

“And what would you know of the black network, lass?” His tone teasing, albeit with an edge of warning.

“Isn't this sort of thing beneath a man of your skills?”

“Would you like to be?” He wrapped his own hand around the wrist that held his jerkin. “Hmmm?” That honey sweet voice again, warm and inviting.

“Beneath a man of my skills?” 

The words had tumbled out of him before he could stop himself. Not the sort of thing you should say to a noble guest of your employer, especially if you didn't want Zarys to cut off your balls for botching a job. Yet it couldn't be helped, he had always been a flirt at heart and unaccustomed to holding his tongue for civilians.

Perhaps not entirely to his surprise, the woman laughed softly before leaning forward. Her lips brushed gently against his own, feather light. Rugan thought to pull her close to get a better taste when a shout from above jolted them apart.

“Erica! Are you down there dear?” 

“Hells,” she breathed. “My date.”

“Your date?” His eyebrows raised in amusement. He quite enjoyed the idea of cuckolding some preening noble.

She hastily stumbled back to make some space between the two of them. Erica gestured to her lips and Rugan realised some of her rouge must have smudged on him. He swiped his mouth with the back of his hand just as her date came into view.

“Ah, there you are dear. You've just missed me imparting some wisdom to poor young lord Adarbrent regarding the errors he’s been making with his shipping routes.” The man was puffing slightly from the descent. He was dressed ostentatiously in red and white finery. It was clearly of expensive make and yet it's cut and pattern did not flatter the gaunt man in the least.

“I'm sure he greatly appreciated your acumen, Lord Cragsmere.” Her voice was still sweet, but Rugan thought he heard the slightest hint of sarcasm therein. Whatever the case Lord Cragsmere did not notice.

“Please dear, as I've said before, call me Glaerus.”

“It would be unbefitting for a lady of my station, saer.” Rugan noticed she seemed to be standing more stiffly than before, a certain tightness in her shoulders. 

He wondered to himself if she were a hired companion. Though not an experienced one, certainly, she had not fully mastered hiding her distaste for her date. Close, but not quite.

“Do come now my dear, no need for formalities. Now if you would accompany me.” Glaerus tried to direct her back up the stairs.

“Oh but I was just asking this gentleman where the garderobe might be.”

Glaerus turned, as if suddenly noticing Rugan’s presence. Rugan smiled politely, but the look Glaerus returned was full of disdain. The noble turned back to Erica. “Nevermind dear, I’ll show you the way. Come along.” He grasped her wrist tightly and made to drag her away at a brisk pace.

The woman followed along dutifully, but turned to give Rugan a coy smile before shaking her head.

“Well that’s a damned shame,” muttered Rugan ruefully when the pair were out of earshot.

He turned to see Bellar jogging towards him. “What’s the hurry, lad?”

“Guess what the little bugger pulled off.” Bellar grinned and held out a ring of keys, giving them a jingle for good measure. Rugan noticed Olly had come along as well, just a few paces behind.

“How’d you manage that lad?” A wry grin spread across Rugan’s features, he was impressed.

“Oh um, a nice bloke in the kitchen gave them to me.” Replied Olly, reaching back to fix his hair. Rugan noted a touch of red on the boy’s cheeks.

“I’d put coin on it, he did!” Crowed Bellar, giving Olly a hearty slap on the back.

“Well then lads,” Rugan chuckled, catching the keys deftly as Bellar tossed them. “It's time to get to work.”

[storyshark2005]

VI. A Week in Mustique i loove this one <3

Thank you for the ask!! I love this one too -- have some Sonny and Uncle Liam bonding!! This next chapter will be Liam POV (I've not finished the chapter, it's going slow, and I've been a bit diverted with Carraville, but hoping to finish this chapter and keep it going) ***

Liam spots the lad he’s looking for, holding tight to a palm tree, stretching his skinny little leg behind his back like he’s Usain Bolt warming up for the Olympics. He doesn’t have the Gallagher look about him at all; not the eyebrows, or his father’s nose, or the sour little mouth that Donovan had inherited. Liam supposes he must look like his mother. But then the kid reaches up to rub at his eye, and his whole face sort of scrunches up disagreeably, and it’s a kick in the chest how like a little Noely G. he is, just for a flash of a second. Liam cups his hands around his mouth and shouts at the top of his lungs: “BUMBACLART!” 

Sonny fairly jumps out of his skin, eyes going all cartoon-y and round. 

“What the fuck, Uncle Liam?!” 

Liam laughs and gives him a thorough scruffle round about the ears. “Alright little potato?! Where’s your brother, ain’t he coming with?” 

Sunny pats his hair back into place. “Nah, he’s still sleeping. Lazy cunt. Anais said she wanted to come, but I think her sunburn’s still really sore, so I didn’t try to wake her up.”

“Ah, poor girl. She taking care of herself?” 

“Yeah. Molly’s been helping put the aloe on and everything. And Gene won’t stop bringing her bottles of coconut water. He’s being really weird about it, it’s like-- she’s not fucking dying!”  

“Ah, always been a softie, our Gene. Good he’s lookin’ after her.”

“Yeah, but it’s her own fucking fault, innit? Like, how stupid can you be?! We were on a boat, in the sun, for like-- five hours! How do you just forget to put sunscreen on?!” 

Sonny gives a disapproving shake of the head, hands propped up on his hips. 

Liam laughs, and gives his nephew a slap on the back. “Someday you’ll see, Little G. After a drink or two you stop being so smart.” 

“I think even after about a hundred beers, I’d remember-- you’re in the middle of the fucking Carribbean! I mean we’re basically right on the fucking equator!” 

They take off on a slow jog, and Sonny promises not to leave Liam in the dust. There’s a nice firmer bit of sand nearer the water where their feet don’t sink in so much, so they stick to running along the beach, watching the sun slowly peek up over the ocean. Sonny’s got a little Nike digital watch, so Liam tells him to say summat when they’ve gone a half-hour; and there they stop for a rest and kick sand and throw rocks into the surf, watching the morning sun turn the dark water orange and pink and blue. Sonny keeps up his bright little chatter pretty much the whole hour, like a little wind-up toy that Liam prompts with a question every so often; about school, his guitar playing, football, girls-- Sonny’s got a couple of prospects but ‘nothing serious’, according to him. (Geezer, Liam thinks. He’ll be a right little lady killer, will Sonny G.)

When they finally get back to the villa, Liam can hear a bit of clatter from the kitchen, but the house is still dark and quiet. Sonny gives him a high-five and begs off for a shower and a couple more hours of sleep. 

“Oh, I almost forgot,” he turns back around and says in a sheepish voice: “Happy Birthday, Uncle Liam.” 

They hug, and Liam has to work hard not to cry. It makes him think about all the birthday parties he’s missed out on, and all the ones he’s going to get to go to from now on. And it’s all very happy and achy inside his chest. 

Sonny tromps back to his bunk. Liam watches him go, the sweaty parts of his hair sticking up from where Liam had hugged him too tight and ruffled his hair. He looks like a baby deer still, right at the age before they start to turn into men, when they still laugh at stupid jokes, and they’re not too cool for kid stuff and cartoons. So maybe Liam’s still got a bit of time left to be Sonny’s funny cool uncle. 

Anyway. It feels like the start to the best birthday ever.

***

[emilykat-artblog18]

The Other Port

(chapter 2)

.:: The Black Cat of The Port ::.

As both Ten Cents and Sunshine were heading to the cafeteria, many questions lingered in Ten Cents’ mind like a low mist on the horizon, “Who made those dolls? What is the key for? And why were they inside the storage room?”

“Ten Cents, Ten Cents!” Sunshine grabbed Ten Cents’ shoulder, snapping him out of his trance as he nearly walked into me.

“Oh, sorry about that, Captain Starr sir” Ten Cents said embarrassedly while Sunshine held the dolls tightly behind his back.

“It’s ok Ten Cents, I take it you both finished cleaning out the storage room?”

“Yes Sir, We were just on our way to the cafeteria.” Ten Cents nodded,

“Good, may I have the keys back?” I held out my hand, “Oh right! I almost forgot about them.” Ten Cents searched in his pockets

“Here you go sir,”

“Thank you,” I turned my gaze towards Sunshine.

“Anything you want to report to me as well, Sunshine?”

“Me? Uh no sir. Nothing to report”

I was feeling tired myself, so I didn’t bother asking anything else and let the two on their way, “Have a good night you two.”

“You too, sir” Ten Cents and Sunshine chimed together as I walked away, Ten Cents let out a sigh of relief, “Well that was almost too close for comfort,”

“You’re telling me,” shrugged Sunshine.

“Let’s just get something to eat and then hit the sack, ay?”

“I just hope someone got us good food this time.” Sunshine grumbled.

When they entered the cafeteria, they saw Big Mac, O.J., and Top Hat sitting at one of the tables chatting amongst each other about their day. O.J. turned and noticed Ten Cents and Sunshine.

“Welcome back lads. I hope you both aren't burnt out from your last job.”

“Meh, it was just storage cleaning. Nothing that we couldn’t handle.”

“Did ye find anything interesting in that old room?” Big Mac asked

“Well actually there is.” Sunshine soon reveals in his hands, the button-eyed dolls.

“What is that?” O.J. asks, having to look closer at the dirty dolls.

“And why do they look exactly like both of ye.” added Big Mac.

“That’s what we’ve been wondering too when we found them. Do you know who made them?”

“How should we know about some filthy old ragdolls from the garbage?” Top Hat remarked.

“Oh like how your head is full of nothing but garbage?” remarked Sunshine, insulted.

The crew all had a hearty chuckle at the joke except for Top Hat who was most offended but couldn’t think of a comeback for he was feeling tired.

“Speaking of garbage, where's Warrior? I thought we saw him walk past with you, Big Mac.” Ten cents asks.

“He already went to sleep. Don’t worry, he showered before then.” answered Big Mac

“Ah well we should go get our meals before-’’

“It’s just rations Ten Cents.” Sunshine groaned,

“What?! Again?”

“Sorry boys, with the constant busy work schedule we have this whole month we don’t have time to make meals so we resorted to using rations and other instant meals. It’s not much but it’s what we’re going to have to work with for now.” O.J. explained feeling sorry for them.

Looking back at the rations, Ten Cents sighed in defeat, “Well then, I guess we’ll just grab some and go back to our bunks…”

And with that, Ten Cents and Sunshine reluctantly grabbed a ration for the both of them and headed back to the barracks. O.J., Big Mac and Top Hat could only watch as they left until O.J. spoke.

“It’ll be alright boys, it won’t be like this forever.” trying his best to give them some hope from the situation but already left out of earshot.

Once at their bunks in their pajamas, the two ate their rations, they were as dry as the sand on the beach and not very appetizing.

“You see what I mean, Ten Cents?”

“About what?”

“About wishing that our current situation was better where we don’t have to work as hard.”

Ten Cents gulps and sets his ration aside. “I get what you mean, I know it’s been hard on all of us and they’re still doing their best, but I won’t lie, I miss when we had decent food and less of a heavy workload to handle.”

“You think that’ll ever happen soon?”

“Probably not for another few more weeks of this.”

Ten Cents looked over to the nightstand next to his and Sunshine’s bunk beds. Sunshine had placed the two old dolls right next to a framed photo of their whole fleet including their captain; When times were better, especially since they took it welcoming their new recruit, one who he was very fond of since they met.

Ten Cents yawned knowing another day of hard work awaited them in the morning. The two said nothing and threw away their rations into a nearby trash bin, and got ready to sleep.

“Tomorrow’s gonna be another busy day huh?” Sunshine yawned as he began to nod off.

“Yeah, another hard day of work...”

Ten Cents answered, shutting off the lights, the room now only being dimly illuminated by the moon outside their window shining down on the dolls. As the two slept however, a black silhouette of a cat overshadowed them and observed them beyond the window.

-

The morning sun shone brightly as Ten Cents, Top Hat, Warrior, Big Mac, Hercules, O.J. and our new recruit, Tillie stood in the employee lounge waiting for me to give them their orders. Everyone except for Sunshine was present in the employee lounge.

Although it seemed all the older workers of my company were focused on getting their schedule for that day. Sunshine was trying to figure out how to bring his doll look alike to work with him that day, once he came up with a solution, he made a dash to the employee lounge.

“I’m so sorry everyone, I… nearly overslept,” lied Sunshine, “I’m not late, am I?”

“Nope you just came just in time, Sunshine.” Ten Cents assured him

“That’s a relief”

“Alright everyone settle down!” my voice rang out through the PA speaker.

“We’ve got a lot of work to do today, a tramp steamer is arriving into the port and we’ll need all hands on deck to dock and unload it. Hercules, you’re in charge of bringing the tramper in, Big Mac, Top Hat and Warrior, you three are to help guide it in,”

“Yes Sir.” Hercules, Big Mac, Top Hat, and Warrior affirmed before proceeding to their respective vessels.

“What about the rest of us sir?” Tillie queried.

“You three are to help anchor the tramper to the dock, O.J. will show you how.”

“Yes Captain Starr!” Ten Cents, Tillie, and Sunshine affirmed before following after O.J.

On their way to where the tramper was to be docked, Sunshine couldn’t help shake the feeling that they were being watched.

To confirm his suspicions, he looked behind himself and noticed something dark moving on top of some crates.

“Hey Ten Cents I think I see something?”

“Oh yeah, what's up?”, Ten Cents asked,

“It’s over there by the cra-” Sunshine pointed. But as soon as he returned his gaze at the crates, the thing was nowhere to be seen.

“What..?”

“You must've been seeing things. It's still early today but come on, there's work to be done”

They picked up their pace to catch up to Tillie and O.J. As they continued to walk past the glistening ocean, Sunshine couldn’t shake off his confusion.

He swore to himself that he wasn’t seeing things but he couldn’t figure out how even though the thing disappeared from his sight, why he still felt he was being watched.

The crew all suddenly stopped as they caught sight of Zorran, Zebedee and Zak, some of the employees of Zero Marine, our rival, were on their way to work as well.

“Well look what have we got here lads? Scrooge McDuck and his nephews?” Zebedee and Zak guffawed at Zorran’s remark.

“Shut up, we’re only just on our way to do our jobs,” Ten Cents said.

“What? off to get another contract?”

“We’re just on our way to bring in and unload a tramp steamer that’s all.” Tillie replied,

“Kindly leave us alone and we’ll be on our way-” O.J. retorted.

“Wasn’t trying to start any trouble with you, old man” oiled Zak, “Yeah, was only trying to make friendly conversation” Zebedee added sarcastically, “Also nice doll you got there Sunshine” Zebedee mused.

“What doll?-'' Tillie looked back at Sunshine and noticed in his binocular bag was a button-eyed doll that resembled him sticking out of it.

“Aw, you plan on having a tea party after your jobs of the day?” teased Zak

“Is your age now the number on your uniform, Sunshine? How cute.” Zorran joined in.

Sunshine’s face was as red as his hat as he tried to hide his doll.

“Oi leave him alone or else-!”

“Ten Cents, don’t even think about it”, snapped O.J.

“Or else what Ten Cents? You gonna fight me?” Zorran challenged

“Don’t you dare, lad” O.J. scolded holding back one of his arms.

“Let me at him, O.J.!” Ten Cents growled

“Hey calm down now… let's get going before you do something you’ll regret,” soothed Tillie.

“Yeah, listen to your little girlfriend Ten Cents!” Retorted Zorran, this was the final straw, Ten Cents won’t take any longer.

“Oh now you’re -!” yelled Ten Cents lunging at Zorran.

“That’s enough Ten Cents!” shouted O.J.

O.J. and Tillie tried to hold Ten Cents back from the Zeros, all the while poor Sunshine stood in utter silence afraid and ashamed to do anything when he turned his gaze to a rooftop of a building and saw the thing he saw earlier on the crates, which turned out to be a cat. He couldn’t believe it when he saw it clearly now as it stared at him.

“Hey there it is again!” Sunshine shouted pointing up to the rooftop making everyone, even the Zeros look up. Tillie and O.J. took it as a chance to get both Ten Cents and Sunshine out of there before things could escalate further and grabbed their arms and took off.

“Hey what are you two doing?”

“Getting us away from them” O.J. groaned

Once they weren far enough from the Zeros, Tillie heaved a sigh of relief

“Now Let's keep going, we can't be late for the tramp steamer.”

“Yeah you’re right.”

“Be a lot more sensible, will you, Ten Cents?” shouted O.J., “If we hadn’t dragged you out of there, you could’ve gotten into even more trouble.”

“He was only trying to defend Sunshine, that’s all.” Tillie explained.

“Did you guys see it?” Sunshine chimed in

“See what?”

“The black cat, I saw it earlier on the crates. It was on the rooftop!”

O.J. stood in confusion.

“I didn’t see it, Sunshine, it was the heat of the moment that distracted us.” Said Tillie

“And if we did that’s something we shouldn't worry about. Ten Cents, please learn to keep your head on straight, will you? Last thing I want is something bad to happen to you.” OJ pleaded.

“I will in future, I’m sorry O.J.”

“Good, now let's head over to the dock, that tramper should be here at any moment.”

And so they did, but the thought of the black cat still played on Sunshine’s mind.

The sound of a chorus of tugboats blowing their hooters indicated that the tramp steamer was ready to be docked. Ten Cents, Sunshine, Tillie, and O.J. had arrived on time.

They watched as Hercules, Big Mac, Warrior, and Top Hat moved the ship close to the dock. A couple sailors aboard the steamer were at the bow and stern holding ropes.

“Right lads,” said O.J., "You must work quickly to safely secure this ship to the dock. Tillie, you’re with me in securing the bow, Ten Cents and Sunshine you two are in charge of the stern. Grip the ropes with both hands and tie them to the cleats, we must work together on this, should you lose your grips, this tramper could end up floating away from the dock, understood?”

“Yes O.J.!”, Ten Cents, Sunshine, and Tillie chimed together.

The young stars and O.J. took their positions at the ends of the ropes while Warrior, Big Mac, and Top Hat stood at their tugboats in case.

“Ready lads?!” called O.J.?

“Ready!” declared Ten Cents, Sunshine, and Tillie.

“Good, release the ropes!” O.J. shouted towards the tramp steamer.

The two sailors threw down the long ropes from their vessel and they landed down on the quay. Ten Cents, Sunshine, Tillie, and O.J. ran and grabbed hold of the ropes.

“Ready to pull!” Ten Cents called out.

All four Stars on the dock did their best to safely moor the vessel, Ten Cents and O.J. were holding strong to the ropes as Sunshine and Tillie tied their ropes to the cleat hitches.

But as they worked, Sunshine thought he heard the sound of a cat meowing behind him.

Turning to where he heard it, he saw the black cat yet again from the rooftop and the crates.

“Hey Ten Cents, I see the cat again.”

“Can it wait Sunshine, I’m busy here” Ten Cents strained.

“But Ten Cents it’s only over-...”

As Sunshine pointed over to where the cat was, the rope began to slip out of Ten Cents’ hands.

“SUNSHINE DON’T LET GO OF THE ROPE!!”

(To be Continued)

{End of Chapter 2}

<- Previous chapter —•— Next chapter ->

[sgtjamesrogers]

WIP WEDNESDAY

welcome back to who's wip is it anyway: niche audience edition...... everyone please clap this is 300-500 words from being finished and with a quick edit and polish will probably be up this weekend.

from the final chapter of for the longest time;

Maeve’s truck is the sort that was manufactured sometime in the mid-90s, just before the automobile industry started to pump out vehicles built to break down and fall apart almost immediately off the production line. The cab is built for two passengers with enough bench for a pet or maybe just enough room for Jesus between, the exterior a shining primary red mottled by blooms of rust. Annie and Hughie will ride in the bed with the eggs, ostensibly to keep them protected on the drive, and hopefully not be covered in road dust by the time they make it to Manhattan. 

In spite of the last week, Hughie’s excited. It’s Labor Day weekend, and there’s not quite a chill in the air, but a promise of one just the same. The ‘back to school’ feeling makes him think anything could happen, with a thousand branching paths to be taken and the possibility churning like a river before him. It almost makes up for—

Butcher climbs up onto the tailgate, grunting as he laboriously pulls his weight up by one knee. 

Hughie freezes, his eyes darting from Annie on his left blithely checking her phone, back to Butcher, swinging the tailgate closed. And then back to Annie again. He wonders what else they might have said, while he wasn’t quite asleep. 

There’s a lot more of Butcher’s skin showing than he’s seen in weeks and Hughie devours the sight of it before he can stop himself. His eyes rake over the curve and mild valley of his chest between the buttons of Butcher’s atrociously patterned short-sleeve shirt; the freckles and moles half-hidden by the hair scattered there. The meaty swell of his bicep, also freckled, as he settled himself between the wheel well and the closed tailgate. The bony protrusion of his ankle, where the raggedy edge of his jeans’ cuffs has ridden up. It’s worse than ever, knowing what his skin tastes like. 

Butcher snaps his fingers, a quick attention-grabbing click click click next to his face. There’s an almost-snarl of pleasure curling his lips. It’s a non-verbal eyes up here, lad. 

Caught out, Hughie startles, heat rushing over his face. Again he looks from Annie, who hasn’t even looked up from her scrolling, to Butcher, and back to Annie. No one says a word, and they bake lightly in the Kansas sun with the barest breeze tugging at the flyaway strands of their hair and Cheesecake boofing out low lazy barks at some distance, followed by goats bleating in chorus. The tiny back window of the truck cab slides open. 

“Everyone strap in or hold on, we’re heading out!” Hughie thinks, definitely not for the first time, that he might be in over his head. 

[joshuaorrizonte]

Untitled Chapter Twelve: Dragonslayer

@eventide-imp @zottower

Comment to be tagged/untagged!

Kain stared at Michel and Petre, not understanding what they were saying. “What… why would a dragon not Stormsong want anything to do with me?” he protested, gaze shifting between them rapidly.

“We were hoping you knew that,” Michel said evenly. “In any event, we must go back to Elymont-“

“No.” 

“Ash?” Kain looked at the porter, who was staring at the two peacekeepers in open hostility.

Ash shook his head firmly. “Who are these people, Kain, and how do you know they’re telling the truth?”

Petre gasped in fury, “I’m not going to let an elf-“

“Petre!” Michel barked. The younger man quieted, seething, and Michel looked back at Ash. “Fair questions. Petre and I are peacekeepers from the village Kain grew up in.” Kain noticed Michel’s phrasing with a sharp pain in his heart. So it was the village he grew up in, and not his village… “As for how you know we’re telling the truth, you don’t. But Kain knows we would not lie-“

“Kain knows nothing of the sort,” Kain replied hotly. Michel’s eyes widened in surprise and Kain finished, “I ran when the elder wanted to hold me against my will and ‘undo the night elf’s brainwashing. I have no assurance whatsoever that this isn't merely a ploy to get me to return."

Michel’s face reddened. "I would never-"

"Wouldn't you?" Kain demanded. "How do I know you wouldn't, when you put me in that position in the first place!"

"I did not!" Michel thundered. "If anyone did, it was Petre-"

Petre snarled, "I did, and I'd do it again-"

"And that's why he's not going with you," Ash remarked dryly. "Come on, Kain."

"Wait!"

Michel’s voice was desperate, and Kain couldn't imagine that he was lying. He wasn't that good an actor. "Petre is an asshole. I'm not denying that."

"Michel-!"

"Shut up!" Michel snapped. "Petre is an asshole," he repeated, "but we're telling the truth! Thousands will die if you don't-"

"Michel, listen to me," Kain said steadily. "The dragons are gone. I don't know what destroyed Reythak, but it wasn't a dragon."

"It was, Kain," Petre spat. 

"How did it tell you it wanted me?" Kain challenged. "Dragons can't make human sound!"

"Kain, why would we tell such an obvious lie?" Michel gasped. 

His question finally gave Kain pause. Why would they tell such an obvious lie, indeed? It seemed that Ash had the same thought; " Well, how about this: describe it for us."

"Describe-?"

"The dragon," Kain answered, seeing what Ash was going for. "I'm a dragon rider. I know every breed of dragon there is. I may be able to tell what attacked you."

"What difference will it make?" Petre's voice was despairing, like he finally understood his position, and it didn't look good. "You already don't believe us, and as you say: no dragon could have done what this one did!" 

"Just do it," Kain clipped back. "I can't help if I don't have a clear picture of what's going on."

Michel's eyes narrowed at him, but he spoke anyway. "It was... it was huge. The biggest dragon I'd ever seen. It was black as the darkest night; its scales seemed to absorb light. Its wingspan seemed to run the width of the town. Its eyes were the deepest black, even darker than its scales-"

Kain stopped him with a wild, disbelieving gasp. "No!"

"Kain?" As Ash put a hand on his shoulder, Petre spoke his name, concern and dread thick in his voice. 

He had gone utterly pale and lightheaded. His heart beat erratically in utter terror, and for the very first time in his life, he was afraid he was going to pass out. His vision started going gray at the edges as he wheezed, "That dragon... was..."

"Easy, lad." 

"Who're you?" Ash demanded, his voice distant. 

"That doesn't matter right now. We need to get this poor boy a seat and some sugar-"

"Sugar?" 

"Later. Here, have him sit on this tree stump. There we go, just like that. I have some sugar water here-“

“Who carries sugar water?” Michel asked, bewildered.

The stranger replied sharply, “Someone with sugar sickness. Here, lad, drink up.”

The stranger pushed the bottle into his hands and helped guide the opening of the bottle to his mouth. He nearly choked on the cloying sweetness of the water, but he swallowed it with only a grimace. In seconds, the nausea and dizziness began to subside, and sound became clear again. 

Ash, Petre, and Michel continued talking with the stranger while Kain recovered. He listened closely, not quite believing he hadn’t hallucinated Michel’s description of the dragon. “Forgive me,” the strange man said as Kain looked him over. He was handsome, with sandy blond hair and ice blue eyes. He wore simple traveling garb and carried a leather pack; Kain saw no weapons on his person but a dagger. He had no doubt, from the confidence in the way the man moved, that he knew how to use it to defend himself. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation. That dragon you described: it spoke to you?”

Michel and Petre both nodded. “It did,” Petre said firmly. “And we’re to bring Kain - that man you just helped - back to him, or the dragon will destroy another town—this one a populous harbor city.”

The man’s eyes widened for a moment. His cold gaze turned to Kain, and Kain thought he saw something shift in his eyes. “I’m afraid you have a problem,” the man said solemnly, “that goes beyond this man’s life.”

“What problem is that?” Ash asked, rubbing Kain’s back in firm, soothing circles. He wanted to tell Ash that he could stop, but he still hadn’t found his voice. 

“That dragon you described,” the stranger said softly, “was Bahamut, the father of the dragons.”

At that confirmation, Kain felt the world fall out from beneath him.

~*~

Gavin walked carefully through the streets, making sure Liashta was always beside him. Every once in a while, noise pierced the quiet night. The howl of a stray dog; laughter, a scream. Liashta cringed beside him, but her steps did not falter. 

They had been walking for about an hour, Gavin guiding them down alleys and keeping to the shadows. As far as Gavin could tell, no one was following them. But this was a city of hidden danger, especially where they were. If whoever wanted him dead was following him, they'd strike here, where they could kill and leave him there, just another body in the street. And if they caught him like this, Liashta was dead, too. He couldn't let that happen. 

He was vaguely aware that Stormsong was still trying to guide them. He was tempted to resist her, force her to return to him and explain herself. He gritted his teeth against the impulse. She was, no matter what form she was in, a dragon. As a rider, he was subservient to her, and not the other way around. And she knew it, otherwise she wouldn't be doing this. 

He felt her pulling him towards a dilapidated, three-storied building. No light shone in its dingy windows; indeed, from what Gavin could tell, the thing had suffered a fire in recent history, likely was not safe to occupy. Still he felt Stormsong pulling them towards the building, and though he wanted to abandon her at that point, he knew he would never bring himself to do so. She was Kain’s dragon, and he would protect her no matter what happened.

But why did it matter so desperately what Kain thought? They were lovers, true, but it wasn’t like Gavin was in love with him. 

The thought gave him pause, as he headed for the dilapidated building, Liashta protesting behind him. When he felt a strange ache in his chest when he thought of Kain, a pain that intensified when he denied that he loved Kain. It was something to think about. 

In the meantime… “Trust me, Liashta.” He paused. “Or rather, trust Stormsong. She’s calling me here.”

“I can feel it, too,” Liashta admitted, “but are we really going to follow a child into a condemnable building?”

“We are,” Gavin confirmed. Liashta inhaled, intending to snap at him, and he headed her off, “Stormsong is the most qualified of the three of us to tell if something is safe or not. She’s telling me that we’ll be safe here. I have to trust her. And you do, too, by extension, because your alternative is to attempt to make it on your own. I don’t think you want to do that.”

“I don’t,” she agreed, grumbling the words. She quickened her steps to match Gavin’s, and they approached the structure together. Gavin tried the door and discovered it locked, the doorknob stubbornly refusing to turn. Gavin raised an eyebrow, and Liashta said, doubtfully, “Stormsong likely locked it for safety.”

Shrugging, Gavin knocked on the door. No response. With a frown, his knock turned to a pounding, and that got a response, an old man answering the door. He looked Gavin and Liashta up and down, his lip curling in derision. “What do you want, whippersnapper?” 

Taken aback, Gavin stuttered for a moment before finding his words. “A child of extraordinary power is supposedly here,” he said, his voice soft and unthreatening, the tones reminiscent of when he passed through Reythak. “She is-“

“A child, you say? No child here. Move along, move along. There’s nothing for-“

“It’s alright, Solaris. They’re the people I told you about.”

The man—Solaris—turned to look inside the house. “You sure, child? Changing appearances is easy magic-“

“I’m sure,” Stormsong’s calm, strangely mature voice answered. “Gavin has a very distinct aura. It’s him.”

“And his woman?”

Liashta growled, “I am not Gavin’s woman!”

Amused, Stormsong said dryly, “That’s her. Let them in, Solaris.”

Almost hesitantly, Solaris moved aside, and Gavin led Liashta into the building. The moment he stepped through, the room behind the door brightened, clean, well-lit, and beautifully furnished. There was no sign of the decay that plagued the outside of the building.

And there were others in the room. Stormsong sat on a plush couch with a woman and another child, and, as Gavin looked to Solaris for an explanation, the old man was suddenly young, younger than Gavin. Solaris grinned at Gavin’s confusion. “Changing appearances is easy magic,” he answered Gavin’s unasked question. “Stormsong says she’s a dragon. Is she telling the truth?”

“She is,” Gavin answered, as Liashta gawked at their surroundings.

“You’re her rider?”

At that, he shook his head slowly. “No. Her rider is… lost somewhere along the Eareux shore. I’m not sure where exactly he is.”

Solaris raised an eyebrow. “How do you know this? She told you? But that makes no sense; she should be able to pinpoint-“

“Before we go further,” Gavin interrupted flatly, “I’ll need information of my own. Who are you people? Why are you so scared of being found that you’ll mask this building with a glamour to make it look condemned?”

Solaris’s grin turned to a genuine smile. “We’re dragon singers, looking for the missing dragons.”

Understanding dawned on Gavin’s face. “I… I see. I am a dragon singer, as well. I’ve only encountered two dragons since they all vanished; Stormsong, and an ancient dragon being held prisoner by the governor of Elymont to… disappear undesireables.”

The woman asked, “A rider, singer, and dark knight? Are you collecting careers, elf?”

“Not collecting so much as falling into them,” Gavin answered, almost apologetically. "I can prove any of them, if you need me to."

"That won't be necessary," Solaris said. "You're only hurting yourself if you're lying. I am Solaris, as you've likely surmised. The woman is Adele, and the child Tristan. We're pleased to meet you, Gavin, Liashta. Stormsong tells us you are a singer as well, albeit untrained. We can help you with that, if you like."

Liashta cast a furtive, unsure glance at Gavin. Gavin shrugged, and Liashta swallowed thickly, thinking over her answer. "I... I'm not sure, to be honest. I didn't even know I had more magic than to encourage plants to grow, to be honest."

"Green magic is powerful magic," Solaris said, grimacing. "You need to be trained in that, at least. Won't you allow us to help you? Stormsong has told us of your goals, and we want to assist in any way we can."

Gavin and Liashta looked at each other, both of them hesitant. "Time is of the essence," Gavin answered. "I don't think we have the time to train her."

Solaris and Adele, too, exchanged looks. "You're headed to Darkfell, correct?" Adele said, her voice thick with an accent. "I could train her along with Tristan. Solaris could go with you to Darkfell-"

"Sorry, but no," Stormsong said flatly. "You're not separating us. I know I came to you for help, but we just met. I trust you're who you say you are, and that we're safe here for now. I don't trust you enough to let you separate us."

Solaris looked at her appraisingly. "You're wise beyond your appearance," he said after a moment. "We mean you no harm at all, but I suppose I'd refuse to be separated in your position, too. Is there anything holding us here, Adele?"

"Stability for Tristan," Adele replied haltingly, "but this life isn't very stabile itself. But to take him on the road to Darkfell would be..."

"I want to go."

All eyes turned to Tristan. The boy hadn't spoken at all since Gavin and Liashta arrived; and judging from Stormsong's expression, not since she arrived, either. "I want to go," he repeated, meekly. "I want to help find the dragons. I don't want to be a rider with no dragon."

"Tristan-" Solaris began. 

But Tristan wasn't having it. "No, listen to me! Lightdust begged me to save her as she was being taken. She was terrified, Solaris. Stormsong resisted it so hard she transformed into a human and can't change back! The dragons didn't want to go, and as a rider, I'm obligated to-"

"You're a child-"

"Sol!" Tristan shouted, startling them all. "I'm old enough to have seen my parents murdered in front of me, I'm old enough to have bonded with a dragon, and I'm old enough to help rescue her!"

They stared at him, taken aback by the outburst. As Adele was about to respond, Gavin interrupted bluntly, "Wait, did Lightdust tell you what was happening?"

Tristan, startled by Gavin's tone, looked at him with wide eyes. "She - she did. But I don't understand what she was talking about."

"Tell me!"

"Gavin?" Liashta prompted, trepidation in her voice. 

"You don't understand," Gavin said tightly. "I have to know what happened to them, Liashta. The whole reason I was in Reythak was to investigate what happened to them - and to rescue them, at all costs. I-"

"And who ordered you to do that?" Liashta challenged. "Drayden? He's dead, Gavin! You don't have to obey his commands-"

"No, Liashta, His Majesty. The king sent me with those orders. I have to obey these orders. And even if I didn't have to, I want to." He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "Drayden told me before he died that he was planning to invade the Light Continent. I doubt his aspirations died when he did. We need to find the dragons before whoever steps into his shoes can reorganize and consolidate power. If that happens, and no one had their dragons, we win, Liashta. We will win against the Light Continent in every scenario. Do you want that? I don't!"

Liashta stared at him, horrified. "What... what do you mean?" Adele asked, her voice almost gentle. "Who is Drayden?"

"Drayden is - was - the captain of the Darkfell dragon riders. He held a massive amount of political power. I'd say he was the third most powerful person in Eeraux, only second to the king and queen. He had significant influence, and if he convinced his followers that he had the blessing of the court, there will be a war the Light continent can't win."

Solaris and Adele stared at him in utter disbelief. "You said that His Majesty directed you to find the dragons personally," Adele said. And this time her voice was hard. "Your surname wouldn't happen to be Skyglow, would it, Gavin?"

Gavin's voice was flat, resigned, almost lifeless as he answered, "Yes. I am Gavin Skyglow."

Tristan launched himself at Gavin with a strangled, enraged scream. Solaris caught him and hauled him back, snapping at the boy to control his emotions. "Monster!" the boy shrieked. "Get out! Get out!"

"Tristan!" Adele snapped, and said something fast and angry in a language Gavin didn't speak. Tristan replied, furious sobs ripping from his chest. 

Adele turned to them, her expression coldly enraged. "You have three minutes to explain why we should help you, Skyglow."

"I don't understand," Liashta murmured, looking from Adele to Gavin. The dark knight looked horrifically exhausted suddenly, agonizingly sad. He said nothing, though, and Liashta looked back to Adele, Solaris, and Tristan. “Someone tell me what’s going on!”

“Gavin Skyglow has another name,” Solaris said, every bit as suddenly cold as Adele. Liashta’s heart froze as Solaris spat it, derision in his voice: Gavin the Dragonslayer.”

[imagineabuttercream]

CAMPING (JOSH X READER) CHAPTER 1

"I cannot believe you guys convinced me to go camping with a bunch of lads." You fake whined, grabbing your backpack and pillow out of the back of one of the SUVs.

"Come on, Y/n. You know none of us can cook." Jack teased.

Laughing, you dropped your stuff next to your tent bag. "Aww, no Nandos in the woods, huh?" you jabbed back.

"Mmmmmm, Nandos." Conor added, finally getting out of the SUV.

"Don't worry, Y/n. Caspar and I grew up camping outside. We'll help you take care of the pretty boys." Josh reassured you.

"Thank, God. I was afraid I was going to have to do everything." you laughed.

"That's it. I'm not a child, you know. I can help!" Jack started setting up his and Conor's tent. "Just watch. I'll have this up in no time."

"Calm down, cowboy. Let me know when you want help." you said, setting up your own tent.

You had your own small tent, Oli and Joe and Mikey had a large tent to share, Josh and Caspar had a large tent to share, and Conor and Jack had a small tent to share. You had yours up in no time, and you had your sleeping bag set out with all of your supplies organized in your tent.

Walking back to the trucks to grab your second bag, you looked around your camp site. Joe and Oli seemed to be doing okay, with Mikey being told to sit and watch. You assumed it was because Joe grew up in the country. Josh and Caspar were finished and already walking around looking for firewood. Jack and Conor on the other hand...Well, Jack was tangled in his own tent line and Conor was resting his head on Mikey's shoulder.

"Jaaaaack, how did you do this?" you asked, dropping your secret bag back in your tent.

"It's a process, Y/n. I don't need help. I'm just feeling it out." Jack said with fake confidence.

"Come on, hun. Let me help." you begged.

"Fine, fine. I swear we're missing parts, though. The instructions say to put these two long poles together, but I can't find them." He said, pointing at the instructions.

"Jack, there was a second bag that came with your tent. Did you leave it at the house?" you questioned, knowing deep down that he had.

"It's probably still in the truck." he replied, walking back to the SUVs.

Caspar and Josh had gotten a fire started and had pulled the ice chest and dry supplies to rest between your tent and theirs.

"Look at you guys." you commended Josh and Caspar.

They had you in stitches laughing by imitating cavemen and saying things like "fire pretty".

Throwing you over his shoulder, Josh said "caveman like pretty woman" dropping you back by the SUVs and Jack, who was just staring into the back of the truck.

"So uh, funny story. I blame Conor, really. We, uh...The thing is..." Jack mumbled.

"Oh, Jack. You forgot it, huh?" you laughed.

"It was on purpose." Jack tried to cover for himself, throwing his arm around your shoulders. "I planned it this way so that I could snuggle up in your tent with you."

"HA! Yeah, right. Not happening, hun." You laughed.

"Well, what's the plan?" Joe walked up. "Someone has to bunk with you, Y/n. Sorry, love. Three will fit in Caspar and Josh's tent and two will fit in yours since we already have three in ours"

"So this comes down to who I will let share my tent with me?" you asked, looking at the seven boys. You actually liked one of them, but did you want to risk making it obvious?

Joe grabbed your hand, pulling you away from the other boys. "Adult meeting." he had said, leaving the boys to grumble about how they were adults too. You two just happened to be the oldest.

"I know you like Josh." he said, just staring at you waiting for a response. After you didn't say anything, he continued. "I vote you pick him. One, you guys are good friends and you've crashed in his bed before anyways. And two, I know he likes you back. Don't tell him I told you or that giant ginger will skin me alive."

"WHAT?!" you said a lot louder than you had intended. All of the boys looked over to you guys and Joe started laughing.

"Just use the excuse that you've bunked together before. It's perfect." Joe replied, ignoring your question.

"Are you pranking me?" you asked him.

"No, love. I'm not that evil. I know he likes you and I think you'd make a right cute couple. Let's go back before they start questioning us." he replied.

"Thanks." you said to Joe, trying to keep your cheeks from turning red.

"Alright folks, Jack and Conor will crash with Caspar in the big tent and Josh will crash with Y/n as they've already bunked together a dozen times." Joe spoke, walking to the SUVs to grab the rest of his stuff.

"Plus, Caspar and Jack are the cuddliest, so we figured we'd dodge a bullet by putting them together." you added, teasing them.

"Oh, fuck my life." Conor faked annoyance.

"Shut up, mate. You're just as bad as we are." Caspar replied.

"That's true actually." Conor looked at Jack before tackling him into the tent. "Cuddle party!" he yelled, everyone hearing Jack swearing at his brother.

Josh went to his old tent to grab his stuff and showed up at yours looking a bit sheepish. "Hey, are you sure you're okay sharing? I could always sleep in one of the trucks." he offered.

"Of course it's okay. Josh, I'd rather you than any of the other lads. Plus, like Joe said, I've crashed in your room loads." You gave him a smile grabbing his stuff and pulling it inside the tent.

"True. I'm actually glad I don't have to share with Caspar. Camping always makes him gassy and he insists on sleeping naked." Josh laughed.

After everyone had set up the inside of their tents, you and Josh started working on dinner. Grabbing the ice chest, you pulled out a few things. Deciding to do breakfast for dinner, you grabbed bacon, eggs, and potatoes. You boiled the potatoes before replacing the pot with a pan. Frying the bacon first for the fat, you then fried the potatoes and the eggs in the bacon grease.

"Oh, my God. I didn't know camp food could smell this good." Conor complimented, coming to sit by the fire. He had grabbed paper plates, plastic forks, and water bottles from one of the SUVs.

"Thank you." you replied.

"Awww, look at you two. You're like a married couple." Joe teased you and Josh, making you blush.

"You tease, but I'll take Y/n as my camping wife any day of the week. You only get to choose between Oli and Mikey." Josh shot back.

"Hey! I'd make a great wife." Oli replied, picking a random weed flower and handing it to Joe.

"Thank you, m'lady." Joe played it up, throwing an arm around Oli.

"Looks like you've got Mikey as a mistress then." Jack said.

"I'm happy. I'm in a Maynard sandwich." Caspar joked, pulling them both to him.

"I vote we call Josh and Y/n 'mom and dad' the whole time we're out here." Joe replied.

"Awww, mommy and daddy" Mikey said, helping hand the food out to the boys.

"You just called Josh 'daddy'" Jack replied, getting in a coughing fit because he laughed so hard.

"Kinky." you replied. "But no one is allowed to call me mommy. I'll hide your toilet paper if you do." you threatened.

The evening wound down quite nicely. Everyone had changed into warmer clothes and you had broken out the s'more ingredients.

"We should play a game!" Joe got excited. "We already promised not to record anything that happens on our week away from the city, so you have to answer honestly....We should play Never Have I Ever."

"That's only fun if you're drinking, though." Conor whined, having realized half way through our drive up here that the Maynard's didn't pack any of the alcohol they had purchased.

"I knew I'd end up saving the day, eventually." You said, standing up from your place in between Josh and Mikey to go to your tent. Time for your secret bag.

"You brilliant girl." Jack complimented you, watching you walk back with 4 entire bottles of alcohol.

"I've got two bottles of Vodka, a handle of Rum and a handle of my favorite....Fireball." You said, also telling one of the boys to go grab cups and some drinks for mixers from the ice chest.

"Will you actually marry me?" Josh teased, helping you make a little drink station.

"Who knows what will happen after I get my hands on this." you said, opening the Fireball.

"Well if you turn down Josh's proposal, I'm next in line to ask." Conor joked, making himself a cran/vodka.

"Alright, alright. Leave the woman alone." Caspar said to the group. "Thank you for covering our asses, Y/n."

"You're welcome, Casp." you replied.

"Who wants to go first?" Oli asked, making a rum/soda.

"I'll go." Mikey spoke up. "Never have I ever been camping before this trip."

Joe, Caspar, Josh, and you all took a sip of your drinks. "Good one, LP." you shot him a smile.

"Alright, never have I ever had sex outdoors." Oli added.

Jack, Josh, and Joe all drank and then Joe stared at you until you took a sip of your drink. "You have to be honest, Y/n!" Joe laughed.

"I'm the only girl here, give me a break. Fine, fine. I'll fess up when I've done something, but this information stays in the group!" You laughed.

"Of course. Your secrets are safe with me." Josh replied. "Never have I ever had sex in a car."

Conor, Caspar, Joe, Jack, and Oli all drank. "Mate, you've had sex in a car?" Josh asked Oli.

"Just because I was a late bloomer doesn't mean I'm not adventurous." Oli scoffed. "To be fair, it was inside a garage. We just didn't want my parents to hear us in my room"

Everyone, including Oli, laughed. Conor spoke up next. "Never have I ever showered with someone else here."

Everyone looked at you since you were the only girl. You and Joe made eye contact and he asked "Does that one time count?" and everyone went mental. "Lads, lads wait. We filmed a video with Zoe and Alfie and ended up covered in egg and flour, but we were fully clothed! We were fully clothed!"

You noticed that Josh looked a bit relieved and just a bit of hope was blooming in your chest. Maybe he really did like you. "Hey, I'll drink to it." you laughed, you and Joe taking sips of your drinks.

You noticed though that Jack and Josh also took sips of their drinks and you just HAD to know the story behind it. "Wait, wait, wait." You kept looking back and forth between the two of them.

"WHAT?!" Caspar added.

Jack turned bright red and Josh laughed so hard he almost fell off of the log you two were sitting on. "Spill!" Oli added.

"Oh, fine. Remember when we all got locked out of the flat in the rain?" Jack asked Conor.

"Yeah, your lips were blue it was so cold. We had to wait for Mikey to come over with his spare key." Conor replied.

"Well, you went to shower in your own bathroom, you selfish prick, and Josh and I were left to fight over ours. Finally we just both ended stripping to our boxers and holding each other in the shower until the hot water was gone. Thankfully we were both pretty hammered so neither of us cared." Jack laughed.

"Aww that's quite cute." Mikey added.

"The things you find out about your friends when you go camping." Caspar said, faking a shamed look at Josh.

"Next question, please." Jack said.

You guys played for about an hour before everyone had gotten too drunk to continue. "Josh, can you make sure everyone in Caspar's tent is good for the night? I'm going to check on Joe's." you asked Josh.

"Will do." He replied, ducking into the boy's tent.

"Josh!" Caspar cheered, too drunk to know he shouldn't be yelling.

"Quiet, Casp. You're in the wilderness, you dork." Josh scolded him.

"So uh, got any cheeky plans tonight?" Conor teased Josh.

"Yeah, you and Y/n looked quite comfortable cuddled around the fire." Jack added.

"Oh, shut up. She's just my friend." Josh defended himself.

"Don't deny it, Josh. You're happy she picked you." Caspar said. "You know, Joe said she likes you. You should just see where it goes. We're here for almost a week."

"I will be a perfectly respectable gentleman." Josh stuck to his guns, not wanting to talk about you behind your back. "Are you guys good for the night?"

"We're good." Conor said, throwing a leg over one of Caspar's.

"I'm so glad I got to switch tents." Josh said as he zipped the boys up in their tent.

While Josh was talking to them, you were talking with Joe, Oli and LP. "You boys good for the night?" You had asked.

"Of course, love. I'll keep 'em safe." Joe said, throwing his arms around Mikey.

"Oi, what about me?" Oli added, fake pouting.

"I'm little. I can't cuddle both of you." Joe laughed, rolling over to Oli.

"I bet Josh is gonna sleep great tonight." Mikey said.

"Oh, shut up." you tried not to blush.

"Wait, you like Josh?" Oli said a bit too loud.

"Shut it, mate!" Joe punched him in the arm.

"Thanks, Joe." you laughed. "Does flipping everyone know?" you asked.

"I didn't until just now." Oli replied.

"I did, but you already knew that." Joe added.

"I um...I didn't know you liked him, but I know he likes you." Mikey added.

"I told you!" Joe shouted.

"SHUT UP! There aren't actual walls between us and them, you idiots!" you whisper yelled, scolding them.

Zipping the boys up, you went to check that the SUV's were locked up.

"Everything okay?" Josh asked, coming up to stand by you and the trucks.

"Yup! Just checking the trucks. We have both sets of keys, so they should be safe." you laughed.

"Seriously. I mean, I'm drunk, but I don't think we're nearly as drunk as the rest of the boys." Josh added, laughing with you.

Making your way back to your tent, you felt butterflies in your stomach. After crawling in, you watched Josh try to get comfortable in his sleeping bag. "You're just too tall." you teased him.

"Right? I have a blanket, too. I'll figure it out." he unzipped his sleeping bag trying to find a way to stay warm.

"Why don't we open the sleeping bags up and use them as a mattress and then use our blankets over top? We'll be plenty warm." you suggested, knowing that meant you'd end up cuddled together. It's not like it hadn't happened before. It happened every time you crashed at their flat.

"Oh, my God. You're a genius. Here, take this end." Josh and you started making your little make-shift bed.

"It's perfect!" You said, finishing up. "You need to turn around for a second, though. I cannot sleep in a bra."

"I'll just close my eyes. I think I'm drunker than I thought I was. The thought of moving anymore is exhausting." Josh replied with his eyes closed the whole time.

He looked adorable, and you just sat there staring at him for a second before you remembered you did actually have to take your bra off. "Just keep 'em closed." you laughed. "Oh, sweet relief." finally taking your bra off.

Turning your flashlight off, you put your sweater back on and climbed into the warm blanket nest you and Josh had made. "Night, Josh." you said, turning on your side facing away from him. When you didn't get a response, you assumed he was asleep. You grabbed your phone and set a quiet alarm for the morning so you could start on breakfast before everyone woke up.

Finally feeling yourself starting to fall asleep, you could feel Josh scoot a bit closer to you. A few minutes later, you felt his arms wind themselves around your torso, pulling you to his chest. He nuzzled his face into your pillow and you almost instantly heard his quiet snores. Grabbing your phone once more, you took a grainy and poorly lit photo of the two of you and then let the warmth of Josh's body lull you to sleep.

[meltwonu]

36. “Could he make you feel as good as i do?”

51. “What? Does that feel good?”

notes; racer/street-racing!au, dom!wonwoo, fighting(just a lil scuffle between two lads), dirty talk, degradation, name-calling, panty stuffing, blowjob/face-fucking, hair pulling, wonwoo may have a tongue piercing in this one~ WHEW 😳💕 the racer rotation of drabbles is finally done and we’re finishing with Mr Jeon himself! 😈 I’m writing this notes section post-attacca teaser of him with the face scars so I ended up tweaking the chapter a bit to include some of that instead heheh… 🥴 Also this’ll be my last post before Monster Mash S2 starts on the 19th! I’ll try to answer my inbox msgs until then and reblog some old works too! 🥳💕 As always, thank you so much for requesting! Enjoy! 💕

*queued post.

Physical altercations almost never happen at car meets - as far as you know.

But tonight, the first punch that gets thrown has everyone around you gasping as Wonwoo lands a perfect punch right into Mingyu’s left cheek at the finish line.

The cash prize completely forgotten when Mingyu had sauntered up to you and asked you for a kiss as his prize instead.

“Keep your fuckin’ hands to yourself, Mingyu!”

And Mingyu just smirks - lip bleeding slightly as he chuckles under his breath knowing he was just teasing you, and Wonwoo, just a little.

“Why? Scared your girl is gonna fall for me too? Aww, c’mon hyung, have a little more confidence, y’know? I might just---oof!”

Wonwoo lands another punch just as you cover your mouth in shock;  fingers itching to pull Wonwoo back from the fight just as Mingyu makes a move to land a punch on Wonwoo’s face too.

“Hey, maybe w-we should---” You’re cut off as soon as the gasps start up again - both males gripping each other by the collar of their jackets as they get in each other’s face.

“Haven’t you had enough, Mingyu? You’ve got everyone’s attention.”

The younger male licks his bleeding lip - eyes twinkling with mischief the entire time they lock eyes.

“Let me pretty up that face of yours a ‘lil more, Wonwoo-hyung. Then we’ll call it even.”

Wonwoo grips the steering wheel hard enough for his hand to shake - face scratched up and lip bleeding as you glance over.

“W-Wonwoo, maybe we s-should pull over so I can clean up your, um, wounds… Y-your lip is b-bleeding...”

He smirks at this, shifting gears as he drives away from the car meet and further into the mountains instead.

“Yeah? Gonna be my good girl and get me all fixed up? Or do you want something else, hmm?”

“W-what?”

Your cheeks burn at his insinuating question - thighs clamping together harder as your hands ball up into fists in your lap out of nervousness.

“Do you think I couldn’t see the way you were watching us the entire time?”

“Wh--what do you m-mean?”

Wonwoo finds a quiet opening off to the side of the road; the trees shrouding the car from view as he turns it off and turns to face you.

“Did your panties get wet watching me and Mingyu fighting over you? Tell me, princess~ I wanna know what’s making you soak the leather of that passenger’s seat so fuckin’ bad.”

You gulp hard as your entire body buzzes with desire - half-embarrassed he could even tell at a glance and half not caring as his bruised hand crosses the middle console and places itself on your exposed thigh.

“I--I, um, it was just… You--You looked r-really hot…” Mumbling, you avoid his piercing stare as he smirks and licks the drying blood off of his lip.

“That’s all? I get into a little scuffle and it gets you this wet, princess? Hah, such a cock hungry ‘lil slut, huh?” He squeezes your thigh as you mewl; shaky breaths on your lips when he immediately starts to retract his hand.

“Well, how ‘bout you take care of me first and then I’ll return the favour, okay?”

You don’t have much space in the backseat of Wonwoo’s car and the way he fucks your face leaves you with hardly enough air in your lungs as you sputter around his cock.

Not that Wonwoo currently cares.

“Awww, you look so pretty for me, princess~ Makeup and hair all ruined for me while you choke on my cock~”

He grips you by the hair and holds you still - hips thrusting up as his cock slides into your mouth and down your throat as you try your best to relax your gag reflex.

“Fuck, you’re so good at taking all of me down your throat too~ Should I cum down your throat or should I cum in that soaked cunt of yours, hmm?” 

You whimper in return, vision blurred by the tears as he holds you down onto his cock. 

“Could he make you feel as good as I do, I wonder?” Wonwoo peers down at his bruised hand locked tight into your hair. “Do you think his cock is big enough to satisfy that pussy of yours?”

He pulls your head off of his cock as you sputter and gasp for air - a trail of spit and precum connecting your chapped lips to the head of his cock.

“I wanna hear an answer, princess.”

“I--I...” Your voice is hoarse as you catch your breath; the tears staining your cheeks as you moan. “N-no... only---only your c-cock is, mmh, b-big enough to s-satisfy me, Won--Wonwoo...” 

“Yeah? Let me hear more and I’ll give it to you right now.”

You gulp and rub your thighs together - Wonwoo’s hand tightening it’s grip in your hair as you wince. 

“P-please... I, a-ah, wanna feel you s-stretching my--my pussy with y-your cock... I’m so w-wet already... M--Mingyu c-couldn’t g-get me this w-wet...” You cry out. 

And Wonwoo takes pity at the way you peer up at him - cheeks stained with smeared mascara and drying tears as your bottom lip quivers. 

“Fine, get on my lap then, princess.”

He lets go of your hair and it takes you a second to find your bearings as you settle atop his lap - your skirt bunching up around your waist as his hands situate on your hips.

“I wanna try something a ‘lil different, okay?” You nod feverishly and let him guide you as he lifts you up until you’re hovering over him.

“Stay still.” 

Your clench your jaw as he lifts a hand off of you hip and wraps it around his cock - guiding it until it’s positioned right at your clothed entrance.

“Now sit on my cock, princess.”

Gulping, you slowly start to lower your body down as you hold your breath feeling the head of his cock slowly start to push the soaked lace of your panties into your cunt.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head at the feeling of the fabric and his cock combined - unable to stop yourself from cumming when he’s fully bottomed out inside of you.

“Ngh, W--Wonwoo...!”

“What? Does that feel good?” He smirks; watching as your body shakes and convulses atop his lap as you ride out your orgasm. “So fuckin’ easy, huh, princess? Such a fuckin’ perfect cockslut for me. It doesn’t even take much to get you to cum, does it?” 

Your walls flutter around his cock and only soak the panties even more as Wonwoo gives you a moment to catch your breath before he’s guiding you up and down his cock. 

Loud moans spill from your lips as his hips thrust up into you; the head of his cock slamming into your g-spot with each perfectly angled thrust.

“Wonwoo... Wonwoo...” Mewling, you don’t even need him to guide you any further as you alternate from swiveling your hips to fucking yourself on his cock by raising and dropping your weight onto his lap and all he can do in return is laugh and watch as you lose yourself to the pleasure.

“Feels that fuckin’ good, huh, princess? How ‘bout you give me a kiss since I let you have what you want.” 

Your bleary eyes peer into Wonwoo’s own lust-filled eyes before they flit down to his parted lips - shaky pupils eyeing the glint of silver sitting on the bed of his tongue.

Leaning in, you brace your hands on his warm chest as your lips meet his; moaning into the kiss just as his tongue licks the seam of your lips. 

You part your lips for him and he wastes no second as he slides his tongue into your mouth; whimpering when the metal meets your own tongue.

He scoffs into the kiss as he feels your walls clamping down onto his cock in the midst of it all - hands sliding underneath your shirt while you melt in his lap from the overwhelming sensations.

And when you pull back to catch your breath, Wonwoo can only laugh cruelly at your, already, fucked out expression; his hands pushing your top up and over your head before he tosses it somewhere into the front seat.

“We have allllll night, princess. And I’m just getting started.”

[breitzbachbea]

Character Introductions in Irish Problems - Old vs. New

As a celebration with myself for finishing the first three chapters of the Irish Problems rewrite, I thought I'd compare the first appearance of the ten POV characters in the old draft (written between 2013 & 2015) with the ones in the new draft (written between 2022 & 2023). I haven't done my paper proofread yet nor had a Beta-reader look over it, so these moments may be subject to change. Still, I wanted to take a snapshot of my growth and achievements, so here we go!

Harry O'Connel

Old: And the ivy still entwined around the wooden trellis drilled into the bricks of the front, the windowsills were still green just like the door after Aaron had been gone for four years. His son didn’t mind the look of the house either; he actually did not care about it all. Harry O’Connel had far worse problems occupying his mind than how the ivy slowly started to grow over the window of his study.

“How did that happen?!” Harry thought out loud, tapping his fingers on the table. “Why can’t my life for once go in a good direction?! Why can’t this job for once not be a total pain in the arse?! Why can’t something in this godforsaken country work for just once! The state’s a total catastrophe and the organized crime. How?!”

Chewing on his lower lip, he looked out of the window and let the thoughts ramble on in his head.

(Chapter 1, Scene 1)

New: The windowsills outside were still painted green as the ivy slowly overgrew the window. A lamp on the old but sturdy desk lit the room, to help the few rays of light that still made it through the leaves. It was a nice summer day outside in Dublin.

Elbows on the desk and hands over his head, Harry O’Connel was hunched over it.

“Where’s the money going,” he mumbled to himself.

(Chapter 1, Scene 1)

Paddy O'Neill

Old: “I keep telling you to get help somewhere, Harry” Paddy said and Harry rolled his eyes.

“I can’t be helped in any way anymore but thanks for your concern for the poor sinner” he replied to his bodyguard.

The huge man leaning against the wall beside the window lifted his shoulders for a deep breath and let them drop again, an annoyed frown on his face but it faded quickly.

(Chapter 1, Scene 1)

New: He received no answer from the man who sat on the other side of the desk. Harry lifted his head and caught Paddy O’Neill staring out of the window. Aside from the tiredness, which was mirrored in Harry’s own bones, there was a special weariness in his eyes.

The mournful look had faded some when he looked at Harry. The hunched shoulders made the giant of a man, two metres tall and seemingly a metre wide, appear awkwardly small.

His voice was as deep as ever. “Living. The going isn’t as much of a problem, but the fact that there isn’t any new coming in. Which was also always your father’s problem, especially during the last years of his life.” Paddy sighed, almost inaudibly. “And it seems that after four years of living mostly off his deposit, we’re already at the end of our rope.” His voice had grown more tired over the course of his explanation.

(Chapter 1, Scene 1)

Charlie Higgins

Old: “But how?” he asked. “I need connections for this and my only real connection is Gavin. We can’t just jump into this European mess and hope somebody wants to help us before someone else has already gobbled us up.”

“Did somebody say connections?” Charlie said, entering the room.

Harry looked to the door which Charlie just closed. Turning to him, he had the smug grin on his face that Harry knew for almost 24 years by now.

Right now, he was not exactly in the mood for it.

The other young Irishman kept grinning: “I just waited for the cue to make my entrance.”

(Chapter 1, Scene 1)

New: The front door closed and the world was reduced to his dusty office and the voices of his two right hands downstairs.

“What brawl did you get into, lad?” Paddy asked Charlie.

“The brawl of love,” Charlie replied and Harry rolled his eyes. “A tug of touches, if you want and I came out on top. Don’t worry about the dark circles under my eyes either, these bags are the result of a night well-spent.”

“Alright, that’s all the detail that I need,” Paddy cut him off and Charlie chuckled.

“I needed less,” Harry said to himself.

The staircase wailed as if the combined weight was going to be the end of it.

Charlie Higgins stepped into the study first and Harry immediately spotted what they had been talking about. Dressed in a casual beige summer suit, the dress shirt unbuttoned at the top, the hickeys on his neck stood out as much as the bags under his eyes. His sunglasses hung from one of his suit’s chest pockets.

“There you are,” Harry said. “Did you take all morning to rearrange that bird’s nest on your head?”

The smile on Charlie’s face waned, but it didn’t vanish. His eyes were tired and glazed over.

“Perfection takes time, since this ‘bird’s nest’,” he did air quotes, “doesn’t come as naturally to my hair as it does to yours.”

(Chapter 1, Scene 1)

Soph O'Connel

Old (voice): “Hello?” he answered with a pissed voice.

“Good morning, Mister Grumpy and I-don’t-bother-to-tell-other-people-that-I’m-still-alive” the voice on the other side of the call answered, female and sarcastic in tone.

“Soph!” Harry said surprised.

“Yes, I! Your little sister who is actually worried about you idiot!” Sophie O’Connel gave back upset. “Come on! Just one little call after you arrived down there would have been enough!”

(Chapter 3, Scene 2)

Old (in person): Sophie was worried.

She was always worried about her brother – if it was for his damn business or the fact he was a stupid twat – but now she was worried worried and not even her sheep could distract her.

“He promised to call me each noon”, she told Willow, who grazed in front of the stone she was sitting on. Willow was an old mother sheep and a real good listener – she wasn‘t good at conversation though.

(Chapter 5, Scene 1)

New: Charlie had barely made it down the stairs when keys turned in the front door.

Harry frowned and looked down from the landing.

The next moment, the door was thrown open and Sophie O’Connell almost ran into Charlie.

“Huh?!” She stopped for a second, but rushed past him right after. “Hi Charlie!” She rushed past the stairs. “Hey Paddy!”

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” Harry leant over the railing and looked after her as she disappeared into the living room.

“Did the school go up in flames, or …?” Charlie asked. “Would explain the missing jacket.”

“I wish!” Soph answered. “But I forgot my PE bag this morning!” Her stomping and the dull sound of cushions being moved around stopped. “Ugh, I hate running!”

(Chapter 1, Scene 1)

Michele Vento

Old: And finally a person appeared from the pitch-black.

The man was slender, but not too tall. Maybe one or two centimetres taller than Harry. Long coat, hat. The frizzy hair was brown and tied to a loose ponytail. His skin was tanned.

“Buona sera, signori” he said with a soft, but deep voice. Italian, no doubt.

(Chapter 1, Scene 2)

New: It was a beautiful summer day in Palermo. August was less than two weeks away, together with its heat, and life was bustling in some regards and already crawling to a halt in others, all in preparation for finally lying down completely.

The sun hadn’t ventured far enough west yet for any shade to cool the office’s façade, but that didn’t matter. When Michele Vento entered the building, the staircase was as dim and cool as ever. He appreciated the breeze and readjusted his suit. The split second of bright natural he had left he wondered if it had been a good idea to neglect the stone floor during the renovations. Then the heavy wooden door fell shut behind him and the staircase was encased in darkness.

He reached for the light switch and began to climb the stairs. “Hello? Marco? Lorenzo?” He reached the first landing and opened the office door.

(Chapter 2, Scene 1)

Marco & Lorenzo Bontade

Old: A small smile wandered onto his face again: “Of course, Signore O’Connel. But before we start, let me introduce my partners here ̶ the Signori Bontade.”

The two men didn’t say anything, only lowered their sunglasses. It was so synchronously that it made Harry’s heart skip a beat. Like puppets, he thought as Vento carried on:

“My guards and loyal helpers.”

“Ah” was all Harry could get out before clearing his throat. “Pleased to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all ours” they said in unison once more with a grin this time before sharing a look. Their features softened, looking impish and Harry lost any bad feeling he had about them before.

“Or all yours?” the one to the left asked.

“We always mix it up” the right one explained.

Vento put a hand up; the smile on his face was gone: “That’s enough you two.”

They pushed their sunglasses back on, but the puppet effect was as gone as their displayed boredom.

(Chapter 2, Scene 1)

New: “Yeah Michele?” Marco Bontade called.

“What’s up?” Lorenzo Bontade added.

Michele half hadn’t expected an answer. When he had been in this morning, the twins hadn’t been around.

“Oh, so you made it in, marvellous!”

“Why do you sound surprised?” Marco asked. A moment later, he showed up in the doorframe of the office that he shared with his brother.

“We’ve had a few things to fix at home this morning,” Lorenzo said and joined his brother.

The same washed-out blue jeans, the same white sneakers and the same silver watches on their arms. Marco wore an old Caparezza T-Shirt, while the lousy, counterfeit “Mikimix” stitching on Lorenzo’s had seen far better days.

“Which we told you about,” they said in unison.

(Chapter 2, Scene 1)

Tahir Rashid

Old: “You’re the third one to interrupt me minding my own business and I swear Bailey, If you don’t have a good reason you will be the first one I take my anger out on” Tahir Rashid had threatened the taller blond when somebody tapped his shoulder with a “Oi!” while he had been occupied with this morning’s issue of The Independent lying on the table of their conference room.

(Chapter 3, Scene 3) New: There was no need to let the shutters down to keep out the nosy public, since all glass in the huge windows was one-ways. Nor was there a need to fight the humid London summer, should the sun peak out from underneath the clouds, with so many taller surrounding buildings throwing shades and the only window in the room north-facing.

Tahir Rashid liked his privacy, however, so the shutters were partially shut while he finished his issue of The Independent at his desk. Once finished, he closed it and straightened it out. Before he put it into the paper holder on his desk, to be disposed of later, he took a last look at the date. 25th of July.

There were no new notifications on his smartphone and no calls on his landline. He stood up and retrieved his suit jacket from its hook on the side of a shelf. After he had buttoned it up and adjusted the rest of his appearance, he stepped out of the room.

(Chapter 2, Scene 3)

Robert Bailey

Old: He heard the door open, followed by a “Sir?”

Arthur turned towards Robert Bailey, who just entered the room, his boss having a frown on his face: “Did you just enter my office without knocking, Mister Bailey?”

“The rumours are just got proven right and I think that this information is rather important so I didn’t want to waste time, Sir.”

Now Arthur cocked one of his thick eyebrows, still unimpressed: “It’s still not very gentlemanly to just enter my office without knocking.”

Robert sighed: “Since we found out that from all the Sicilian clans he begs Vento I didn’t really bother with being a gentleman this time.”

(Chapter 3, Scene 3)

New: “To be fair to them,” King said and held Tahir’s gaze when he looked over to him. “A goose is unpredictable.”

“Without enough preparation,” Jones began, both pointer fingers raised to underscore her statement, but she was interrupted by the sounds of footsteps.

Robert Bailey came upstairs, oblivious of everyone else as he adjusted his suit jacket. Tahir rolled his eyes.

It didn’t need his intervention for Robert to look up and notice the congregation around the table. “The fuck’s going on here?” he asked with one eyebrow raised and a frown on his face.

“Battle planning,” Jones said. Miah nodded in agreement.

“For the weekend?” Robert asked.

“Afraid not,” Tahir said and Robert’s attention skipped to him for a second.

(Chapter 2, Scene 3)

Arthur Kirkland

Old: It could have been a nice day since it didn’t rain like it usually did in London. Arthur Kirkland however, had too much problems to enjoy it.

Besides, grey skies and rain tapping against the window of his office would have fit his mood way better.

“Why couldn’t you little pathetic leprechaun just stay there in your hole and die slowly?” the Englishman snarled, trying to read the Guardian for the third time this morning but once again without success. He just couldn’t concentrate since there was maybe a problem.

(Chapter 3, Scene 3)

New: “Yes?” The voice was muffled by the door.

“Mister Bailey could finally join us, Sir,” Tahir said and maintained eye-contact with Robert who rolled his eyes.

“Do you think you get paid to be a prick?”

“Do you think you get paid to be a slob?” Tahir smirked.

“Oh, it’s you, come in.”

Tahir opened the door. Exposed brick framed the large window at the back of the room, before the plaster, painted in mint-green, took over the walls. The massive desk could have belonged to the Victorian factory owner that had resided here a whole century ago.

Arthur Kirkland sat behind it. The jacket of his suit was hung over the backrest of one of the visitor’s chairs and the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to the middle of his lower arms. The messy blonde hair was as kempt as it would ever be and the big bushy eyebrows weren’t furrowed in annoyance or anger.

“Good morning,” Arthur said while they came in. There was an automaton of a ship on waves in front of him. “You shouldn’t rag on him like that,” he told Tahir while Robert closed the door behind them. He looked over to Robert. “You should quit smoking, though.”

(Chapter 2, Scene 3)

[bisexualbumblebee-writes]

Returning Home Chapter 4- Thorin Oakenshield x OC

Thorin Oakenshield x Bellarose Baggins

Description: After stopping to rest one night the Company has an unfortunate meeting with mountain trolls.

Word Count: 2.6k

Later that night Bombur finally finished dinner, which ended up being soup. Bofur was the one to serve it. He ladeled some into a bowl then held it out for Bellarose. 

“Ladies first,” he said with a smile, which made the girl giggle. 

“Well, thank you. What a gentleman,” she responded teasingly. The Dwarf merely laughed and continued to hand out bowls of soup. 

“He’s been a long time,” Bilbo mentioned as he stood beside Bofur. 

“Who?”

“Gandalf.” 

“He’s a wizard! He does as he chooses,” Bofur brushed off before handing the Hobbit two bowls. “Here, do us a favor: take this to the lads.” Bilbo didn’t look happy, but he did as Bofur said and walked off. After Bellarose finished eating she leaned back in her seat with a small sigh, taking a moment to do a headcount. She sat up upon realizing that her brother hadn’t returned from taking dinner to Fili and Kili. 

“Has anyone seen Bilbo recently?” She eventually spoke up, catching a few others’ attention. Balin shrugged as he took another bite of his food. 

“Probably keeping the Princes company.” 

“No doubt they’ve roped him into something,” Nori joked from beside her, earning a nod from the others. Bellarose considered their words, but something still felt off. After a moment of internal debate, she finally stood and set her bowl aside. 

“I’m going to check on them,” she informed them simply before making her way to where the ponies were. She paused upon reaching the horses. There were some missing, and so were Kili, Fili and Bilbo. After inspecting the scene, she realized that some of the surrounding trees had been uprooted. Most likely by something far bigger than anyone in the Company.

Then, she heard voices. They were very faint, but she was able to recognize one of them as Kili. As she got closer to them, she saw what seemed to be a large campfire. Fili, Kili and Bilbo were standing just out of view of whoever sat by the fire. 

“Mountain trolls are slow and stupid, and you’re so small,” Kili muttered just loud enough for the four of them to hear. Though, it was most likely that the boys hadn’t been made aware of the girl’s presence because they didn’t face her. Bilbo’s head snapped towards the younger Dwarf, and Bellarose could see that his eyes were wide in bewilderment. 

“Me?” He questioned, sounding rather panicked as he shook his head vigorously. “No, no, no.” 

“It’s perfectly safe!” Kili reassured him. Bellarose decided it was time to make her presence known as her curiosity got the better of her, and she moved closer to them. 

“What is going on here?” She questioned, which made all three of them jump out of their own skins and whip around to face her. Rather than say anything, the girl simply crossed her arms and raised a curious eyebrow at them. 

“Bella,” Bilbo greeted, maybe a little too loud. “It’s, uh...well you see-”

“Mountain trolls took Myrtle and Misty and it looks like they plan on eating them,” Kili explained without a second thought, making Bilbo glare at him. 

“We’re trying to figure out how to get them without the trolls noticing before our Uncle finds out,” Fili concluded, disregarding the still glaring Hobbit. The girl blinked at them, a blank look on her face, before stepping closer to get a good look at the trolls. 

“Yeah, I think a Hobbit could get past them easier.” Bilbo looked like he was ready to pass out from exasperation at her words. 

“Why don’t you do it then?” He asked, then paused. “Actually no, you’re not doing this.” 

“Oh, come on Bilbo,” the girl rolled her eyes. “You said it yourself, two burglars are better than one. We can do it together.” 

“Brilliant idea, Bellarose,” Kili nodded with a smile. 

“Thank you Kili.” 

“I don’t know you guys,” Bilbo trailed off anxiously, though he was now worried for his sister’s safety over his own. “Is it safe?”

“Of course it is!” The younger Durin responded. 

“We’ll be right behind you,” Fili added. “If you run into trouble, hoot twice like a barn owl, once like a brown owl.” The Hobbit repeated his words then hesitated, but he couldn’t say anything before Bellarose spoke up. 

“We’ll be fine Bilbo,” she muttered, resting a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Just don’t hesitate like you’re doing right now and we’ll be good to go. Ready?” 

“Well-” Bilbo was cut off by the girl sneaking over to the ponies. She arrived at the small pen in which the ponies were being held in and attempted to untie the ropes. It was in vain though. The ropes were too large and too knotted for a Hobbit to untie. She nearly jumped in surprise when the trolls began talking.

The trolls’ conversation was rather boring to listen to. Two of them, William and Tom as Bellarose learned, were complaining about the third troll, Bert’s cooking. Well, more accurately about how they’ve only eaten mutton for an undisclosed amount of time. William sneezed loudly before pulling out a handkerchief. It was at that moment that she noticed a long knife hanging from the troll’s pants. That was likely their best shot at getting the ponies out. 

She glanced behind her to see Bilbo following her. She then pointed out the knife to her brother, too afraid that speaking would attract attention to them. Bilbo followed her finger, then his eyes widened when he saw the knife. It looked like he wanted to groan in exasperation but it seemed his train of thought was similar to her because he stayed silent. He nodded once at her then began to creep towards William from behind while Bellarose watched. 

“Ooh. That is perfectly balanced, that is. Wrap your loganbie around that, mate,” he said, shoving something into William’s mouth. “Huh! Good, ain’t it? That’s why I’m the cook.” 

“Me guts are grumbling,” Tom grumbled. “I’ve got to snaffle something. Flesh. I need flesh!” Bellarose looked at the horses beside her when they began to grow restless, then William suddenly jumped up holding something in his hand. Or rather, someone. 

“Aah! Blimey! Bert! Bert, look what’s coming out of me hooter! It’s got arms and legs and everything!” He exclaimed, holding out his hand. It was Bilbo! 

“What are you then?” Bert questioned curiously, looking at Bilbo. 

“I-I’m a burglar...uh, Hobbit!” He responded nervously. 

“A burglar-hobbit?” Tom repeated, bringing the hobbit closer to him. 

“Can we cook him?” William questioned. 

“We can try!” The troll responded happily, only for Bert to shake his head. 

“He wouldn’t make more than a mouthful, not when he’s skinned and boned!” 

“Perhaps there are more burglar-hobbits ‘round these parts, maybe there’ll be enough for a pie,” William said optimistically, only for Bilbo to slip out of William’s hand. 

“Grab him!” Both Tom and William had a bit of a hard time grabbing him, but the latter was ultimately successful. 

“Gotcha!” He exclaimed triumphantly. “Are there any more of you little fellas hiding where you shouldn’t?” Bilbo shook his head quickly. 

“No!” 

“He’s lying!” Tom yelled. 

“I’m not,” the Hobbit insisted. Bellarose looked around desperately, trying to figure out how to help her brother, but it ended up being in vain. 

“Look! It’s another burglar-hobbit!” Exclaimed Tom as he pointed directly at her. She only had time to gasp before she was suddenly picked up by Bert, but didn’t have the strength to fight against his grip. 

“No she isn’t,” Bilbo responded quickly. He was still attempting to wriggle out of William’s hand when Kili rushed in and slashed one of the troll’s legs, demanding that Bilbo and Bellarose be let go. The troll simply tossed the older Baggins to Kili, who caught him but they ended up falling to the ground together. 

The rest of the Company suddenly charged out of the bushes yelling and brandishing their weapons. They began fighting the trolls, hacking, slashing, and hammering their legs. In his shock, Bert ended up dropping Bellarose. She was quick to roll out of the way as Bifur, Dwalin and Nori attacked Bert. 

As the Dwarves continued to fight, Bellarose noticed William’s knife on the ground and quickly grabbed it. At the very least she could save the ponies. She ran over to the pen and cut the ropes, allowing the ponies to run away. Apparently that caught the attention of Tom, who grew angry and grabbed the girl. The Dwarves stopped fighting when they see the troll holding Bellarose.

“Bella!” Kili exclaimed, beginning to rush forward, only to be stopped by Throin’s hand on his shoulder. 

“Lay down your arms, or we’ll rip hers off,” Bert demanded, squeezing the girl a bit harder to add to the effect. They were hesitant at first, but after hearing her gasp in pain they begrudgingly did as they were told. William and Tom wasted no time in tying most of them to a spit and placing them over a fire. The ones that couldn’t fit on the spit (Thorin, Fili, Kili, Oin, Bombur, Balin, Bellarose and Bilbo) were stuffed into brown sacks with only their heads popping out. The Baggins girl was the last to be placed in a bag before she was dropped onto the pile. 

“Ow!” 

“Sorry,” she responded apologetically. 

“Might as well not bother cooking ‘em,” William muttered. “Let’s just sit on ‘em and squash ‘em into jelly!” 

“No, no, no,” Bert protested as he turned the spit. “They should be sautéed and grilled with a sprinkle of sage.”

“Ooh, that does sound quite nice!” As they spoke the rest of the Company made noises and talked in fear, though the trolls paid them no mind. 

“Never mind the seasoning,” Tom interjected. “We ain’t got all night! Dawn ain’t far away, so let’s get a move on. I don’t fancy being turned to stone.” Bilbo suddenly perked up from beside his sister, making her look at him in confusion. 

“Wait! You are making a terrible mistake,” he exclaimed, attempting to stand up. 

“You can’t reason with them, they’re half-wits!” Dori exclaimed from the spit. 

“Half-wits?” Bofur repeated worriedly. “What does that make us?” Bilbo ignored them as he finally managed to stand up, though he was still tied up. 

“Uh, I meant with the, uh, with, uh, with the seasoning.”

“What about the seasoning?” Bert questioned. 

“Well have you smelt them? You’re going to need something stronger than sage before you plate this lot up.” That caused an uproar from the Dwarves. Some yelled at Bilbo and called him a traitor while the ones in the sacks kicked at him. 

“What do you know about cooking Dwarf?” Tom asked incredulously, only for Bert to hit him on the head with his ladle.

“Shut up, and let the, uh, flurgaburburrahobbit talk.” All eyes turned to Bilbo as he attempted to come up with something to say.

“Uh, th--the secret to cooking dwarf is, um--”

“Yes? Come on,” urged Tom. 

“It’s, uh…”

“Tell us the secret.”

“Ye--yes, I’m telling you, the secret is…to skin them first!”

“Tom, get me the fileting knife,” Bert instructed, which caused a second uproar from the Company. 

“What a load of rubbish!” The troll exclaimed in protest. “I’ve eaten plenty with their skins on. Scuff them, I say, boots and all.” 

“Yeah, ‘e’s right,” William realized. “Nothing wrong with a bit of raw dwarf! Nice and crunchy.” He grabbed Bombur by the feet and dangled him upside down over his mouth, ready to eat him. At that moment Bellarose noticed someone slipping behind some nearby trees. It was Gandalf, she realized. He was here to help! But not if the trolls eat them all first, she realized. She needed to distract them just a little longer. 

“N-No, not that one, he’s- he’s infected!” She exclaimed without thinking. That gave all three trolls pause and they all turned to face her. 

“You what?” Asked Tom. The girl licked her lips nervously and looked between them. 

“Yeah… He’s got worms in his…tubes,” she explained. William gasped in disgust and dropped Bombur back onto the pile. 

“In-in fact they all have, they’re infested with parasites,” she continued quickly.  It’s a terrible business. I wouldn’t risk it, I really wouldn’t.”

“Parasites?” Oin repeated in shock. “Did she say parasites?” 

“We don’t have parasites! You have parasites!”

“What are you talking about, lass?” The rest of the Dwarves chimed in about how they didn’t have parasites, and how she was a fool. She looked around helplessly, trying to show them that she didn’t mean it without saying anything. Her eyes met Thorin’s, and a look of realization came across his face. He kicked the others, making them look at him. After finally understanding what was going on they all looked at the trolls. 

“I’ve got parasites as big as my arm.”

“Mine are the biggest parasites, I’ve got huge parasites!”

“We’re riddled!” 

“Yes, I’m riddled!”

“Yes we are. Badly!”

“What would you have us do, then?” Bert questioned, looking at Bellarose. “Let ‘em all go?”

“Well…” the girl trailed off, entertaining the idea. Bert wasn’t having it though. 

“You think I don’t know what you’re up to. This little ferret is taking us for fools!” 

“Ferret?” She repeated, offended. 

“Fools?” William repeated dumbly. Everyone looked up as a figure appeared on a large nearby boulder with what looked like a walking stick. 

“The dawn will take you all!” A formidable voice called, effectively scaring the Hobbit girl. 

“Who’s that?” Tom questioned. 

“No idea,” Bert responded. 

“Can we eat him too?” The last troll brother questioned eagerly. No one had the chance to respond before the figure lifted his walking stick and struck it against the very rock he stood upon. The ground rumbled just enough for the others to notice shortly before the boulder split in two, the smaller side giving way and falling, revealing the rising sun. 

Without warning the trolls shouted in agony as they began turning to stone. Bellarose used Thorin’s shoulder to hide her face from the sight until the screaming subsided, then she looked up as the others began cheering. The figure stepped down from the boulder, revealing that it was Gandalf himself. It took no time at all to free everyone from the spit and sacks they’d been trapped in. Bellarose thanked Bofur as he untied her, then she heard Thorin speak.

“Where did you go to, if I may ask?”

“To look ahead,” the Wizard answered. 

“What brought you back?”

 “Looking behind,” Gandalf responded simply before looking at the trolls. “Nasty business. Still, they are all in one piece.”

“No thanks to your burglars,” the Dwarf added, unamused. Gandalf looked at him indignantly. 

“They  had the nous to play for time. None of the rest of you thought of that.” Thorin looked repentant after hearing the Wizard’s point, though he had no time to say anything before Gandalf examined the statues again. 

 “They must have come down from the Ettenmoors,” he mentioned. 

“Since when do mountain trolls venture this far south?” Thorin questioned. 

“Oh, not for an age, not since a darker power ruled these lands.” They stared at each other for a moment, an unspoken agreement settling between them. 

“They could not have moved in daylight,” the Dwarf continued.

“There must be a cave nearby, then,” Bellarose spoke without thinking, which made them look at her. She blushed in embarrassment, but the Dwarf nodded before she could apologize for eavesdropping. 

“She’s right.” 

“Let us see what the caves may entail then,” the Wizard nodded, beginning to lead the Company away with Thorin and Bellarose at the front of it.

[shyficwriter]

Temporary Home: Chapter 14

Guardians of the Galaxy fanfic | Reader x Guardians (With Yondu and Kraglin!)

Summary: The guardians keep trying to include you in various activities to keep your mind off what's troubling you since you won't talk about it. However, one of these activities turns out to have a, shall we say... slightly less than desired outcome.

Previous Chapter here | Next Chapter Here Or click here to: Start From Beginning

Author’s Note: Thank you to @quillsandtypos, @theambracer88, @mcugiggles, @marvelouslyfluffy and all the anons who participated in my questionnaire post! As you probably guessed, I'll be using the answers (and any future ones, if anyone else still wants to play) to complete some fluffy scenes in the story! Also, for my records this chapter ends on day 23 of the Guardians living with reader. Enjoy!

Word Count: 4,683

Rocket, though he finally had a way to repair the device, had decided to wait a bit before actually doing so. Hell, he had waited this long, certain that his smuggling had been in vain once he found one of the parts had broken on... ahem, "departure," so what was another day or two? It was obvious they were going to be here awhile anyway, so he wasn't too rushed.

One might wonder, how was Rocket able to smuggle anything if SHIELD had searched him, already having found and confiscated contraband he had hidden in his "back pocket?"

Well, Rocket wasn't an idiot. He knew of other ways to smuggle goods on his person. Or, in his person, rather. That being said, maybe to say he wasn't an idiot might be giving him a bit too much credit... Swallowing the pieces of a small data pad might not have been exactly the safest thing to do, though he had given himself a pat on the back for rightfully assuming the Terran's wouldn't think to put him through a body scanner.

He had been damned lucky that nothing had gotten lodged or had punctured any of his innards on the way through, but hey, it worked, didn't it?

Well, mostly.

As said, a part had broken on "departure," which he of course blamed on Gamora and Mantis for rushing him in the bathroom that first day. If that bug-eyed chick didn't have such a tiny bladder then he could have allowed for a more "graceful landing."

No matter, he now had a way to fix it thanks to you. This had admittedly softened his attitude towards you the tiniest bit, though he wasn't going to admit it, nor was he going to completely let his guard down. Use of your workshop was probably just another bribe to win his favor, after all. Just like the bed. He was definitely going to take advantage of it, don't get him wrong. He wasn't just not going to use the tools available to him. Just like he wasn't going to just not sleep in the bed you built him. It was better than sleeping in the crib, though he had been grateful the crib had been left in the room when you left the bed. He had been hiding the pieces of the smuggled device under the crib's mattress -the only good use he saw for it, other than the fact that Groot actually slept pretty well in it- because boy, if the others had found out he had smuggled that in, they would have been pissed. Hence, why he wasn't in too big a hurry to fix it just yet.

Perhaps it couldn't hurt to maybe fix that broken stool in the shed for you, though. Just for a warm up, not because he thought he owed you anything, of course.

***

The evening of the check-in you had found yourself with nothing to do and back in the thoughts that had plagued you since the couple came, and you once again considered pouring yourself a glass or two of whiskey.

Yondu had been leaning against the counter enjoying a snack when he saw you retrieve the bottle from the fridge. Remembering the previous night he raised an eyebrow at you. The last thing he wanted was to witness a repeat, but thought he'd still keep an eye on you. Cut you off again before/if you started to look a little too "weepy." He had doubts that you even remembered what you'd done the previous night, and this was confirmed when he made a lighthearted comment about, "Ya goin' to take it easy tonight, or will I be needin' to cut you off again?" and you raised an eyebrow at him before saying, "What? You didn'- Oh right- I think I do remember you taking my drink now that you mention it," as you set the bottle on the table and went to retrieve a glass from the cupboard.

You now sported a slight blush and, pausing your actions, asked, "I um, didn't say or do anything embarrassing to have warranted that, did I?"

Yondu looked you right in the eye, and lied. "Nope. It was just clear ya had a bit much. Figured I'd save yer wimpy Terran liver." He laughed at your slight pout and added, "Ya just whined at me fer takin' yer drink and then fell asleep. Nuttin' too excitin'."

Yondu could see the relief on your face and it solidified his lack of regret of not telling you. Sure, he might have wanted to crack the mystery to see why you were the way you were, but not like that. He hadn't expected the previous night's display, and if anything, it made him feel like he should back off. Yes, it prompted more burning questions, but even he knew there were some things you just didn't pry into.

Around that time Peter and Kraglin came into the kitchen, messing about and horse-playing. You considered telling them to break it up, but then decided you didn't actually care enough as long as they weren't about to break anything... or anyone. You were about to make your standard polite offer of a drink when suddenly a rip was heard and Peter whined out, "Aw man! You ripped my favorite shirt!"

Sure enough, their rough-housing had managed to rip the seam along the left-shoulder of Peter's dark blue shirt, leaving a sizable hole of a couple inches long that revealed another white shirt underneath.

You rolled your eyes and told him where he could find the sewing kit.

Peter looked at you sheepishly and said, "I don't know how to sew."

You sighed and said, "I guess I'm not doing anything..." and you began to walk towards him and the exit of the kitchen, abandoning the bottle of whiskey on the table without having poured a drink.

Peter took off his ripped shirt and in a surprised voice said, "Oh!- Thanks-" starting to hand you the shirt as you walked past.

You didn't take the shirt, just looked at him as a laugh escaped your throat. "I didn't say I'd do it for you. I meant I'll teach you." With that you cocked your head towards the door and headed out towards the sitting room.

As you walked away you shook your head and muttered something Peter couldn't hear but assumed was an insult as he blushed both from embarrassment at his mistake and from hearing Yondu and Kraglin now laughing at him. He wordlessly followed, not wishing to make more of a fool of himself.

Watching Peter leave, inspiration struck Yondu. It might be overstepping, and might have been a long shot, but it was worth a try. He nudged Kraglin in the arm to get his attention. "Ya remember last night? How things got a little too..." he searched for the right word.

Kraglin finished for him, "Sad? Yeah. I remember." He caught sight of the bottle on the table. "She back at it tonight?" He and Yondu hadn't discussed what happened when he had returned to the kitchen after walking you to your room. It had gone unsaid that you were in a bad way.

"She was gonna," Yondu answered, "but then you two came in and gave her something to distract herself. Might not hurt to keep doing that for a bit."

"Ya wanna keep her busy?" Kraglin asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Better than watchin' her drown herself in a bottle," Yondu replied flippantly with a shrug, but Kraglin could see through his blasé attitude.

He was slightly surprised, but not completely opposed to Yondu's suggestion. You had been drinking a lot the past few days. It didn't take a genius to see that something was obviously wrong, and he knew better that drinking like that only made sad feelings worse. If this had been the Eclector, and you part of the crew, he or Yondu would have cut you off well before now once they saw the pit you were digging. You just don't let sad people drink themselves into a stupor. It's bad form. But this wasn't the ship, and you weren't crew, and they couldn't stop you. They were in your house. They've barely known you for three weeks. He knew they couldn't just order you around, but if a little bit of distraction kept him from seeing you looking that sad again and kept you from hiding in the bottom of a bottle, he was for it.

Yondu spoke again, more or less repeating Kraglin's thoughts back at him. "I know we're on her turf, but someone's gotta do somethin'. It's bad form to just let h- to just to let a person drown like that. She needs to get her mind off what's been troubling her."

Kraglin examined the former captain's features. There was something else there. An emotion behind his eyes the first mate was familiar with after years of faithful service. Cap'n might not always be the best at admitting his softer feelings, but Kraglin knew. He could see it.

It was a look similar to the one he wore after he finished telling Rocket just how alike they were, right before they went to fight Ego. It was the same look in his eyes he had shortly after Peter came aboard the Eclector as a boy and it was decided he wasn't going to be delivered to Ego. One Kraglin even thought he recognized being on the receiving end of when he was a younger lad on the crew.

Kraglin smiled, a soft mix of understanding and sadness. "Sir," he said gently.

Yondu grunted in response and glanced at him.

"First, I do agree with ya, we should help keep her mind off it, but I just gotta say this too." He sighed before continuing. He knew Yondu wasn't going to like what he was about to say, but they were alone now, so he felt safe to say it. He knew if he said this in front of anyone else it'd a a surefire way to put Yondu dangerously close to whistling territory. "We can't be getting too attached, now."

Yondu glared at him. "Who said anythin' about-"

"Sir, all respect and all, but I think I can say I know ya better than anyone else here." Kraglin said, having cut Yondu off with a slight chuckle. "I can see it, I can tell when you're getting attached." His tone got slightly more serious, more comforting. "I don't think it'll be good for ya to get too attached, sir. We'll be leaving here eventually, and we know she ain't gonna be coming with us."

Yondu set his mouth in a firm line and stared Kraglin down hard but didn't say anything. He knew his first mate was right, but that didn't mean he had to admit it. Finally he answered with, "I ain't gettin' attached to nuttin' or nobody."

Kraglin sighed. If he knew anything else it was that Yondu could also be stubborn as hell. If he wanted to live in denial, well there wasn't a whole lot he could do about it. "Alright, sir," he said with a shake of his head. "I believe ya." He didn't, and his tone betrayed that, earning him a narrowed eyed look from Yondu, but they dropped the conversation, at least for now.

***

Showing Peter how to sew went fairly smoothly. He seemed to grasp the concept well enough, watching you sew the first third of the tear - not the easiest task with your brace on- and then repeating what you had shown him on the rest himself. He finished soon enough and thanked you before leaving the table.

However, almost immediately after that Kraglin showed up with something ripped and asked if you could teach him too. You sighed, and mildly scolded him about how come he couldn't have asked while you were showing Peter, but you agreed regardless. Again, it wasn't exactly the easiest task considering you only had a limited range of motion to move your arm, but you managed. After he finally seemed to get it (he asked a lot of questions, even if he understood, assuming it'd be helpful to keep you occupied for longer) you noticed it had gotten dark out, and you were tired anyway, and so when it looked like he had a handle on it you decided to just go to bed.

***

The next day it seemed like people just kept asking you to do things. Not like they were ordering you around, but more like asking you to do things with them, which they hadn't often done.

It wasn't all bad, but you had the feeling it wasn't just a coincidence that they were seemingly trying to keep you engaged in various tasks and activities after Maria had informed you that one of them had expressed concerns about your well-being. You didn't know if they were now acting on their own or if Fury or Agent Hill had suggested it, but either way you figured you'd just roll with it. If you made an effort maybe they'd be happy and drop it.

That morning, before you realized what was going on, Mantis came to you with a book on plants and asked you to help her identify different plants around the property. You had almost said no, perhaps another time, but then you saw the expectant look on her happy face and decided you had time to kill anyway, so what could it hurt?

It was about when you were asked by Mantis and Drax to join the others for a game of UNO that you started to suspect what was going on.

Before this, Peter had kept coming up to you wanting to show you funny videos he found, having recently discovered the YouTube app on the TV; Yondu had come to you with an archery book and tried making small-talk asking about Terran types of archery; and Gamora and Kraglin asked you to help ref while everyone sparred.

You had agreed to reffing, feeling a little better than you had been all those days you had refused and now therefore not seeing any reason not to.

It was a slight bummer though, needing to sit on the sidelines and watching others train, but you supposed watching them to see if they knew any cool 'space moves' couldn't hurt. Plus, watching how the raccoon was able to hold his own against human-sized opponents was always interesting. Groot sat with you, not being permitted to spar with the others (except for when Rocket would decide to pretend spar with him, just to make him happy) and he was adorable as he played with the grass, so it wasn't all bad.

After that everyone else was pretty much tired, but Groot came up to you with the car you had given him, holding it above his head. You raised an eyebrow and looked to Peter, who informed you that the little guy wanted you to push him on it. You did, because how could you possibly say no to that?

What was cute to Peter, however, was the fact that no one had prompted Groot to do that. He just genuinely wanted you to play with him.

After a while of playing with Groot is when Mantis and Drax had come to you about playing UNO. Now you were getting a hint of what they were doing, but you agreed to play a few games with them anyway. You even caught yourself actually starting to have fun.

Around suppertime Peter came up to you, asking if you could teach him how to cook something. He talked about how he thought it'd be fun to learn to cook more things from his home world, and also reminded you how you did say several times that he could 'help you cook later.'

You sighed and after some more prodding from Peter you finally agreed, asking him what he might like to learn how to cook.

Peter looked like a deer in the headlights before admitting that he didn't actually know. He didn't remember a whole lot of different Terran foods from when he was a kid, and he was now drawing a blank.

You nodded towards the kitchen and told him the two of you would figure it out.

After looking for a bit you decided on a vegetable stew, mostly because this had been unexpected and you hadn't pulled any meat from the freezer to thaw.

Peter was surprisingly not bad at it. He handled the knife safely, he cut the vegetables evenly, and he listened as you told him what to do and when. You wondered if he had some experience cooking before, but you didn't ask.

After dinner Gamora wouldn't take no for an answer on helping with the dishes, of course using your injury as an excuse. You sighed, but allowed it, agreeing to dry while she washed, still under the impression that if you just indulged them for a bit they'd eventually stop and start leaving you along again.

Just as you finished Peter came to the two of you asking if you wanted to see a new movie he found on Netflix.

Figuring it wouldn't hurt to make an effort, you agreed to watching a movie with them and followed into the sitting room, wondering what film he had picked out.

Turned out, he had chosen a horror movie. Candy Man.

You sighed. Obviously you weren't completely immune to jump scares, but you didn't really mind horror movies. You could even go as far to say that you enjoyed most of them. However, you were concerned about Mantis, who you could see sitting happily on the rug in front of the couch next to Rocket as you entered the room.

"Are you sure this movie is appropriate for everyone?" you ask Peter.

"What? You scARed?" Rocket taunted with a smirk, and it was then that you saw Groot on the rug as well, having been sitting in Rocket's lap.

You roll your eyes and explain that your concerns were for the wooden child and Mantis, as your time spent with them hadn't made you very confident that they would recieve a scary movie well. "I'm more concerned the movie's gonna give them nightmares," you explained as you took a seat at the end of the couch.

Gamora seemed to agree with you, but the two of you were outvoted. Rocket just rolled his eyes and snarked that he bet you were scared, and Mantis assured excitedly that she could watch it. Groot, even though you couldn't understand him, also seemed adamant. You had a feeling they didn't really know what they were getting into, but combined with the fact that Mantis was an adult, and Groot wasn't your child, and Peter was doing his best to convince you and Gamora that everything would be fine, you eventually gave in, stating, "Fine, but don't say I didn't warn you. She better not crawl into my bed tonight. I'll send her your way."

Peter just laughed and shook his head, not taking you seriously, before turning out the lights and taking a seat next to Gamora at the other end of the couch. Kraglin took the last available seat between you and Peter and Rocket smarted off again.

"If you're gonna get scared maybe Kraglin will hold your hand!" he laughed as Peter turned on the film.

You rolled your eyes at him and crossed your arms over your chest, refusing to look at Kraglin to give the rodent any satisfaction that he might have succeeded in embarrassing you. This, Kraglin was grateful for, because he was sort of an easy blusher, and he didn't want you to get the wrong idea. He just gave Rocket an unamused look, but he was also grateful the lights had been dimmed so that Yondu couldn't see him blushing and then tease him for it. Whether or not the former Ravager captain would actually believe Kraglin might have managed to develop feelings for you wouldn't matter. That fact that Kraglin had just told Yondu the previous night that he shouldn't be getting attached would be enough for him to jump on it and tease the hell out of him purely out of spite.

Despite the movie being old, it was still relatively new to you. You had heard about it, thought you remembered seeing a commercial or maybe a clip or two of it over the years, but this had been your first time actually watching it.

It was about halfway though and nothing terribly scary had happened yet. There was the flashback scene of a little boy having been mutilated that made you cringe, as any show that featured little kids being harmed always hit a sore spot, but it didn't really show much more than a bloody bathroom.

You were starting to think it probably wasn't going to be any real scary scenes, but then Candyman started to call the college lady's name, and it actually made you fight a shiver. You didn't know why, but creepy sounds were one of the few things from a film that could actually strike fear in your heart. Thankfully it didn't last long. You weren't looking forward to being teased for jumping or shivering at a movie that wasn't really even that scary.

At least it would mean that Mantis would be unlikely to crawl into your bed scared tonigh-

Candyman just shoved his hook through the college lady's medicine cabinet.

Half of everyone jumped, including you. Among those startled was Kraglin, and he shot you a glance that you purposely didn't return, not wanting to answer to any cocky smiles or teases accusing you of being scared.

A shot came on the screen centering on the baby Candyman took and you tensed, worried he was going to kill it, but you were relieved to see that he only let it suckle on his finger.

Kraglin felt you tense and then relax beside him, and he frowned, remembering the other night. He considered asking if you were alright, but then thought better of it and held his tongue, instead watching on as a scene played where the lady was now stuck in a mental hospital, having been believed to have killed her best friend and said baby from the previous scene.

Yondu didn't think he liked this movie, but he continued to watch in silence. He didn't want to see kids being hurt, and he had also tensed at the previous scene. Like you, he was sure that the bad guy was about to kill the baby. However, as he was sitting in his usual spot in the armchair, his tension went unnoticed.

Mantis let out a short scream when the lady summoned Candyman and he killed the psychiatrist. You sighed, realizing this wasn't looking good for her staying in her own bed tonight. Little did Peter know, you hadn't been kidding. If she tries to crawl in with you, you're sending her right to him, seeing as it would be his fault.

The lady was now exploring Candyman's lair, and you started to get a little tense at the creepy sounds of his breathing, and you mentally cursed whoever mixed the sound for this movie.

You got even more tense and fidgety when he opened his robe to reveal a ribcage full of bees. You only hoped no one noticed to tease you for it. Body horror was another thing that never failed to make you shudder.

Eventually the movie started to come to a close, a scene played where the lady's jerk ex-fiancé was having flashbacks to how good he had it with her now that she was dead, and you thought it was just going to end on a sad note.

That is, until he said her name, Helen, five times in the mirror (just like Candyman) and she came back and killed him with the Candyman's hook. Her sudden appearance made you startle slightly, and you heard more squeals from Mantis. You sighed again. Yep, she was definitely not going to sleep tonight.

The movie was finally over and Peter got up to turn on the lights. He turned to see you giving him a glare and he smiled. "What? Was it too scary for you?" he jeered.

You just pointed down to Groot. He had his head buried in Rocket's chest and was softly whimpering. "I told you that movie wasn't for kids."

Rocket scoffed at you and told you he would be fine, then turned it on you, saying how he felt you jump at least three times from where he was sitting.

You rolled your eyes and ignored him, turning to Peter and this time gesturing to Mantis, who still looked a bit shaken. "I meant what I said. She tries to crawl in bed with me, I'm sending her to you," you say, leaving to go to go get ready for bed, both because it was now late, and to avoid any inevitable further teasing from Rocket.

The others seemed to have much the same idea about bedtime, and a few of them followed you up the stairs.

You let Mantis shower first, hopeful that if you went after her that she might hopefully be asleep by the time you got out. However, when you finished your own shower, Peter had thought it'd be funny to jump-scare you as you exited the bathroom, grabbing your shoulders and shouting, "CANDYMAN'S GOTCHA!" which resulted in you jumping a mile with a noise you'd deny was a shriek before you turned to punch him in the arm scolding, "Damn you!"

He, along with Rocket, only responded by laughing their asses off at you. You thought you could also hear Drax's own booming laughter down the hall from his room, and you caught a glimpse of Yondu and Kraglin sharing amused glances and snickering from their shared room.

Your face getting warm at the fact that he had actually managed to get you pretty good, you then just storm off to your room, ignoring Rocket's teases that he bet that you'd be the one crawling into Mantis's bed tonight.

You shut the bedroom door behind you to see Mantis awake and clutching her bear for dear life. Whether she was just already awake due to nerves or you had woken her with your startled cry, you didn't know, but you flicked on your desk lamp for her, turned out your overhead light and crawled into bed without a word.

Sometime later, long enough for you to have drifted off into a decently sound enough sleep to be dreaming, you were startled awake by someone crawling into your bed.

Guess who. That's right. Mantis.

You groaned and turned to see she had already crawled halfway into your bed before you stopped her by rousing. "Mantis," you groaned, pointing towards the door, "go climb into Peter's bed. He's the one that chose the movie."

Mantis tucked her chin sheepishly and admitted she had already tried that, but his and Gamora's door had been locked.

You stared at the ceiling and sighed. Clever bastard.

You made a mental note to squirt lemon juice in his coffee in the morning before letting out another groan. "Ugh, fine. But just this once," you allowed, ignoring the fact that this would actually technically be the second time. You were also not actually quite as salty as you let on. If anything, you should maybe thank her for waking you from a bad dream involving the Candyman's ribcage full of bees, but you weren't going to tell her that.

She smiled gratefully and thanked you as she snuggled in.

You sighed quietly and Mantis fell asleep quickly. At least she didn't snore.

You spent the next bit before you fell asleep yourself contemplating different ways that you might be able to annoy Peter for sufficient payback.