#suspicion apple tv

[some-bunniii]

Lucifer jealous with an artist!reader

・❥ You’re invited to a prestigious art show to impress Hell’s royalty with your skills, but someone isn’t a fan of all the attention on you.

| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 |

x: reader is g/n, no use of y/n.

~ 10.1k words

warnings: SMUT!! Adult themes!

Being in a relationship with the King of Hell has its perks. Such as being able to skip any line at LuLu World, or not needing to make reservations months in advance to the most high-end restaurant in Pentagram City. And, of course, being able to buy anything in the entirety of Hell in the snap of a finger, or, make it, if your man is feeling extra creative that day.

The neatest one? Being able to jump across the Seven Rings of Hell. Sinners are usually confined to the Pride Ring for the entirety of their afterlife, anyone who attempts to leave would get obliterated by the magical security system that detects ring-hoppers. You had never seen it work in person, but the stories made it sound excruciatingly painful. But, no one had ever survived getting vaporized to be able to tell of their experience, so, you weren’t sure whether that was true or not.

These thoughts were plaguing your mind as you sat comfortably in the back of a clean, white limo. Its tinted windows, gold rims, and apple hood ornament screamed ‘Hell’s royalty’ as some onlookers gave the pimped-out vehicle a double-take as it rolled through traffic.

You had tried to argue against taking the conspicuous mode of transportation, opting for the lift that was commonly used by demons to travel across the rings. You most likely wouldn’t attract any unwanted attention or suspicion, since you looked like an average, everyday demon residing in Hell.

“Hop in an elevator with Heaven knows what kind of creepy people you’ll be pushed up against? Not going to happen,” Lucifer shook his head sternly at the idea, “I’m not risking your safety just because 

You had held your tongue after that, realizing you weren’t going to win when it came to Lucifer’s protectiveness of your wellbeing. Besides, the limo looked nice as it waited patiently outside of the hotel a few hours after the big breakfast you had shared with the residents of the hotel.

The inside was nice too, the red, leather seats so plush you were practically sinking into the furniture as you sipped on an alcoholic beverage. There was a minibar nestled between some cushions across from you, bottles of expensive red wine secured on racks next to clean, empty drinking glasses. 

A large stereo sat at the back of the limo, with tall speakers that flickered with an array of colors waiting idly for your touch. A small TV hung from the car’s ceiling, and you flicked through the channels mindlessly as you held your phone to one ear.

“Just let the driver do his thing, you’ll barely feel the portal before poof! You’re in the Greed Ring.” Lucifer assured over the phone as the white limo sped towards the edge of the ring. 

“And I won’t get turned to goo or anything?” 

“Not on my watch!” He spoke confidently. You could hear faint voices in the background, which meant he must still be at the hotel. “Trust me, love, you’ll be fine. But, maybeee you wouldn’t be so nervous if you had someone with you like… the King of Hell?” 

Rolling your eyes, you snorted quietly trying to hold in a laugh. Lucifer had been bugging you all day about barring him from joining you, but you steeled yourself against his begging, some plans, and preparations needed to be done as soon as you got to Greed. Having Lucifer along would no doubt distract you, especially with the sultry gazes he’d been throwing at you quite often lately, and you needed to get your game on for tonight.

“I told you, I’ve got dinner plans with some of the other artists, and there's work to be done at the venue. Tonight is very important, I can’t mess anything up.”

“I know, I know. Don’t worry, you’ve got this in the bag, baby.”

Heat crept to your cheeks at his compliment, and you smiled out the windows of the limo, your eyes following the winding road toward a large tunnel in the distance. Was that the portal entrance? It was the only thing out here in this barren part of the ring, and it was only growing closer in view as the limo sped on.

Soon, you’d be in Greed, one more step towards the big art show tonight. Your mind drifted back to the matters at hand, your nerves intensifying as you sat deep in thought.

Tonight, was the annual art fair and exhibition, ‘Elysium in Hell’. A famous, grandeur display of well-known and talented artists coming together to sell and showcase their pieces. Their skills with the brush and oils would also be compared fiercely, judged by the leading in the practice that usually dictated how well an artist’s pieces sell during the night.

When hosting the most wealthy and powerful beings in Hell, one had to know whether someone’s creations were truly worth the large price tag. 

It had only ever been a dream, for you to even attend a gathering of such nobility. This was the kind of place you’d find the Seven Deadly Sins, like Lucifer, were strolling around places like these for fun. When to you, and other artists, it was the opportunity of a lifetime to make your passion a really good career. As in, spending the rest of your days lounging in your villa’s pool, finding your painting inspiration by looking out into the expanse of the ‘this view cost me a lot of goddamn money’ scenery. 

It was a chance to put your work out there, farther than the hotel, farther than Asmodeus’ club. Maybe, into a Goetia’s office, or a Sin’s bedroom! That was the dream, to have people appreciate and feast on your craft, while also making really good money from it.

It must have been Asmodeus who got your name on the list since he really seemed to enjoy your more explicit paintings. Lucifer also could have used his influence too, but you hoped that wasn't the case. You wanted your success to be based on your effort, not someone’s pretty words.

Would Lucifer even do that? After all, it was he who was more inclined to keep your relationship a secret. At least, secret to everyone outside of the hotel. It was hard to keep a secret from them, especially when the manager of the place was the man-you-were-courting’s daughter. 

It was something about the press down here being very brutal, and the fact you’d be in the public eye and under its scrutiny constantly. Unless, you become a shut-in hermit for the rest of your life, and while you enjoy the solitude, you don’t how long you could be stuck inside before growing depressed. Even a castle got boring after a while.

But the big problem, was you’d be a target instantly when it came to Heaven’s exterminations. You were a Sinner, and your life was at risk every time those gaping, golden portals opened to swallow the sky, and their blood-thirsty valkyries that would flood the streets with weapons made of holy light.

There was no doubt they would do whatever was necessary to destroy any kind of stability within Hell, and even direct attacks toward Lucifer and those he holds dear. Charlie? Well, she was Hellborn, safe from Heaven’s wrath unless they fancied all-out war. 

But, you? The exterminations were created to kill you, an agreement between Heaven and Hell’s King to quell the uprisings, to keep their control over all realms in Creation. Lucifer never had a reason to care about the population of Sinners inside his ring, until you arrived, with that soft smile and overflowing head of ideas.

If Heaven wanted your head, they would surely have it, if they dared to incur Lucifer’s wrath. He couldn't protect you from everything, no matter how many times he assured you. He wasn't the most powerful being in existence, there were those much greater. 

Was there more to it, though? Was it some kind of political reason because someone of the lower class could never be seen as one of the heads of the royal family, therefore the entirety of Hell as well? Would there be an uprising among the nobility, who couldn’t fathom someone without influence or power to have command over them?

So, for now, you’d spoil your king with kisses and soft words away from prying eyes. In the comfort of your room, surrounded by fond memories and heated exchanges of passion. Breakfast in bed, lounging the day away on your balcony, staring towards the city. 

Sometimes, Lucifer would enthrall you with tales from past interactions with other royalty, mainly the other Sins. He’d impersonate each, his voice almost perfectly mimicking their tones and speech patterns as he recounted stories that made you laugh so hard you almost tilted over the railing once.

Lucifer had spilled his wine trying to catch you as you leaned a little too far backward over the metal edge, his hands gripping your forearms as you adjusted for balance.

“This,” he had said with a breathless laugh as you stumbled into him, before the fallen angel wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you flush, “is why I can’t take my eyes off you anymore. There’s always a mortally wounding drop that you can’t seem to stay away from!”

You only giggled in response, your buzz making it impossible for you to give your lover a straight face as he tried to frown sternly at your reaction, only failing miserably when you lost balance again from the laughs that began to shake your figure. 

Lucifer began to lift you upright once more, a soft laugh escaping his lips as you only sent him a lopsided grin, leaning closer to him. It wasn't until his gaze lowered and he caught the tipped wine glass that had rolled against the leg of a chair, did the fallen angel deflated slightly.

“Look, you even made me spill my drink..” He whined, his eyes sullenly tracing the small river of red liquid that cascaded over the table’s edge.

You captured Lucifer’s lips in a sloppy kiss, your teeth grazing against his skin as you hummed an apology between trailing kisses. The King only melted into your hold as you filled him with sweet like ‘My silly duck’ and ‘The most handsome angel’. 

Your hands lifted to cup his cheeks, before breaking the kiss and sending him a loving smile. You squished his cheeks softly, and Lucifer only melted in your hand, nuzzling his cheek against your palm.

“Well, at least I’ll get some kind of buzz from the taste of your lips,” he sighed happily against your palm, flashing those pretty bedroom eyes at you as his claw slid beneath your undergarment, grazing against warm, bare flesh that caused you to shiver underneath his touch. 

Lacing your fingers with his, you sent him a sultry smile as you tugged him towards the open balcony doors, soft light basking the entrance to your room with light red hues as you crossed the threshold. 

Lucifer growled softly, his pupils dilating as he lifted a hand to begin unbuttoning his shirt, following you obediently into the darkness. The balcony doors shut behind him with invisible force, and wisps of golden light snaked out of the keyhole, before being blown away like dust. 

You smiled at the thoughts, your heart fluttering as those feelings bubbled up underneath your heated skin. This was the first time you had been away from him for a while, and it did feel much lonelier without his vibrant aurora that only filled your soul with warmth. 

Soon, you’d be back in his soothing embrace. But first, there was work and an audience to woo.

You had told him he could come later tonight after the show started, which had made him beam with happiness and promise to be there in support of you.

Would he appear as his common imp disguise? A Goetia? Would you even be able to tell it was him without those shades on his face? It seemed like you’d be playing I Spy later tonight.

“—will be there?”

You blinked, shaking your head to pull yourself back into reality. 

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I said, do you think any of these famous painters you studied all your life will be there? I mean, they couldn't have all been virtuous and sinless, right? I’m sure that one guy that cut his ear off wasn't stable enough to make it through the pearly gates.”

“Huh... I don't know, I never thought about that before.” You laughed, your eyes still on the tunnel that was now only a mile away, before Lucifer could start on another subject, you quickly broke the silence, “I’m about to go through the portal, I think. I’ve gotta go, but I’ll see you later tonight.” 

“Oh, okay! Listen, don’t worry, it’ll feel like passing through any normal earthly tunnel… probably. I can't wait to see you, and hopefully, in that delicious outfit you bought earlier,” he teased.

“If the King commands it of me,” you replied with a honeyed tone, your words “but, he’ll have to be patient, can the mighty Lucifer Morningstar resist such taking a bite from the apple?”

“No matter how tempting, I’ll just wait until I can ravish it in its entirety later,” the soft growl in his voice made your breath hitch slightly, your cheeks heating at the thought of what ‘later’ would entail.

“We’ll see,” you whispered, before pulling the phone from your ear and ending the call. You felt giddy in your seat, that heat slowly ebbing from your skin as the tunnel loomed ahead. You grabbed the wine rack next to you for support as large shadows swept across the limo’s interior as it disappeared into the darkened path.

Lucifer was right, it had honestly felt just like you had driven through a regular old tunnel, if not for the tingling at the back of your neck and the feeling of weightlessness for only a moment as the limo’s tires hit solid ground once more.

Then, green skies cast emerald hues along the seats as you peeked out the window, excitement bubbling in you. You were in another ring for crying out loud! This was a first, and other than pictures, you had no idea what 

It wasn’t until your eyes adjusted to the change in hues, did the anticipation died immediately and a frown graced your features.

Greed looked… kind of ugly. Thick, green smog powered from large towards that dotted across the barren expanse. Large industrial buildings nestled between them, most likely some kind of plant or factory.

Rivers of sludge flowed from each facility into a large, concrete-lined lake. There was no doubt it smelled rancid out there, and your nose crinkled at the thought.

The large city that the limo was heading to was the least soaring to the eyes, its towering corporate buildings filled the sky. Flashing multicolored lights emanated from the middle of the sea of buildings, most likely party central of the capital.

As the vehicle rolled down the street, stopping at the streetlight, you were aware of the eyes that were trying to get a glimpse through the tinted windows. Some demons even pulled out their phones, snapping a quick picture of the pristine, white paint that shimmered underneath the street lamps. 

They probably thought it was someone important, like Lucifer, maybe even Charlie. Thankfully, discrete locations where you’d be dropped off and picked up had already been decided. Hopefully, you won’t have any run-ins with the paparazzi or anything crazy. 

You checked the time on the TV, you were just in time for check-in at the hotel you were booked at. It had been provided by the organization behind the large event, and you weren’t sure what to expect. 

As the limo pulled alongside a back street, you spotted an elevator a few feet from the curb. Taking another sip of your drink, you gathered your things and opened the large passenger door.

Stepping over the gap, you hoisted everything onto the sidewalk, fiddling with a few loose items before turning towards the long vehicle, shutting the passenger door, and leaning over to the driver’s side window.

“Thank you, Jeremy.” You called to the driver, a short imp with a bushy, white mustache. He only nodded at you through the shaded glass, before the limo began to pull away from the curb.

You turned towards the elevator doors, before taking a deep breath and stepping forward

After a few hours lounging around in your hotel room, the rest of your day was filled with preparations. 

You spent the early hours at a very fancy restaurant, surrounded by other artists. They all looked Hellborn, although you were sure you couldn’t have been the only one who got granted access from Pride. 

They all seemed relatively cheerful, sharing stories and techniques of their careers. You even shared some of your art with a couple of nice women that you were seated next to, the one that hung up at Ozzie’s. 

“I saw those the other day! That was you? You are such a great artist!” One gushed, while the other two nodded their head in silent agreement.

“That’s really kind of you, but, I’m not that good,” you brushed off her compliment, hoping to change the subject to someone other than you. You refrained from telling them where you worked, or anything about you, really. They may be kind to you, but in Hell, that didn't mean their motives were pure.

The tension in the air was a little thicker than you would have preferred to, but some of your “competitors” came from nothing, and would go home to nothing, if they weren’t able to make a large enough income after tonight.

Arriving not too long after at the large building that would host the show only heightened your anxiety, as your eyes bounced from booth to booth that was being set up with paintings, pottery, and other mediums.

The interior looked like a giant convention center, the walls a blank white with gold trim, a perfect backdrop for the splash of color that was beginning to take shape across the multiple displays.

The booths looked like large cubicles, with tall partition walls separating each artist’s collection. Only the front, which one would be able to walk into the little square to observe the different pieces, was wallless. As you moved to your spot, you turned your head to catch a glimpse at the surrounding work.

Every piece that caught your gaze looked so amazing, and that only made doubt creep farther into your mind at how good you fared against some of these big names. 

Most of the work was reminiscent of what you had done previously, back when you worked for Alexandre at his studio. Scenes of steamy interactions between two—sometimes up to five—lovers, angel exterminators with their chests gouged out, and landscapes of different locations across Hell.

You had expected it, and all of the pieces that you had brought with were from before your time at the hotel, or were painted with such thoughts in mind. The demons that had wallets to empty weren’t looking for cute scenes of bunnies and fawns, or angels in a good light, for that matter. 

You worked tirelessly, placing your canvases against the walls, creating price tags, and trying to finish everything before the event officially started. You were making good time, and your worry was pushed to the back of your mind as you kept busy.

Which made you lift your head from your work, your eyes scanning the small crowd of workers and artists that bustled about. Some ran across the large, white marble floor as they shouted commands to the helpers. 

Was he one of the imps who was helping set up the booths? You had no idea what he looked like in his disguise since he had altered it so only you could see through the lie. There was no familiar yellow gaze or rosy cheek spots that you could pick up from the mass.

He was either not here or was hiding from you. Your gaze flicked up the large clock, one more hour. You turned back to the task at hand, heart racing, and mind wandering as your hands lowered to another small canvas.

“Alright, people! We’re opening the doors, let's get this party started!” A voice rose above the chatter, signaling the beginning of the event. You lifted your head, it was starting already? Time really flew by. 

Demons rushed past your display, running to their own assigned section with renewed vigor as loud footsteps echoed from the front of the building. Looking down, you tidied your outfit, the one Lucifer had mentioned earlier.

You had bought it weeks ago, but only revealed it to him right before you left. In your eyes, it wasn’t much different than what you normally do, except that it was much more formal and eye-catching. And, red. Apple red.

You definitely didn't expect Lucifer to react when his pupils turned to slits when you gave him a peak, or how he subtly wet his lips from beside you, his gaze traveling up your figure as he seemed to be picturing you in it.

Patrons began to fill the floor, the large growing louder as demons filed in, their eyes glinting with interest and excitement. Bird heads poked out from the crowd, the Goetia’s tall frames towering above most of the other attendees. They were definitely dressed like nobility, in dazzling robes that brushed against the tile as they moved with grace from booth to booth. 

Their talons clicked rhythmically against the tile as they glided past your figure, their eyes landing on the portraits behind you were curious as some stopped before you.

Apart from the Seven Deadly Sins, they were directly beneath the Morningstar family, and were Lucifer’s most loyal followers. Did they miss their King’s presence in his absence? You figured most of them had yet to run into the fallen angel, even with his face slowly appearing across the realm. 

Smiling widely, you greeted a few of them, stepping aside so they could take a closer look at your pieces. They slid past you, and your eyes landed back onto the crowd, scanning for anyone who resembled Lucifer, to no avail. Where was he?

“I like this one,” one of the Goetia spoke softly to her lover, pointing at an oil canvas depicting your idea of the River of Styx, the famous trail of water from Greek mythology that flowed into the underworld.

A little girl sat at the edge of the dark water as it flowed past, as if she was looking into the depths with longing. Her hand was outstretched, reaching towards the writing forms of grey, ghostly bodies that peeked from below the water’s surface. They held their arms out to her, begging for help, or perhaps for her to join them. 

The girl was looking at a specific being underneath the surface, a mirrored image of her small figure, their face contorted in agony as it met her gaze. Tears pooled from the little girl's eyes as she stared at herself, one hand to her mouth in grief as she reached tenderly towards the sicky grey image that represented her inevitable fate.

The two birds stared at the price tag beneath the canvas, before their eyes met and the shorter male Goetia turned to you with a stack of cash in his hand. You practically bounced on your toes with happiness as you took the money with a bow of your head.

“Thank you! Please return later and someone will help you carry it out!” You waved farewell as they left, their gaze already locked onto some pottery sitting on display a few displays away. 

This continued few another hour, a repetition of demons moving in and out of your booth to fawn over your different pieces. Some would occasionally pull out their wallet to purchase from you,  while they complimented your craftmanship.

Even with everything going on around you, and answering any questions that were thrown your way, your eyes still kept gravitating to the bustling crowd. Your mind still sifting through every figure looking for any resemblance to Lucifer. He would have revealed himself to you by now, wouldn’t he?

He didn’t forget or anything… right?

After waving goodbye to another customer, you turned to see a red-headed demon sneaking past some patrons, before she reached your booth entrance, knocking softly on the thin walls. You turned, raising an eyebrow as she timidly stared up at you.

“Hi! I’m Anna… from the restaurant earlier. Do you remember me?”

You recognized her after a moment, and a smile bloomed on your lips. She was a quiet girl, her figure resembled that of a porcelain doll, her features painted onto the smooth surface that mimicked her skin. 

Anna had sat diagonal from your chair at the restaurant, barely making a peep, but her eyes had followed your conversation with interest. You hadn't tried to speak to her, afraid she’d crack from the attention. She seemed fine around the large crowd now, though.

“Yes, that’s right. Hello, how can I help you?”

“I was just wondering if you had any extra ‘Thank You’ stickers that I could have? I’m going running pretty low.” 

“Selling out quick, huh?”

“Ha-ha, sort of. My ceramics are pretty cheap though, definitely not close in value to something like your work.”

Heat crept onto your cheeks, and you smiled bashfully. Your skills were surely not that advanced to receive all this praise, it wasn't like you were some kind of prodigy back on Earth to deserve such kind words.

“Please, I’m sure your skills are equally matched. And, of course, let me go grab some for you!”

Turning, you reached into a box nestled against the wall a few feet away from you. You pulled out a small plastic bag full of smiley face stickers, before turning to face the young girl once more.

“Here, this should be enough, but if you need more you can always come back–”

Your sentence was interrupted when gasps erupted across the attendees, their eyes beelining to the front of the building. Even other artists and servants were getting a peek at the commotion as a crowd gathered at the main entrance.

Anna leaned outside of your display, her eyes squinted trying to get a look at what was going on. You stood next to her, straining your ears to catch any words from the whispers emanating from the onlookers.

‘Someone’s here.’

‘Could it be…?’

“Oh my Satan… it’s—!’

“Your Majesty!” A voice boomed above the crowd from a tall demon in a blue tuxedo squeezing through the guests, his little management pin sparkling gold as he moved to greet the newest arrival.

You tensed immediately, frozen in place, mouth agape, while Anna only became giddy beside you.

“Did you hear him?! I think the King is here!” She bounced excitedly beside you. 

“The King..?” You whispered in disbelief. 

“Y’know, Lucifer Morningstar? You’ve seen his royal portrait, haven’t you?”

‘Oh, I've seen much more than that,’ you wanted to reply.

Anna quickly scampered off, intent on getting a closer look at the grandiose figure as she moved through the murmuring nobles.

You could see his hat bobbing behind the much taller figures as he moved with grace, the hint of his white overcoat, and the red glint from the apple on top of his cane.

“Yep, it’s me! Your devilishly handsome King, come take a closer look if you don't believe me—woah there, not that close! Personal space still exists, thanks.” 

You watched the top of his white hat move amongst the bodies of gawking demons, as they parted to let him stroll through.

It wasn’t until he came into view, with that all-too-familiar charming smirk that made your knees wobble. With those soft curls that framed his face that shimmered like the sun, making your heart flutter.

His yellow gaze scanned the crowd, but he wasn’t able to take a very long look before the blue-suited demon approached closer, bowing low before he cleared his throat.

“It is truly an honor to be in your presence once again, Your Majesty.”

“Of course it is,” Lucifer replied nonchalantly, straightening his posture.

“We didn’t expect to see you here tonight! It’s been a long time since our gracious ruler has been to our event… but nobody had any problem with that!” The demon quickly interjected, laughing nervously as he pulled on his collar. 

“Yes, well, I've been very busy these past few years. Doing… important things, of course!” Lucifer nodded quickly, chuckling lightly as he spoke loudly, “So, I thought I’d drop by and take a look around!”

“What a wonderful idea!” The event coordinator clasped his hands together, before beckoning the fallen angel to walk along, “If you’ll please follow me, Your Highness, I can take you through everything we have to offer.”

Lucifer followed behind the man, all eyes on the floor tracking his every movement. Most lowered their heads in respect as he passed, the Goetia’s in attendance much more enthusiastic about it.

Quickly, you backpedal into your booth, your head whipping across the walls for any imperfections in your setup as your mind raced.

What was he doing here, as himself?! Why didn’t he tell you before, and what was his plan?

When Lucifer arrived at the first artist down the long line of make-shift walls, you could barely hear their conversations now that they’d stopped yelling so loudly

The artists bowed, their hands rubbing together in a soothing motion as they greeted their King. You heard the three chatterings lightly, as sweat beaded down your forehead in anticipation for him to get to you. Your booth was about five little cubicles down, he’d be at your ‘doorstep’ in no time.

Lucifer listened with only mild interest as each artist walked him through their different pieces. His gaze kept shooting away, looking for you, no doubt since you were busy hyping yourself in the corner. 

Assuming he didn’t walk up to you and go ‘Hi babe!’ he would most likely treat you like everyone else here, and you’d have to do your best to keep suspicion low. That was hard, when his close proximity always sent goosebumps rippling across your skin, or your demeanor to change instantly.

He just had that energy that warmed you to the core, and you always ended up stupid and giggly by the end of the night in his presence. Hopefully, the anxiety of being surrounded by so many people would keep you cool.

It wasn’t until you could hear him in the display right next to you, did you shuffled to the front, hands clasped in front of you with a wide, professional smile. The patrons buzzed around you, most of them still eyeing the King with interest and awe, but some began slowly dispersing as they continued their tour around the building. 

“And here, is one of our newest participants in the event. I believe they specialize in paintings of multiple forms, I’m sure you will enjoy their work, Your Majesty.”

You locked eyes with Lucifer just as he rounded the little corner to your booth, that charming smile only curving upward an inch as his gaze softened at the sight of you. 

He stood beside the event coordinator who turned to you expectantly, his eyebrows raised as he waited for.. something.

You stared at him for a moment, before your posture straightened with a grimace and you leaned forward in a bow. This time, you made sure to keep your hand tucked beside you when doing so.

Shit, this was supposed to be you meeting the King of Hell for the first time! Your relaxed posture probably looked pretty insolent to the coordinator, thankfully, Lucifer paid no mind to any misstep ettique.

“Your Majesty, it’s an honor to be graced in your presence,” you spoke sweetly, smile widening more awkwardly now.

“It sure is, my dear subject,” Lucifer modded in agreement, a smirk playing on his lips as his gaze rose from you to the walls behind your figure.

“Golly, is this your art?” He gasped, placing a hand on his heart as his eyes drank in the pieces hanging around you.

“Yes…” you replied slowly, quirking a brow at his dramatics.

“Boy, let me tell you, these paintings are absolutely exquisite!” Lucifer gave a chef’s kiss, a loud smacking noise as his lips left his fingers.

His eyes flicked to the small crowd that was still congregating around your display, as they listened to his words intently. The fallen angel met your gaze once more, and gave you a sly wink, your eyes widened at his gesture.

‘Don’t you dare..’ You growled through a glare right as you saw that mischievous glint sparkle in his eye, he only stared back at you defiantly, before that devilish smirk curved even higher.

“Are you sure you aren’t Leonardo Da’Vinci; one of the greatest, most famous artists from the Renaissance?” Lucifer continued, twisting his head a tiny bit to subtly address the staring demons behind him. 

The figures around you leaned in slightly, their eyes darting across your work with renewed interest as they listened to their King praise you with such grand words. Even the event coordinator lifted his head to get a better look at a painting, his gaze fixed intently as he practically breathed in the scene on the canvas.

“That is very generous of you, I’m sure you’ve seen much better in all of your years attending something like this.”

“Nope!” He replied confidently, and a few demons that were milling about stopped to get a look at your booth.

“Well, it seems like His Majesty is quite pleased with the display! Shall we see what the others have to offer as well?” The coordinator piped up, clapping his hands softly as he took control of the scene once more.

Lucifer turned with a large, exaggerated toothy grin on his face as he stared at the man with fake interest. He definitely didn't want to leave, but with so many eyes on him, expecting him to play the role he had so meticulously designed all his years in Hell, he could only begrudgingly oblige to follow the man out of your booth.

He turned his head slightly, shooting you an unreadable look as you watched him move on to the next booth.

It wasn't until you turned your attention away from Lucifer, did you caught a figure walking towards you, the man’s eyes trained on you as moved. He was about your height, muscles showing through the tight, green dress shirt that clung to his thick frame. 

He had blonde hair, but not as bright as Lucifer's, more of a dirty blonde with hints of a red undertone. He resembled a man enough, other than a few animalistic features like the sharp fangs, pointed ears, and the black goat horns sticking out of his forehead.

“Oh, hello!” You greeted, smiling at the new demon who strolled up to you, “Interested in purchasing something?”

“Actually, I’m one of the people that’s doing the judgments tonight, the name is Ezekial.” The man smiled confidently, lifting a hand towards you to shake. 

You shook it, your smile faltering on how sweaty this guy's palm was. When you tried to release your hand from his grip, he let his fingers linger against your skin before pulling away.

“Listen, I personally think your art is fantastic. Such care towards your work, honestly, elicits such emotions, like that one-–” 

Ezekiel pointed behind you, to another small painting of two people in a deep kiss, their lust obvious as the man practically ate at the woman’s face. You turned back to him with a quirked brow as he sidled closer, and you could see a small balding spot on his scalp as he lowered his head.

“—it really fills the room with the same kind of emotions, I’m sure even you feel that… passion looking at it right now, don’t you?”

Was he shooting your bedroom eyes right now? What a weirdo. It’s not like you could do anything about it, he was going to decide your fate tonight, and that meant keeping friendliness with the demon.

“You’re too kind,” you responded with a pleasant smile, taking a step backward, “but you’re one of the people judging tonight's event, I’m sure my work is incomparable when it comes to your own.”

“Well, now that you mention it…” Ezekiel puffed his chest slightly, sidling closer to you once more, as he began to fill you in on practically his entire life story. A tight smile crept onto your lips, and you fought not to roll your eyes.

For some reason, he also enlightened you on the multitude of women he had picked up during his career, including the two failed marriages. Did he think that was supposed to entice you to sleep with him or something?

As he droned on, your eyes peaked past his shoulder, and through the demons behind you, you caught sight of a familiar, porcelain figure staring intensely at you.

You almost burst out laughing at the deep frown on his features, as he watched Ezekial only get closer to you as he continued his conversation. His pupils were dilated, honed in on the judge’s back as if he was intent on smiting him right then and there.

The event coordinator was busy blabbing in his ear, other demons around him also trying to get his attention, but his attention was solely on you. 

Lucifer was jealous, no doubt. For some reason, that made you kinda giddy inside. The memory of what happened last time he got jealous played in your mind, the time you were thrust into a musical number before it ended in a hot make-out session.

You’ve been needy all day since speaking to him earlier in the morning, and that memory made you ache even more to feel his claws grazing up your thighs, his lips trailing down your stomach and–

Ezekiel only seemed to perk at your hot-and-bothered expression that seemed to seep through your placid smile, and his tone only deepened as he spoke to you. His arm above you, against the wall as he tried leaning seductively.

You felt the heat that was slowly building cool instantly at his demeanor. Did this guy realize he was standing around some of the most influential figures in high society? He didn’t think he was the top shit just because he was a judge, right?

When your gaze flicked back to Lucifer, his mouth was agape, eyes wide in horror as he watched the demon lean in towards you. Then, his face screwed up into a deadly frown, his hints of red peeking from his iris.

You quickly backpedaled away from Ezekial, turning abruptly right as another patron walked into your display, smiling widely in greeting. Ezekial only frowned at your sudden exit, before he was called away by another figure, irritation on his features.

You averted Lucifer’s gaze for a while, preoccupied with the larger number of demons coming up to speak to you about your paintings, their interest peaked ever since Lucifer’s little display of awe. You also noticed that your little cash pouch was continuing to bulge in size much faster than normal.

It wasn’t until your bladder began to knock on your insides did you realized how long you’d been standing there speaking with people. Your social battery was about to empty, your mouth was dry, and you really had to pee.

Excusing yourself, you crossed the floor, beelining for the short hall nestled in the back of the building. The restrooms were located there, and it was hidden from view and only accessible from two small entryways on either side. As you entered the darkened corridor, you breathed a sigh of relief, the harsh lights and the noisy atmosphere were finally drowned out by the thick wall

As you finished up in the bathroom, you splashed your face with cold water to drain some of the exhaustion from your features. You were definitely going to sleep good tonight.

Right as you exited the restroom and began moving down the hall, a tall, curvy woman brushed past you, you only were able to blink before she suddenly turned to face you with interest. She had a short, blue dress that showed all the cleavage. She sent you a sultry smirk as she looked up and down your figure.

“Hey, I know you, you’re that Leonardo Da’Vinci artist, right?

“Yes, I am,” you smiled respectively, holding in a sigh.

“Well, let me just say, I think you’re work is fucking stunning, babes,” she replied with a velvet tone, the top of her thighs beginning to peak slightly from her dress as she adjusted her posture, “and, the art definitely matches the artist.”

“Thanks,” you replied sheepishly, averting your gaze from her exposed skin. 

“If you ever want to recreate some of your.. erotic pieces, just give me a call, I’ll be around all night,” she purred with a wink.

“Hey, babe! You comin’ or what?” You heard a masculine voice growl from the hall’s entryway, the light illuminating from the building's overhead lights casting a thick shadow from his large figure.

“I’m coming!” The woman huffed, and she turned to you with a giggle, “I’ll see you around, cupcake.”

Your mouth was slightly agape as you watched her saunter off, your brain short-circuiting at everything that had been happening.

Groaning, you rubbed a hand roughly down your face as the rhythmic clicking of the woman’s heels faded away. How much more crazy could tonight get?

“What are you doing over here?”

You jumped at the voice, pivoting sharply to face the figure basked in shadows. It was the yellow eyes that gave Lucifer away, as he stalked forward with an unreadable expression.

Did he listen to everything? You tense for a moment, before furrowing your brows. What did it matter? It wasn’t you making any advances.

“No, what are you doing here?” You pointed an accusatory finger at him, and he frowned at your gesture, “Here I was thinking you’d be in some kind of disguise, hiding amongst the servants or something, but then you just show up and just start running things? What happened to ‘I can’t handle big crowds’?”

“This is totally different,” he shook his head, waving his hand in a brushing motion as he leaned against his cane, “These are my most loyal subjects, who used to see me all the time when I was much more involved. Not to mention, they have class and a decent amount of manners. What I don’t like is being surrounded by depraved animals that spend their nights coked up and catching all sorts of diseases tangling with random strangers.”

He shivered at the thought, sticking his tongue out in disgust at the thought and you only sighed in defeat. Your man had a point.

“Fine, but I told you I didn’t want you to influence anything that happened tonight. That is kind of hard when you’re hyping my work up like I’m Leonardo re-incarnated.”

“Hey, those were all genuine reactions! And, I did pretend to have no connection to you. But, that was a bad idea, apparently, with all the looks you were getting right in front of my fucking face.” Lucifer growled, his fingers clenching the apple on his cane tighter as his cold gaze flicked to the corner where that woman had disappeared.

“I was not getting any looks,” you crossed your arms, huffing in disbelief. He was acting as if the whole building was ogling you, when they were clearly ogling him. 

“You were! Some of those men were practically drooling all over you, not to mention how they kept scooting closer to you. I saw it all!” Lucifer averted his gaze, staring daggers at the wall. 

He wasn’t mad at you, but he definitely wanted to throttle someone. More specifically, every man whose gaze ate up your figure hungrily while you spoke to patrons. 

Thankfully, in the darkened corner of the building,  the two of you were hidden from prying eyes for just a moment, where he could have you all to himself even for a few minutes.

“Please, you’re just exaggerating, what makes me good to look at?” 

“Your outfit!” He replied quickly, his eyes tracing your figure hungrily as he explained with delight, “God, it really brings out your curves, especially with the way it hugs your waist. It makes your eyes pop too, and I just can't stop getting engrossed in them.”

He bit his lip, the sharp point of his teeth sticking out as he seemed to muster all his strength to keep from saying anything more. As if his words would only fuel the fire that was burning inside both of you right now.

“I look that good right now?” 

“If I could have you right here, I would,” he breathed, his eyes hungry with need as he stared at you longingly.

Your skin practically sizzled with heat, and your legs felt gooey as his words filled your stomach with butterflies. This man was just good with his words, always surprising with you how his lowered voice twisted your insides and made you think all kinds of nasty thoughts.

Not to mention, you've been waiting to have him all to yourself the entire day! Was it so bad if it was only a few feet away from a large room full of nobility from across all seven rings?

Your gaze darted to an open door behind him, could that be a private room? That thought made your heart flutter, and the need to press your lips against Lucifer’s even more uncontrollable.

“Okay, then do it,” those commanding words left your lips before your brain could process the words.

“W-what? You mean right now, seriously?” The king sputtered in disbelief, you had always been vocal about privatizing your sex life, but tonight, you were feeling a little… bold.

“Don’t be a pussy.” You spoke with a honeyed tone as you batted your eyelashes, swinging your hips as you brushed past him, your arm grazing his shoulder tenderly.

That tingle of energy made goosebumps erupt against your skin, and you felt Lucifer tense, his breath hitching as you moved by toward the doorway. He cleared his throat just as you crossed the dark threshold into what seemed like a storage closet. Boxes and other items were stacked against the wall, and a desk holding nothing but dust sat on the other side of the small room.

Lucifer exhaled a breath that he didn’t even know he was holding in, as he followed you into the dark, dusty room. Once he stepped inside, he set his cane by the door frame and his overcoat hit the floor, before he pushed the door close behind him, locking it just in case anyone were to enter in the middle of your session. 

You brushed the accumulated dust that was on the desk, not wanting to dirty your outfit so that you’d still have to show-off in afterward. 

Once cleaned, you sit yourself on the surface while keeping your gaze fixated on the fallen angel. You watched every one of his movements, your hand supporting the weight of your body leaning back on the desk. Lucifer could practically feel his heart about to jump out of his skin as he approached your awaiting figure, his lean arms snaking around your waist before placed his lips on yours in a hungry kiss.

You fold your arms around his neck to pull him closer, fingers interlocked with his soft, blonde hair that you adore. You caught a whiff of his usual shampoo, that crisp apple aroma making your head spin and heat bloom in your stomach. 

You deepened the kiss, hungry for more of him despite already being so intimate. His teeth grazed against your lips, a light tug on your soft skin as a plea for you to allow space for his tongue to enter.

Your lips parted with a soft mewl rolling off your tongue, a familiar wet muscle instantly pushed past your lips and into your mouth. Lucifer’s tongue collided with your own, drawing a groan from him as he pressed his hips against yours. 

His erect is so obvious from a mere brush of your hips, that it almost made you giggle against his lips. He groaned from the light friction, hips involuntarily rocking against yours to get more of it. You whined into the kiss, moving your legs to wrap around his waist, pressing him closer exactly where you want him to be. You felt his hand creep under your shirt, his fingers caressing your flushed skin under the fabric. His touch is gentle yet possessive, almost feeling like he’s marking you from his touch alone.

“So pretty,” He mumbled against your jaw after pulling away from your moist lips. His breath hot against your skin, he pressed a trail of kisses from your jaw down to your neck. Lucifer drew his tongue out and attacked the sensitive spot on your neck; that one spot that always makes your body shudder. 

He hummed against your damp skin, his teeth brutally abusing the spot by sinking deep into your skin. You moaned suddenly, fingers tugging on his hair which made his scalp burn. His hand that remained under your shirt traveled down to the waistband of your pants, cold fingers slipping through them in a teasing demeanor.

“You look so pretty in this outfit. Gonna keep ‘em on for me, hm?” His voice vibrated through your body and reached your core, clicking something inside of you. You nod eagerly, whispering a small ‘yes’ in response to his words. 

You heard a muffled praise from Lucifer before feeling him pull your pants down, pushing them until they hang on only one side of your leg. Your forehead rests on his shoulder, gaze fixated on where his hand hurriedly unbuckled his pants. Judging from how he fumbled at the zip, you can tell he has been waiting for this all day impatiently.

A whine spilled from your lips as he pressed the tip of his length at your entrance, circling it at the area to spread his pre-cum just in case he might hurt you. He’s sensitive; just from pushing the tip in, he has already let out a loud groan while leaning his forehead against your shoulder. Your breath hitched at the stretch, body twitching occasionally as he carried on pushing the rest in inch by delicious inch. 

Lucifer’s eyes screwed shut, enjoying every second of your warmth engulfing his erect that is now nicely nestled deep inside of you. Your nails clawed into him through his loose shirt, legs trembling while doing your best to adjust to his size. His tip is already pressed against that weak spot hidden inside of you, the sensation tightened the coil that formed in your stomach.

“G-gonna move, ‘kay? Tell if if you wanna stop.” He stumbled over his own words because of how good you felt, now moving his hips to thrust into you at a slow pace. You feel your walls burn, the pain bringing a sense of pleasure that coursed through your veins. Moans start spilling from your lips, your head growing into a blur as he gradually increases the pace of his thrusts.

He pushed you further onto the desk, allowing easier access to the sweet spot in you with his ferocious thrusts. His sharp teeth bite down on the flesh of your neck, lips attached to your skin as he sucked on the area continuously until dark spots bloomed. He repeated his actions, hickeys bloomed all over your exposed skin like flowers during the blooming season.

The fallen angel shows absolutely no mercy with his thrusts, fully projecting his jealousy into them instead of holding back. He rammed into you over and over again, the sound of your skin slapping echoing throughout the small room. 

“Mine, mineminemine. All mine, yeah? Nobody can fuck you this way except me.” He growled while holding you close, drunk on the feeling of you clenching around him every time he hit the spot.

“Fuck, doing so good just for me. You like it? Being fucked into a moaning mess?” 

All you could do was moan, nothing else. Words can hardly be formed in your mind let alone a proper sentence; your vision begins to turn white as your eyes roll to the back of your head.

His grin grew at the sight of your drool rolling down from the corner of your lips, feeling a sense of pride bubbling in his chest. You’re in this state because of him, everything you’re feeling currently is all thanks to him. He twitched at the thought alone, a string of curses fell from his lips as his grip on you tightened. 

He mumbled something along the lines of ‘im close,’ or ‘gonna cum,’ into your shirt before lifting his head, crashing his lips onto yours once more in a hungry kiss. The kiss is sloppy; his tongue is unable to properly move with yours and the same goes for yours. He drinks up every one of your moans from the kiss, groaning from your sweet taste that he could never get enough of.

It only took a few of his hard thrusts until you clenched tightly around him with a sharp inhale of air, body trembled violently as you came undone. Lucifer quickly caught on with you, the tightness around him pushed him off the edge, hot strings of thick seed filling you up from the insides. 

He reduced his pace significantly, now rolling his hips lazily to ride out both of your orgasms. It took a full minute before he slowly pulled out of you, watching the white liquid oozing out of you in the surrounding darkness. You both lean against each other, chest heaving heavily as the both of you try to catch your breath. 

“Fuck,” you finally breathed, your face burying into his shoulder as the bliss subsided. How could a man make you come so undone in such a short amount of time? 

Lucifer placed a hot, wet kiss against your temple as the two of you slowly straightened. Your bare ass was still on the wooden desk’s surface, its cool touch welcoming to the heat still bubbling inside of you. 

Your thighs still ached as Lucifer adjusted the collar of his shirt, before he took a few steps towards an open box, piles of fabric nestled inside. Reaching in, he cleaned any stray dust from the small clothes surface, before handing it tenderly to you.

With an appreciative smile, you took it just as Lucifer walked over to grab his coat and cane. You cleaned yourself up as he straightened his bow tie, fixing his coat upon his shoulders. Before he turned to face your half-naked body as you began to change to look a bit more presentable.

“Are you sure you’re not an angel? ‘Cause those curves are otherworldly, baby,” Lucifer spoke softly as he strolled up to you. His drunken, half-lidded smile was evident on his face as his gaze traveled up your figure once more.

“Don’t you hear the stories?” You replied, honey dripping from your voice as your fingers reached his soft hair, grazing against his scalp as you pulled the strands back into his usual style, “How Lucifer was the most beautiful angel God ever made? How could I ever be similar to someone like you?”

“While I cannot argue with such a statement,” Lucifer laughed, staring adoringly at you as you fussed over his outfit, “If it were you in those paintings, instead of me, Michaelangelo would have been drooling.”

You smiled bashfully, pulling him closer for another deep kiss as you gripped his long collar. You could feel Lucifer’s smile against your skin as he peppered sloppy kisses down to your jaw, and goosebumps erupted across your skin.

Your hand clasped around his moving lips just as he was about to reach the crook of your neck, your mouth clamped shut to force down the moan in your throat as that heat in your abdomen returned slowly. 

“Please?” He whimpered against your palm.

“Later,” you replied sternly, before peeling yourself off of the fallen angel. Your arm brushed against his as you maneuvered to walk behind him. Your hand connected with his ass, and you felt him straighten before shooting you a playful glare.

“How do I look?” You asked, one hand on the room’s doorknob and the other gesturing to your figure

“Do you even need to ask? Perfect, as always.” Lucifer cooed, strolling up to you just as the door cracked open and you peeked your head.

The hallway was dark and empty, and with another quick scan, you slipped quietly into the corridor, Lucifer on your heels. 

“Well, I guess we should split up to not draw any suspicion. I’m sure everyone is wondering where you went.”

“They can wait,” Lucifer brushed your comment off, “You’re more important than these feet-kissers.”

You playfully hit him in the arm in scolding, and he grinned, his sharp teeth glinting in the faint light as you began to walk towards the large doorway at one end of the long hall.

“I’ll see you later, mon amour!” He called after you, before you heard the sizzle of his magic as he no doubt teleported away back into the crowd. 

You sighed happily, adjusting your outfit once more as you crossed the threshold. The glaring lights cause you to squint your eyes as the volume in the room picks up, voices piling over one another until they become an inaudible mess in your head.

You only took a few steps before the dollish face of Anna appeared, a large smile on her face as she beelined for you. She was waving her arms excitedly in the air, trying to get your attention as she cut through the moving silhouettes.

She was moving so fast you thought she was going to ram into you, and you froze, tensing as she reached your figure. Her delicate hands curled around your forearms, shaking you slightly as she bounced in place. You stared wide-eyed at her eagerness.

“I’ve been looking for you, for like ever!” She finally squeaked, her smile only widening as she met your gaze.

“Why?” 

“Didn’t you hear?! You won!!” 

Your heart stopped, your breath hitching, as her words processed in your mind. You what? 

The loud voices were drowned out, replaced by your jumbled thoughts. Won what? The award for ‘Best in Show’, that little prestigious trophy that had sat patiently at the judge's table all night? That was impossible! There were so many better artists here, surely someone else deserved the spot! 

Yet, the way giddiness began to bubble up inside you, and your lips cracked into a wide, stupid grin at Anna’s words only made you a teensy bit thrilled to have taken the position instead of someone else. Was all your hard work finally paying off, was your creative voice finally going to be heard?

“I won..?” You weren’t sure whether to start crying with joy or run away and hide. 

“Yes!! I’m sure the judges are waiting for you so they can present the award, c'mon we have to go! Everybody is probably eager to congratulate you!” 

You felt Anna tugging at your arm, beckoning you to follow her across the room. Your eyes lifted into the crowd, before resting on that familiar, porcelain face that stared back at you.

His brows were raised, a smirk on his lips as he silently whispered ‘I told you so,’ through his gaze. He shot you two thumbs up, his eyes shining with pride. Not for him, but for you.

You sent him a warm smile, before his figure was obscured as another demon approached him. You turned your attention back to Anna, letting her lead you through the small groups of demons.

Your heart fluttered, that exhaustion that was ticking at the back of your mind fading as renewed vigor pushed your feet to move faster. And soon, you’d finally be alone once more with Lucifer, the most vibrant stroke on the canvas of your life.

As you walked, you passed by an elderly figure ambling across the room. You caught a brief glimpse of his features, enough for the recognization of the famous painter hit you in the face, making you almost halt in your tracks.

Was that Caravaggio?

sorry this was late :(!! i took an extra day or two to chillax and celebrated my bday, but i hope the word count made up for that!

and HUGE thanks to @silasours for writing the smut!! i was not feeling it this time but i really liked the idea and thankfully they swooped in to help! go check out their page if you want to see more hazbin works like that :)!!

also, i just realized i’ve written 100k words in less than 2 months?! like 😵‍💫 wowza that’s a lot! a whole ass book lmao

let me know your thoughts, have a wonderful day! 🦢

tag list 🏷️

@ohnoivefallen @doodlebob2726 @coleisyn @sukxma-archive @undertale-is-sansational @nehy019 @mixplara @chewbrry @yellowsubiesdance @airwolf92 @lxkeee @jellybellyrulez @catnoirsleftnut @mbruben-stein @mint129106 @froggybich @moonlovers34 @just-trash-yeah-thats-it @lil-bexie @lowkeyhottho @wings-of-sapphire @the-tortured-poet @enigmatic-blues @bethleeham @blue122 @cherry-4200 @azullynx @luzzbuzz @for-hearthand-home @helluvapoison @th3-st4r-gur1 @concentratedconcrete @cimadreamer @marsenbie @guacam011y @maxiskindahere @purplerose291 @koumieru @fictional-character-whore @0willowwisp0

[leonw4nter]

HAIII!!! I saw that ur requests r open!! Can u write a death island x gn!reader where the reader squeezes his cheeks n' it's all fluffy n' cute? I feel like behind all that muscle is baby fat that's just MEANT to be squeezed - 🐰

It Only Takes Half A Bottle of Whiskey

DI!Leon x GN!Reader

“Details of the mission coincide with the objectives laid down to consider this mission a success and therefore, I would like to consider this case closed and marked successful. Congratulations to our very own agents Kennedy and L/N.”

The room erupted in claps, lips spreading into relieved smiles. The last mission was not easy, many undertakings taken in order to see the mission to its success and one of the many measures taken was a false marriage between you and Leon, complete with a wedding and wedding bands, as well as expertly fabricated marriage certificates in order to pass as ordinary newly-weds who had normal jobs as IT technicians. The entire ordeal took almost 2 years, which seems plenty to the average person but an incredibly short notice to agents assigned on this demanding commission. Despite the mission being over, you two still had to uphold the married couple facade and keep working on the IT company before drafting letters of resignation in order to not rouse any suspicions with the people who had grown to know and be familiar with you and Leon. One of the procedures involved coming home together holding hands as you passed through the exit, getting in the same car, living under one roof, and retiring in the same bed.

As soon as you two get home, you rush over to collapse on the couch with a loud exhale before taking the glasses off of your face and setting them beside you. You recline your head and run a hand through your hair, eyes shut as you try to block out the noises of the world. Leon removes his dress shoes and walks around the duplex in his black socks, his shoes in one hand and your shoes in the other as he returns them to the shoe cabinet before walking back to the couch and sitting beside you. He takes your glasses and sets them down at the coffee table in front of you and takes his seat, letting out a loud sigh of his own as he gets the remote and turns the TV on to a cooking channel. Shrugging his jacket off, he turns his head to observe you for a moment only to see your eyes staring into the white ceiling of the dim living room.

“You tired?” He asks as he folds his jacket and places it on the arm of the couch, too tired to get up and place them in the bedroom or think of changing into loungewear. You nod, sitting back up as you wipe a hand across your face before reaching to get your glasses and put them back on.

“I need a drink after all that shit,” you groan as you undo one more button of your button-up. Leon hums and turns his attention back to the chef cutting the carrots, which is short-lived as he tilts it again to face you.

“I’ll help you to bed, how’s that sound? It’s better than alcohol.”

“Help me to bed after I have a nice, cold, glass of double-black whiskey.”

With that, you get up from the couch and walk up to the alcohol cabinet to get the glass. As you open the cabinet, you feel a warmth press against your back and see a strong arm reach up for 2 glasses. Leon closes the cabinet door with his free hand and sets two glasses down. His action scared you for a little bit since he walked with virtually no noise and you only felt his presence when his muscled front pressed against you, effectively trapping you in if he planned on hurting you but thank god he didn’t. He takes a jug of apple juice and pours it into his glass instead of the whiskey, which you aren’t too surprised about; he’s been 3 months sober. You just stare at him, admiring the way his arms looked amazing with crisp white sleeves rolled up until his elbows, a hand resting on the marble as he takes the glass and drinks the juice. He raises an eyebrow when he spots you staring in his peripheral, setting the glass down with a small clink against the kitchen counter.

“Like what you see?” He asks with a lazy grin and a wink. You turn your attention back to the glass he set in front of you, staring at it so intensely you would have shattered the glass with the daggers you were shooting with your tired eyes.

“You wish,” you retort as you pour the dark liquid into the glass and toss in a block or two of ice before taking a swig and feeling the liquid burn its way into your system despite the coldness that the ice offered. You hear Leon softly chuckle before having another drink of his fruit juice, his soft gaze watching over you as you take sips and loud sighs after you swallow the amber liquid. You take the tall bottle and your heavy-bottomed whiskey glass and sit down on the wooden floors, placing them down beside you. You take another swig and look at Leon, patting the space beside you.

“Sit,” you say.

“You’re saying that like I’m a dog,” your ‘husband’ responds.

“C’mere, boy! C’mere!” You teasingly say in a higher pitched voice, clapping with both your hands to beckon him to sit beside you.

Leon rolls his eyes but sits beside you, propping one knee up to rest his hand on as he looks at your glass.

“Good boy,” you say with a sly grin.

“Okay you’re a freak,” he says as he jokingly begins to sit up again but not before your free hand shoots up to grasp at his wrist.

“Okay, I’m sorry I won’t do that.”

“Right.”

“Please? Please? C’mon Leon, don’t be boring.”

“Fine.”

You smile and chuckle softly as he sits back down beside you, knuckles occasionally brushing against each other. You two sit in complete silence, the silence interrupted only by the sounds of breathing and sighs. Your gaze fell on the gold band wrapped around the base of your ring fingers, studying the way the light reflected off of the smooth surface. Eventually, your gaze flitted to Leon’s right ring finger to admire his own ring.

“It looks damn good on him,” you thought to yourself. “Damn, marriage is a good look for you, Kennedy.”

He absent-mindedly fidgeted with his ring, tilting and adjusting it; that’s what he always did when he was deep in thought or bored. You noticed it became a habit as soon as you two had to wear these rings everywhere, even on side missions. Although he could remove it when you two were in your own home, he chose to keep it on which you followed suit since it only felt right.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

The whiskey soon started tasting like water and now you were down to unbuttoning the second button of your work shirt. It was a little harder to keep your head up now and your lids were threatening to close. You leaned your head on Leon’s shoulder, not missing how you felt him tense up despite your inebriated condition.

“Leon, ’m sleepy.”

He looked at you, seeing how the whiskey caused your cheeks and ears to burn pink like a Fuji apple. Your lids were droopy and your eyes were glossy, an obvious sign that you were drunk and done for tonight. He chuckles softly as he adjusts you so he could carry you to your shared room.

“I’m fine, Leon.” you confidently slur as he lifted your frame up and out of the kitchen.

“Nope, you’re not. We’re going to bed now.”

“C’monnn… I can handle my… liquor like a champ...”

Leon gave you a stern look before setting you down on your side of the bed before making a quick trip back to the kitchen to fetch you a glass of water and pills to take. Despite the frequent jokes he made to make you feel a lot more comfortable in his presence, you would be lying if you didn’t enjoy this authoritative side of him outside of the field. He comes back and sets them on your bedside table, making it near enough without making the water prone to spilling due to your uncoordinated state.

“Anything else you need?” He almost slipped up and called you ‘honey’.

“Bath.”

“Gotcha.”

Since it would prove to be too difficult to get you cleaned up right now, he settled on finding a basin and a rag to wash you with. After asking your permission, he removed your garments before wiping you down to let yourself feel a little more clean before a proper bath in the morning and dressed you in a clean shirt and sleep shorts before freshening himself up to get in bed with you and calling it a night. After a few minutes, he got on his side of the bed but still kept some distance so you wouldn’t feel like your privacy was being invaded. He shifted, moving as gently as he could so the mattress wouldn’t move along with him and disrupt your sleep. He finally managed to lay on his side, his arms crossed and his eyes shut but he still kept his ears active. He suddenly remembered something and opened his eyes again; he turned around and glanced at you.

“Good night,” he said.

Normally, he’d add a sappy nickname like “sweetheart” or “honey” at the end to make his husband act feel more natural for him but he decided not to this night since he felt weird. Weird in a way that if he said it, he’d jump out of bed and dive out of a window and plummet into a pool of pink and red heart balloons while glitter bombs went off around him. He knew what he felt but he didn’t want to give it a name and properly label it; he wasn’t even sure if you saw him the same way he saw you. When you didn’t give any kind of response, he turned around and sat up to look at you through the dark, the white streetlights being the only source of light beaming in through gray curtains. He inched closer to see you and placed a finger just underneath your nostrils, hoping to feel a soft gust of warm air be expelled. When he felt that, he placed a finger on the pulse point of your neck before concluding that you really are fine, just deeply asleep.

He chuckles to himself, smiling softly as he extends a hand to brush some hair away from your forehead. Before he can stop himself, that small gesture turns into him adjusting the duvet so you wouldn’t sweat under warm bundles of fabric sometime in the night. Now, he’s trapped in your arms when you quickly extend your arms above you and yanked him down to your body. All while your eyes were still shut.

He could easily escape and retreat back to his side of the bed and really call it a night this time but he doesn’t. He decides to stay like that for a bit and he knows why but then again, he doesn’t want to name the reason.

“Y’think you’re so slick, Kennedy,” you groggily mumble. His head is pressed against your chest, his arms extended from his side in an awkward position, and he subconsciously holds a breath in.

“Jus’ tell me if you wanna cuddle,” you slur. “I know y’wanna coz I wanna too.”

You pull him off of you and lay him back down on his side of the bed, frozen in shock and baffled at how things have taken for a turn. He lays still and watches you silently with wide eyes, observing you. You crawl near him and stare at him at the side… well, an excuse of a stare since your lids were drooping and you couldn’t seem to get your eyes to focus nicely on him. You sat up and placed a hand on his stubbly cheek, gently rubbing on the bristly cheek with a soft thumb. He tensed at the delicate feel of your hands on his face, handling it with so much care as if he’s a fragile piece of artwork. A pop of color spreads on his cheeks and the tips of his ears as you look him in the eyes as if you’re trying to count all the specks of gray he didn’t know his eyes had while trying to fish out a well-hidden feeling within his weary soul.

“Ow!” Leon yelps when you suddenly pinch a cheek of his just as his eyes were about to close and savor the wholesomeness of the moment. “What’d you do that for?!”

“Y’ve got… puffy cheeks. I love that in a man.”

“Puffy cheeks?”

You give his cheek a poke before pinching them again, this time much softer than the first since we voiced out his discomfort. You continue poking and pinching the skin bristly with coarse hairs, occasionally squishing them together to make his lips puckered up. He relaxes eventually, letting you knead and feel his face. He probably had more wrinkles on his face than most men his age do and he knows he doesn’t have the best skin ever and he’s thankful that you’re drunk enough to not notice the blemishes on his face. He wants to let his hands rest on your waist and just let you do your thing but he decides against it; you’re drunk and you aren’t in the clearest headspace right now. Although his intentions with wanting to perch his hand on your waist is nothing sexual, he still doesn’t want to proceed with that.

“Gosh, your spouse after me is going to be sooo lucky,” you mumble. “You’re so sweet, kind, sexy as fuck… you’re also intimidating sometimes but you’re like a teddy bear.”

“Teddy bear, huh?”

“A teddy bear with… a teddy bear strapped with guns, bullets, and knives.”

“A teddy bear that can’t get through airport security, basically.”

His response makes you laugh a little louder than it should have, a hand falling to your chest and you throw your head back. Leon didn’t think his joke was that funny until you laughed and chortled, grinning and beaming like it’s the funniest thing you’ve ever heard. Maybe it didn’t matter anymore if no one else laughed at his lame jokes as long as you did. And what did you mean “spouse after me”? Would he be able to find someone else after your “marriage” is dissolved? He fears that he wouldn’t love as truthfully and wholly as he does with you, that his soul would always look for you in the people he’d see. What if he wants his spouse to be you, even after this mission? “Agent L/N” is for everyone to praise but at the end of the day, Y/N will be his to love. You adjust yourself and nearly plop on his side, tucked underneath his arm with one hand still on his face. Slowly, you grow drowsier as sleep pulls you deep in its embrace.

“Just… for yawn tonight,” you softly whisper while safely tucked into his side.

“You can… forget this, if you want.” Another yawn before you totally fall asleep again.

“Gosh, that hangover is going to kill you tomorrow.” Leon whispers as he adjusts the sheets over your sleeping frame again.

He shifts in the bed, making sure the arm you’re laying on is still; he wants to move it around and get circulation back in that arm again but he’d deal with a purple arm in the morning if it meant giving you a nice rest before the alcohol in your system hits you like a train tomorrow. He gazes at the ring on his hand one last time and feels a surge of joy and pride in his heart, hoping that you feel the same when you look at your own ring.

NOTE - Before I update y'all with stuff going on in my life rn, I just wanna thank 🐰 anon for this request, I hope you liked it <3 OKAY. So I was gone for almost a month because so much happened in the time that I wasn't posting much-- I passed an entrance exam to a school I will transfer to after this year is over (I'm still in the process of passing requirements), I decided to start a Chris Redfield mochiposting IG account, I got lost in another town with my classmate while walking to a groupmate's house (a man was following us both but luckily nothing bad happened to us), I got sick twice in a row in a single month (1st time: screamed too much during a sports fest, did not drink water bc there was no water around the place; 2nd time: I was running low on sleep and did not have time for a break bc of the things I was doing), I had two infections in two different systems in my body (the same time as I got sick in the aforementioned stuff :3), and had my first ever sleepover at my BFF's house (slept at 4am cb we were eating and cooking so much while watching Demon Slayer). I also nosebled while watching filmvxq's (on TT) edit (the one w Take My Breath Away as the audio) and got really lightheaded... this isn't the first time btw <33 I also nosebled over a Vergil edit and I don't know how I keep doing this <33 My neck hurts so much and I have a crippling sushi addiction. SPEAKING OF SUSHI (what I'm about to say next has no relation), I got this TikTok about tubifex worms in a dirty sewer just before I took a bath and I was so disgusted, I was fighting for my life trying not to think about the worms while I was drenched in water. Also, my grades release next Friday and I hope those grades are somewhat sexy bro I can't go to another school with the nastiest math grade... I'm very number stupid... NEWAYS, that's all and thank you for reading my fics!!!! I <33333 UUUUUUUUU!!!!!!!!!!!

The dividers are made by @cafekitsune , the images are made by me (sourced from Pinterest).

[queerly-autistic]

I've been thinking about potential pick-up of Our Flag Means Death by another streamer, and how it all might be tying in with the current BBC release, and I have some thoughts about what might be happening and what we can do to give the show the best chance of being picked up.

I think it's important to start by saying that all the whisperings that I heard over the past few months (including from some people who work at/with the BBC) pointed firmly towards a scheduled March release for Our Flag Means Death on the BBC. Needless to say, this means I was extremely surprised when they suddenly announced it was dropping at the beginning of February. I think it's also clear from everything I've seen that the BBC's marketing/social media plan for the release was not ready for February (there was no trailer, which was odd), which, again, really supports the idea that the show was initially schedule for a March release, not a February release.

I firmly believe the release was brought forward. The question is: why? Is it because they saw how much noise and press the show (and our campaign) was getting, and decided to try and capitalise on it? Or is there something else going on?

On top of that, we now have specific questions about Our Flag Means Death appearing on YouGov UK, including asking whether respondents would watch another series. This doesn't just happen. The charity I work for has commissioned YouGov polling (including some very recently) which I have been tangentially involved with, and so I know that this sort of polling is not easy work, and it's not cheap. Someone has put time AND money into commissioning this polling. This is significant. Someone is not only watching, but they are specifically watching the UK response to the show, and putting questions to the UK audience about it.

I have strong suspicions that a streamer (or several streamers) are interested in picking up the show, and are using the UK release as a live case study (Apple, Amazon and Netflix also have a presence in the UK, so we are a big target audience for them in a way we never were for Max). This could account for both the potential bringing forward of the BBC release (they didn't want to wait until March), and the YouGov polling that's going on (bear in mind, the YouGov questions were specifically as part of a wider survey about streaming services).

And this isn't just a passing interest: working with the BBC to bring forward the release, and investing time and money into YouGov polling? That's a strong interest. That's so interested they've already invested something into it.

Of course, I don't know anything for certain, so take everything with a pinch of salt (it's just a theory...a gay pirates theory...), but I think it's something to consider as a strong possibility.

So what does this mean for us?

It means we need to keep streaming on iPlayer. Watch it as many times as you can. Share it with your friends and family. If you're outside the UK, get yourself a VPN and join the party. Watch the live broadcasts on Monday nights (if you have iPlayer, you can stream the live broadcast - this is what I do because I don't have a TV). Keep tweeting about it (add the #OurFlagBBC hashtag to the existing hashtags we're using). Tag and email the UK media (including TV guides and radio shows) and ask them to talk about the show/our campaign. If you're tagging/emailing Apple, Amazon or Netflix, make sure you mention you're from the UK (and tag their UK specific social media accounts).

According to Parrot Analytics, the demand in the UK for the show is rising - let's keep adding to that!

You can also sign up to YouGov and rate the show (more instructions in the quote retweets of the tweet I linked to earlier), and keep answering questions about TV shows and streaming (and marking Our Flag Means Death as one of your interests) as a way to try and get them to give you the specific questions about the show (these start as a question about streaming and streaming services, which then turn into questions about OFMD, so if you get a survey like that, take it!).

It's also worth considering that if there's any validity to this, then there's a possibility that they might be waiting until after the show has finished airing in the UK (the finale is airing on 25th March) to crunch all the numbers together. This means that if we don't hear anything in the next few weeks, do not despair! We need to buckle in for a long fight, and to keep pushing the show and making noise over the next few weeks and months, especially around the BBC release.

This show is worth the fight. Let's get our damned men back!

[blurredcolour]

The Only Truth... | Part One

The Only Truth I Know Is You Masterlist

John "Bucky" Egan x POW Flight Nurse!Female Reader

While your journeys are very different, fate brings both you and Major John Egan to Stalag VIIA in Moosburg, Germany.

Warnings: Language, Angst, Descriptions of Aerial Combat and Plane Crash, Reader Injury (2nd Degree Burns), Death, Blood, Gore, Angst, John Egan Injury, Forced March, Hospital Setting, POW Camp Setting, SS Officers, Mental Health Struggles, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Rating - 18+ ONLY.

Author’s Note: This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 7531

-------------------------

January 8, 1945

A cacophony of thunderous explosions and shrieking metal shredded your restful state where you lay perched on the bottom stretcher in the back of a C-47, desperately trying to recover from the routine 0400 wake-up that came on mission days before your arrival at the advance airfield where some eighteen wounded men would come under your care. As the plane lurched and shuddered again, you bolted upright, cracking your head on the middle stretcher above you with a sharp expletive as the rows of jerry cans that you had helped load to fight off pre-flight jitters rattled against the floor where they were strapped down.

You had never experienced flak before. You had trained for the possibility of it at the School of Air Evacuation in Bowman Field, Kentucky, but the reality of it was something entirely different. Watching pinpricks of daylight appear through the alarmingly thin skin of the aircraft flooded your mouth with the bitter taste of adrenaline, your heart pounding violently as it prepared to fight or flee – but given that you were thousands of feet in the air, neither of those options were really available to you. Scrambling to your feet, you stumbled along the narrow path between the supplies that had been crammed onto the plane to be left at the front, to be traded for wounded patients on landing, and tried to get to the nose of the plane. Tried to get to cockpit where Major Roy and Captain Mercer were, pilot and co-pilot – the senior officers. They would surely know what to do.

Grateful for the decision to add your sheepskin flight jacket and gloves to your uniform of olive drab jacket and slacks with shirt and tie, a garrison cap pinned onto your sensibly styled hair, you still felt a shiver run through you despite the added warmth as you neared the radioman Warren and the brand new, baby-faced navigator Schmidt. With brown eyes wide as saucers and freckles splattered haphazardly across his face, you would not have believed the boy to be a day over fifteen. Given the fact that the plane had wandered into the range of enemy guns, your suspicions were growing all the more likely. Turning to see the back of your surgical technician, Fitzgibbons, blocking the entry into cockpit, you were about to tap his shoulder when a shower of wet, hot viscera splattered across you from the left – the only trace of Warren that remained, as a ragged hole in the fuselage now replaced his radio operator’s position.

You were vaguely aware of someone screaming, not realizing the haunting and horrified noise was emanating from your throat until Fitzgibbons grabbed you by the shoulders and shook you firmly.

“Lieutenant!” He shouted, seemingly exasperated with you. “Are you hurt?!”

Snapping your mouth shut, you smeared your hands across your face and down your body, shaking your head as the acrid smell of fuel flooded your nostrils, returning your senses to you. You quickly looked to Schmidt on your right, worried he might have been in the line of fire, and frowned to see him trying to yank a sizeable piece of metal from his shoulder.

“No, don’t!” You shouted firmly and grabbed the first aid kit from the wall above him, quickly padding the penetrating object with gauze and wrapping it, finding the purpose and procedure of it steadying. “It’ll keep the bleeding slow, ok? Keep it in, Schmitty.” You offered what you hoped was a reassuring smile, but with the remnants of Warren, mixed with the contents of the fuel tanks, splattered across you, who was to say what image you presented in that moment.

“It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault Ma’am, we shouldn’t even be here, got lost in the clouds an…” He began to blubber, and the plane shuddered and lurched again as Mercer tried banking out of the hail of flak, fairly dumping you into his lap.

“Easy now, easy…” You cleared your throat as it began to burn with irritation, lifting your head to see smoke billowing in from the hole in the fuselage.

“That’s it, we’re bailing out!” Roy yelled from the cockpit as he hit the bailout bell and Fitzgibbons quickly collected your parachutes, but you insisted on sending Schmidt down the aisle and out the door behind the wing first, given that he was injured.

“You know what to do Schmitty, try not to land on that shoulder.” You nodded firmly as you strapped your parachute on, fumbling slightly due to shaking hands and your thick gloves, but the repetition during your training paid off with your eventual success.

“Yes, Ma’am.” He nodded before seeming to vanish out the side of the plane.

“Sergeant.” You turned to Fitzgibbons, but he shook his head.

“You may outrank me Ma’am but you’re still a lady.” He muttered stubbornly, gesturing insistently toward the door.

“Get a move on!” Came Mercer’s impatient cry from the now-distant cockpit and you glared at Fitzgibbons.

The smoke that had been curling around you ignited then, a wall of flame licking through the air, fixing to separate Fitzgibbons from the door. A look of pure terror crossed his face – in a plane loaded with fuel, carrying dozens of jerry cans and tanks of oxygen, fire was certain death. Gripping the doorframe tightly with your right hand, you flung your left forward in advance of the encroaching, fierce heat, somewhat protected by the leather you wore, though the searing pain on your wrist assured you the flames had still found a way through. Grasping the surgical technician by the collar, you yanked him toward you just before the oppressive wall of fire sealed off the front half of the plane, checking that he nor his parachute were alight before shoving him out the door. You did not wait long to follow him.

Tears were streaming down your cheeks as the sleeve of your jacket was smoldering, the leather hardening and shrinking, the fleece on the inside trapping agonizing heat against your flesh. But your first priority was gravity. Yanking on the ripcord, you cried out at the sharp jolt from your midsection as the parachute caught the air and flung you upward before you began a gentle descent. Then you were able to begin frantically smacking at your coat, trying in vain to stop further injury. But it was not the leather itself that was burning, rather the fuel that coated the surface of it, and it refused to be put out. You had to get the damn thing off.

At last the disorienting cloud gave way to mercifully flat Italian farmland, the ground rushing up to meet your feet. You punched the harness free from your chest, yanking off your gloves, and wrestling free of your coat before stumbling forward toward the sound of a nearby stream, collapsing onto your chest to submerge the screaming flesh of your arm into the icy water. The relief of it drew a soft sob from your throat. The sliver of skin that had been exposed between your sleeve and glove was already starting to blister, would surely scar. You could not see the rest of your forearm trapped beneath your uniform sleeve, but it might have faired somewhat better.

You could have happily lay there for all of eternity, numbing the agonized nerve endings in your arm, but the sharp press of a rifle muzzle between your shoulder blades brought an abrupt end to your moment of bliss.

“Up.” A sharp command was issued in an angry, accented voice and you carefully, if awkwardly, raised up onto your knees with your hands in the air, turning to face the man.

The German soldier’s eyes widened, and his jaw hung slightly open for a moment, his shock more than evident as you revealed yourself to be a woman, before a hardened mask fell over his features once more. He gestured sharply with his rifle for you to rise to your feet and you were quick to obey. He stepped forward, reaching out as if to search you and then stopped, once again looking to your face.

You had read a pamphlet once, on what to do if you were captured. At the time, the situation had seemed utterly preposterous and unlikely, but standing face to face with a German solider in the middle of occupied Italy, you were suddenly grateful you remember something of what to do. You gave him your name followed by,

“Second lieutenant. N-741432.”

“Leutnant?” He muttered, nose crinkling, but his gaze moved to the gold butter bar on first your right shoulder and then your left, the second lieutenant’s insignia. His eyes narrowed further to see the silver wings on your left breast with the prominent N denoting your status as a Flight Nurse. “Schwester…”

The first bit of German was easy to extrapolate, sounded very much like the English version of your rank, but the second sounded like ‘sister’ more than anything else and you were not entirely certain what he was trying to communicate. He seemed finished with the conversation when he motioned to the left with his rifle.

“Go.”

And so you went, keeping your arms raised despite the arching protest of the left, past the still-smoldering remains of your flight jacket and your gloves, past your parachute tumbling across the field on the icy breeze, towards a group of two more German soldiers who seemed equally shocked as your face came into view. You supposed the slacks and loose fit of your jacket made it difficult from a distance to determine that you were a woman, but each of them was quick to smother their reactions as soon as they were revealed. One of the new fellows, so blond he barely had eyebrows, motioned for you to drop your hands and you were barely able to conceal your pain in doing so.

A flurry of Germany left his lips, making your eyebrows furrow in confusion before he gestured at the wet sleeve of your jacket. “Hurt?”

Nodding emphatically, you swallowed, pulling the fabric up slightly to reveal some of the blistered skin. The three men turned to one another, and a rather heated debate ensued, or at least that was the impression you gleaned from their tones of voice and body language, before the loudest among them seemed to prevail.

“You, come, medic.” He grasped your uninjured elbow and led you through the field on a slightly different vector toward a semi-ruined barn where several German soldiers were receiving treatment.

A soldier bearing a white armband with the Geneva cross came over when your guide beckoned and after their brief exchange, gestured for you to take a seat on an old barrel. Taking a pair of scissors, the medic carefully cut through your jacket and shirt, revealing angry, blistered skin all the way up to your elbow. Very gently, your arm was bandaged before he offered you a couple of pills that you did not recognize, and you refused them with a soft shake of the head. He shrugged and tucked them back into his pocket.

“Go, schwester.”

You frowned and pointed at yourself. “Schwester?”

The medic nodded and pointed to your golden nurse’s Caduceus insignias pinned to the lower lapels of your jacket and your eyes widened in recognition. “Oh, nurse.” You muttered quietly and stood. “Thank you.” Nodding to the medic, you followed the soldier out of the farmhouse as you rolled up the ruined ends of your sleeves to keep them from flapping obnoxiously.

What followed was a seemingly endless amount of walking, your entire body beginning to shake with cold and shock, as the soldier sought out his commanding officer. Everything felt surreal, the sound of battle so close at hand, German soldiers all around you, casting repetitive glances your way – it felt as though you had stumbled into the wrong side of a John Wayne film. When, at last, you plodded into the correct house on the outskirts of a small village, you were unspeakably grateful for the fire roaring in the hearth behind the desk of the imposing German officer who glared down his nose at you.

“Too bad you’re a woman…” He muttered in startlingly good English, making it your turn to look on in shock as your legs threatened to give out. “I suppose you also only know name, rank, serial number?”

Clenching your jaw, you nodded stubbornly, trying not to let your face betray the way your heart lurched hopefully at the word ‘also’ and he exhaled a long-suffering sigh. “You can put the contents of your pockets in here.” He held out a small burlap sack and you frowned, but obediently surrendered your favorite tube of lipstick, the four spare hairpins you always carried around, and your change purse – things all stored in your uniform jacket as you found the pockets of the flight jacket too unreliable for storage anyway. Satisfied you were carrying nothing more, he nodded to the man behind you and issued an order in German.

It was difficult to convince your legs into motion again as you were led down to a grimy root cellar with a dirt floor and only one window letting in little light. You had never seen a more welcome sight in your entire life as Schmidt and Mercer lifted their faces to meet you, their equally grimy and worn-out but elated expressions quickly blurring behind tears of relief that mortifyingly flooded your eyes. Dabbing them away, you quickly moved to Schmidt’s side and frowned to see he still had the remnants of your hasty bandage job and the piece of shrapnel in place, seemingly not afforded the same medical care you had been.

“Shit, Schmitty, they didn’t do a thing for you did they.” Kneeling beside him you began to unravel the bandages and gauze. “This needs to come out, then. Captain, would you mind holding him still, sir?”

“I’ve got him.” He nodded and grabbed the boy’s hands as you took a steadying breath.

Wrapping your fingers around the protruding end of the warped, jagged piece of metal, you began to carefully pull it from his shoulder, angling it forward as an uneven, wider piece was revealed on the end. Schmidt did an admirable job of relegating his protests to whimpers and murmurs of ‘oh god,’ only letting out one great yelp as you pulled the last of it free. You would have preferred to flush the wound with something, but there was no water available. Encouragingly, though, there was no great gush of blood.

“You did so good, Schmitty.” You smiled broadly and frowned a moment at the filthy bandages you had removed from him before beginning to unravel the relatively clean ones from your own arm.

“M…Ma’am!” He protested, voice cracking as he saw the state of your skin.

“You’re at much higher risk of infection than me, Sergeant, I won’t take any argument.”

“I don’t suppose I have any say in this?” Captain Mercer arched one of his rather elegant, black eyebrows and you swallowed.

“I’m sorry sir, but not when it comes to medical treatment. Besides, they went out of their way to bandage me once, maybe they’ll do it again.” You muttered and tied off the dressing on Schmidt. “Let me know if it gets hot or more painful, ok?”

He nodded quickly, settling back against the wall and you followed suit, feeling quite fatigued, sore, and to your surprise, hungry. Resting your throbbing arm atop your knee, you leaned your head back against the bricks of the foundation, closing your eyes to listen to the scuff of jackboots across the floorboards above you. Your mind wanted to whirl like a top, to turn questions over and over like ‘Where are we?’ ‘What will they do with us?’ ‘How long will they keep us down here?’ ‘Where are Fitz and Roy?’ but it would just be a waste of energy. Your fate was no longer in your hands and what would happen next would come no matter how hard you dwelt upon it.

The sound of the door at the top of the stairs scraping across the worn floor had all three of your heads snapping up as three sets of feet tromped down into the cellar. It was difficult to hold back your smile as Fitzgibbons peered out from between two German soldiers, the first gesturing for him to join you all on the floor while the other set down a tin plate of thick slices of dark bread covered with thin smears of margarine and four mugs of bitter smelling, black coffee. The first soldier crouched down and pointed at your arm, speaking in German.

“I needed bandages.” You pointed at Schmidt, and he frowned, either not understanding, or unimpressed. Perhaps both.

He straightened with a huff before digging around in his woolen jacket to produce a thick, rectangular bundle, tossing it at you. The two of them then retreated upstairs, shutting the door firmly behind them. Fitzgibbons was on you almost immediately, grasping the folded bandage to unravel it curiously.

“This does not look good, Lieutenant.” He looked at your arm pointedly and you huffed.

“Schmitty was worse off, Fitz, needs must.” You muttered but held out your arm without further protest as he quickly familiarized himself with the foreign bandage and carefully wrapped as much of your burn as he could.

“Thank you for what you did, Ma’am.” He murmured, voice barely audible, and you shook your head quickly.

“You’d have done the same.”

He lifted his eyes to meet yours, gaze filled with a vulnerable uncertainty, and you squeezed his shoulder with your free hand.

“Let’s eat something you two.” Mercer chimed in once he had finished bandaging you and the four of you descended on the plate of food, which tasted a lot better than it appeared. The coffee was just as bitter as it smelled, but was hot and that was entirely welcome.

After the plate was emptied, Fitzgibbons looked to Mercer slowly. “Roy?”

The Captain shook his head and you swallowed your gulp of coffee painfully – of the six of you that had left the airstrip outside Rome that morning only four had made it. Two of you were injured, and your journey had most certainly only just begun now that you were captives of the German army.

As the slim shaft of light that penetrated the cellar began to fade, your companions were fetched one by one for individual questioning by the German officer who had greeted you upon your arrival. When it at last came to your turn, the sun was well set, and though you tried to pay more attention to the detail of the rustic country house, it was hard to pick out much in the low light of the sporadically placed candles.

There was a chair waiting for you opposite the desk this time and you sank into it gratefully, every muscle in your body tight with pain as it felt distinctly like someone was rubbing sandpaper over your superheated flesh with every movement you made.

“I’m terribly sorry about your radioman and pilot, must have been horribly shocking to see such things. What a terrible day you’ve endured Lieutenant.”

Shifting quietly in your chair, you shook your head as he offered a cigarette from a pack of Lucky Strikes – surely confiscated from one of your crew members as they were not so readily available in occupied Italy.

“Is there anything I can get you to ease your discomfort? Blankets? A coat? More bandages?”

Pressing your lips together in a thin line you dropped your gaze to your lap, focusing on filling your lungs to a count of three before slowly exhaling, then repeating the process. Each offer of comfort, each word of kindness was horridly tempting and yet the source also filled you with revulsion.

“It’s a far cry from Lido De Roma where you’re going, no beaches or sea air…” Your head jerked up in shock and a slow, devious smile curled onto the German officer’s thin lips as his mention of the 802nd Medical Air Evacuation Squadron’s posting finally garnered a reaction from you. “I hope you like the Alps, Lieutenant. You will see them on your way by.”

Tears of shame pricked the corners of your eyes, and you blinked them away furiously, looking to the side. Slamming his leather-clad palms flat onto the desk, you jumped and eyed him warily as he stood slowly. “If you have nothing of value to add, then?”

Inhaling slowly you repeated your name, rank, and serial number one last time – much to his ire – before he barked out an order to have you removed from the warmth of his office and returned to the cellar. This process was repeated several times at random intervals throughout the night, the four of you taking turns resting and watching for the unfriendly arrival of an errand boy soldier to haul you upstairs for another ‘chat’ with their English-speaking officer. Sometimes he was friendly, other times he was intimidating. Once he simply sat opposite you in the near-dark and glowered.

Eventually, time or patience ran out and just as the grey light of dawn began to permeate the misty winter morning, the four of you were marched as a group up the stairs and loaded into the back of a canvas-covered truck partially filled with crates. Wedging yourselves into what open spaces you could find, you had barely sat down before the vehicle lurched into motion and began its long and jolting ride to your next destination. The sun was much higher in the sky by the time you arrived at a small train station, emerging into midday, the mists long burned away. Herded across the tracks towards a cattle car, you were startled to see a group of other American soldiers – infantrymen, being loaded in.

“Up.” Came the command from the German soldier at your back and you reached up gratefully for the broad hand of corporal already in the car who helped hoist you inside.

“How the heck did you wind up here?! Ma’am…” He quickly tacked on, and you could not help but laugh a little at the bewildered expression on his face, shuffling further into the car as the last of your comrades were loaded in.

“Well the long and the short of it is, we ran into a bit of trouble during our flight…”

Captain Mercer scoffed as he came to stand behind you. “You could say that again, Lieutenant.”

The space was suddenly plunged into darkness as the door was slid shut and barred closed. You nearly toppled over as the train jostled forward, thanking Fitzgibbons as he steadied you. You embarked on a seemingly endless journey in darkness as the train ascended and descended, stopped and started, climbed and came down across unknown landscape. It was nigh impossible to see through the thin gaps between the slats of the car itself, but you knew from your ‘conversations’ with the officer that you were crossing the Alps. Could feel the air grow cold as you huddled closer to the men around you for what warmth you could glean as your breath hung from your lips in foggy exhales.

Your bladder ached until you could no longer deny needing to use the squalid bucket in the corner. Mercer, Fitzgibbons, and Schmidt formed a human wall with their backs to you, loudly clearing their throats as you took quite possibly the longest piss in the history of womankind. With that basic need met, the ravening hunger set in. Those slices of bread were long digested by the time the train came to a stop and disgorged the lot of you, blinking into the daylight like mole-people, squinting for signage.

“Moosburg.” Mercer muttered under his breath, and you hugged your arms tightly around yourself as you stumbled through the snow to form two lines as instructed by new soldiers whose uniforms sported the double lightning symbol of the SS.

You would had never thought it possible to envy a dead man, but standing there shivering in the snow as cruel-faced men in well-cut uniforms marched up and down the lines with their snarling dogs, you wondered if perhaps it would not have been better if that piece of flak had taken you out at the same time it had struck Warren. You were not entirely certain if you were strong enough for what was to come.

 ------------

April 11, 1945

Every step was an agony. It was remarkable, really, how many injuries two goons had managed to inflict on Bucky’s body in the brief moments between Buck’s escape and Lieutenant Colonel Clark’s intervention. At least two of his ribs were cracked by the butt of that rifle, severely hampering his ability to breathe properly. Then there had been the sharp kick to the back of his calf, wrenching his knee. The coupe-de-grace had been the left hook to his jaw, shredding the inside of his lower lip across his teeth and flooding his mouth with blood. If Clark had not called them off with the threat of riot, Bucky was not entirely sure he would have made it out of that village.

As it was, he had barely made it off the floor of the church the next night, requiring a great deal of prodding from DeMarco. Teeth gritted against the raw ache in every limb, every joint, he had risen to his feet through sheer force of will, knowing the alternative was a bullet to the brain. Somehow even though Buck was well on his way back to the American lines – by god he truly hoped so – Bucky could not face the thought of disappointing him by dying like that and so he had persisted. Had kept putting one foot in front of the other as they had trudged through the mud, crossing the Danube, putting another twenty kilometres between them and Nuremberg.

It had not made it any easier to keep up, however. Bucky had felt himself slowing, felt his body refusing to keep pace with the rest of the men. Every time he had lifted his eyes from the boots of those in front of him plodding through the endless muck, he had been surrounded by different faces. As he had neared the back of the group, lightheaded from pain and lack of oxygen, he had taken a second glance as he realized the faces around him were those of Brady, Cruikshank, DeMarco, Murphy, and Hamilton – all men from the Hundredth. All had been keeping pace with him.

“We’re almost at 20, Bucky.” Brady had murmured quietly under his breath, glancing back at the pair of goons bringing up the rear.

“Keep it up.” Cruikshank had nodded encouragingly.

By some miracle he had made it into the half-collapsed warehouse, crawling into a corner that was still partially covered by its patchy roof and had promptly fallen asleep. There had been a gentle prodding against his shoulder sometime later, daylight filtering in through the dust motes drifting thickly in the air and an offering of bread had been waved in front of his face. He had pushed it away clumsily before falling back asleep. Bucky’s next return to consciousness had been with his arms slung across the shoulders of DeMarco and Brady, a great amount of protest falling from their lips about the size of him.

It had been dark again. Darkness meant more walking and so he had awkwardly planted his feet. Relieved sighs had filled his ears from both his companions as the three of them worked together to propel him out of there and down the muddy road. Night had yielded to the hazy light of dawn and at last a sea of barbed wire fences, clapboard buildings and canvas tents came into view. Bucky had quite honestly never been so pleased to see a Stalag in his entire existence.

“Almost there.” Groaned Hamilton, who had since switched off with DeMarco, though the stalwart Brady had yet to budge from beneath his right arm.

As they stepped through the gates into the main courtyard, Bucky lifted his head to eye Clark blearily. “Guess they’re not gonna process us.” His words were slightly slurred as he tried to present his usual level of joviality, but the man’s brows only furrowed deeply in response.

“Get him to the hospital immediately.”

There was a chorus of ‘yes sirs’ and some hesitation before Hamilton and Brady got their bearings, but then they were on the move again. Bucky’s legs were barely responding by this point, toes mostly dragging through the incessant muddy landscape that seemed a consistent feature of every Stalag he’d had the misfortune of visiting thus far. As his vision began to go fuzzy, black dots eating away at it while it simultaneously began to dim at the edges, Bucky began to worry this might be his last camp.

“Put him right there please.”

Bucky tried to swing his head towards the most musical sound he had heard in over a year, but Hamilton and Brady were turning him to lay on his stomach, rambling about the broken ribs on his back and all he could see were worn wooden floorboards. Until suddenly your gorgeous face flooded his vision as you knelt beside his cot, your shockingly feminine fingers cradling his face to gently turn it and ensure he was not smothered in the pillow.

The style of your hair, the lashes framing your eyes, the cupid’s bow of your upper lip – the unmistakable womanliness of you; it made his heart ache.

“Must be in heaven…” He slurred as there was certainly no way he could be alive anymore. Women did not exist in this reality of underfed men and murderous goons.

“They got you good, Major, but you’re still very much with us.” You smiled warmly up at him, and he groaned out a laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“You’re killing me, angel face.” He wheezed, lips clumsy and barely responsive, before promptly blacking out.

------------

Your heart plummeted as you watched his eyelids fall, shuttering those stunning, if exhausted, blue eyes, terrified you had lost another one before you even had the chance to try and save him. Fingers delving beneath the collar of his shirt, you were greatly relieved to find his strong pulse. Holding your cheek in front of his notably plush lips, the bottom one all the more pronounced by his recent injury, you were even more encouraged to feel the caress of his steady breathing. Sitting back on your heels, you nodded up to his mismatched pair of friends reassuringly.

“Did he just call her ‘angelfish?’” The blond one with angular features and a mouthful of gold muttered as they watched over their friend protectively but also seeming shocked, as everyone before them had been, to find an American woman in a POW camp.

“Maybe he was going for ‘angel face?’” The brunette with sturdy eyebrows replied in a hushed voice.

“Are you gentlemen in need of anything?” You asked, fighting hard against the amused smile that wanted to break through. They were truly a distraction when you had a patient in need of attention before you.

“No, Ma’am.”

“Thank you, Ma’am” They shuffled off to leave you to your work.

Taking a moment to assess the length and breadth of your patient, you carefully worked off his leather flight jacket before untucking his uniform shirt and undershirt to reveal the deep purple bruises on his back. His friends had been very right to be worried about broken ribs – at least three by the span of the contusion. Kneeling back down you looked over his face once more, gently lifting his head to inspect both cheeks and confirm the bones were all intact. There did not appear to be anything in need of bandaging. It was most likely that undernourishment, the march, and the broken ribs all compounded to extreme exhaustion.

“What do we have here, Nurse?”

You looked up as Major Chalmers, a British surgeon, and head of the hospital emerged from one of the exam rooms. He had been a resident POW of Stalag VIIA for nearly eight months when you arrived in January, happily surrendering one of his exam rooms to become your separate quarters in return for your work in the camp hospital. It was an arrangement that benefited both of you, kept you safe and out of the male population and occupied the long and lonely hours that seemed to pass at their own pace in this place.

Chalmers had done what he could to care for your burned arm, re-bandaging it daily. However, by the time he had been able to start giving it proper care, the damage had already been done. The skin was now permanently mottled by scars, unnaturally smooth, with a texture akin to crumpled cellophane. You were always very mindful to keep your mended sleeve down to your wrist. It was not all that difficult to cover your shame when the rest of your wardrobe consisted of standard men’s POW wear from the Red Cross – the sweaters draping over half your hands and the winter coat blissfully warm but nearly swallowing you whole.

It was only due to Chalmers’ temerity that anyone walked away from the camp hospital at all. With supplies chronically low, men were dying of the most preventable and treatable things. All you could do most of the time was put on a brave face and hold their hand, give them a little comfort at the end. Even Schimdt, despite your best efforts, had found his shoulder wound quickly beset with infection in the less than sanitary environment. Penicillin was non-existent here and he had faded fast, lost in a feverish delirium as you held tight to his hand, watching the light fade from his burning eyes. Your brave façade was second nature to you by this point, showing itself more often than your real, bedraggled self who only showed her face in the cold isolation of your locked exam-room-turned-solo-combine at night.

“Newly arrived American Major, force marched over eight days, beaten two nights ago. At least three broken ribs, damage to lower lip, abrasions to the face and contusions to the back but nothing else I can see. Pulse is strong, breathing is steady, but lost consciousness almost as soon as we laid him down, sir.”

“Hmmm.” Chalmers made a noise of displeasure at the last and conducted his own exam, digging out one of the makeshift charts to add some notes before glancing at his watch. “Do we know when he last ate?”

“No, sir.” You shook your head.

“Alright, I want you to sit with him and keep an eye on his vitals. Hopefully, he’s simply sleeping this off, but I want you to get some water and broth in him as soon as he wakes up alright?”

“Yes, sir.”

Collecting the requisite liquids, you settled onto the sliver of floor space between the Major’s cot and his neighbor’s, working at folding some boiled and dried bandages, now ready for re-use. The actual hospital itself was unspeakably crowded, men nearly stacked atop one another around a small cast iron stove. Originally built for 10,000, the camp’s population had been well over that when you had arrived in January and seemed to multiply every week now. Things had become so dire, a tent hospital had been erected adjacent to the building you lived and worked in to allow for the treatment of more men. It was crowded and ripe, and even surrounded by all these humans you still felt alone as the sole representative of your sex.

As you pulled each strand of once-white fabric from the basket, carefully rolling and tucking the ends to form neat bundles, you studied the unconscious man’s face. Errant dark curls were dangling across his tall forehead and the most absurd and yet endearing dusting of hair graced his upper lip. Clearly, he was going for a Clark Gable, but it was not quite there. Even with one ear poking a mile out to the side, however, you swallowed tightly as you realized you would not change a thing about him. Taken individually his attributes seemed odd, yet combined to make an incredibly handsome whole. Not to mention his feet were dangling off the end of his cot, his shoulders barely contained by the sides of it. If he woke up, no when he woke up, he was going to be a devastating sight to behold.

Reaching the midway point of your task, you slid forward onto your knees to check his vitals, pleased they were holding steady and noting so on the chart, before settling back onto the floor. You had nearly reached the bottom of the basket when a pair of boots entered the hospital. Not German, you had long since become familiar with the way jackboots reverberated across wooden floorboards. Most likely American or British. Peering around the end of the bed your eyes widened as you caught a glimpse of a silver oak leaf – a Lieutenant Colonel! That was the highest rank you had yet to encounter in camp.

Struggling to disentangle yourself from your laundry and not kick over your patient’s waiting fluids in the process of trying to rise to your feet and accord the man the proper greeting that his rank entitled him, you looked up startled as he addressed you first.

“At ease, Nurse.”

He was the first man to seem utterly unfazed by your presence and you somehow found that unspeakably reassuring.

“Thank you, Colonel.”

“How is Major Egan?” He peered down at the still very much asleep man.

“Major Chalmers, our Surgeon, is certain it is no more than a case of exhaustion and he will recover with rest and fluids upon waking. He’s just down the hallway behind you there if you’d like to speak to him yourself, sir.”

He nodded thoughtfully as he glanced over his shoulder before looking back to you. “The Red Cross knows you’re here?”

“I filled out the card when I arrived in January, sir.” You nodded.

“Where have they put you?”

“Converted one of the exam rooms, sir. I eat, sleep, bathe separately.”

“Good.” He nodded in return, seeming quite satisfied with your answer. “Name’s Clark, please find me if you need anything.”

“Thank you very much, Colonel.” You smiled warmly, feeling strangely fragile as the warmth of it actually emanated from deep inside you rather than a mask plastered on for the comfort of the recipient.

Dismissing himself from your presence with one sharp nod, he turned to follow your directions down the hall, most likely in search of Chalmers. Turning back to eye your patient, Major Egan, you sighed a little as he remained blissfully unconscious, lips parted against the thin pillow to allow heavy exhales to fall rhythmically. There was little change to his condition as the sun made its way across the sky before hovering at the horizon, preparing to set. Your dinner was delivered to the bedside and there was a rather heated exchange between Chalmers, Clark, and a few of the guards before they conceded you could remain unlocked for the night to keep an eye on your fragile patient. This Lieutenant Colonel was obviously not someone to be trifled with.

You waved off Chalmers when he asked if you were up to the task, taking advantage of his presence to make a quick bathroom run and fetch a blanket before returning to your post. It was your first night spent amongst others in months, their soft snores and nightly noises combining with the sound of rain pattering onto the ramshackle roof to do their very best to pull you under into sleep. The downward slide of your eyelids was halted abruptly by the first vocalization from Major Egan since his contested term of endearment – angel face? Angelfish? Whatever it had been, silence had since reigned over his mouth until he began to mutter and emit soft sounds of protest, his features tense and furrowed. Shifting up onto your knees, you lay one hand over his clenched fist, trying to smooth the crease in his brow with the thumb of your other.

“It’s alright Major Egan, you’re safe.” You soothed in a hushed whisper, hoping to dispel whatever unseen terror was plaguing his thus far peaceful sleep.

He shifted slightly in response, lips smacking a little as his hand moved with alarming speed to engulf yours in a tight grip and hold it close to the side of his chest. Barely smothering your gasp of surprise, you held your breath a moment until he stilled completely, features relaxing and breath evening out as he slipped deeper into sleep once more. Exhaling slowly you gnawed on your lip a moment before shifting to sit on the floor with your back against the cot, hand still very much held captive by his. Allowing yourself to drift a little more, quite certain any movement on his part would now alert you to his wakening, you barely noticed the hourly checks the goons were making on you – clearly uneasy about having you roam free amongst the hospital patients, but for whatever reason Clark’s demands had been honored and it was a refreshing change around here.

It was just before dawn of the following day when Major Egan began to shuffle and groan behind you, your hand slipping free from his. You straightened stiffly, turn to watch him roll onto his uninjured side and take stock of his surroundings.

“Good morning, Major, have a good rest?” You asked quietly, hoping not to wake the others sleeping around him.

His head immediately snapped down towards you and he eyed you in bewilderment once again. “I thought you were a hallucination.” He rumbled, voice roughened by disuse.

You smirked slightly and nodded. “I got that impression. Thirsty?”

He bobbed his head in a small nod, and you slid to your feet, grasping his elbows to help him sit up. Grabbing the mug from the ground, you offered it to him, only allowing him to take a small sip before pulling it back. He blinked at you sluggishly for a moment before you offered him the mug again. After three limited sips, which he clearly found frustrating, you allowed him to keep hold of the mug as you wrapped your fingers around his thick wrist to track his pulse.

“How long was I out?” He asked once you were finished noting your findings on his chart.

“Almost a day. Seems as though you really needed the rest. Ready to try a little broth?” You smiled as he nodded once more and picked up the other mug from the ground. “I saved you some, I’ll get it warmed up.”

He slowly lay back down as you took the mug of broth over to the stove in the centre of the room and set it on top, swirling the liquid until it was steaming and then decanting it into his now empty water mug so it would not burn his hands. As you returned to his bedside, he leveraged himself up with barely concealed, painful effort and you frowned as you set the mug in his hands.

“I’m here to help with that, Major.”

“Please,” he took a sip of the steaming liquid, “call me Bucky.”

You smiled and introduced yourself properly as well before your lips tugged into a mischievous grin. “But do feel free to keep calling me angelfish, I certainly haven’t gotten that one before.”

He choked a little on his next sip, giving you a rueful albeit lazy smirk. “Kick a man when he’s down why don’t ya, angelfish.”

You were unsuccessful in smothering your answering giggle, several of the men around you muttering and tossing restlessly as you had accidentally woken them. Bucky pressed a long finger to his lips teasingly before turning back to his broth, slowly finishing it before setting the empty mug on the floor beside the low cot.

“I uh, am sure the facilities are lacking but…” He raised an eyebrow meaningfully and you swallowed, gesturing for him to follow you, and assessing his movements with your medically trained eye.

It was of course a test, of his balance, pain level, and energy to see how he moved across the floor and into the rustic patients’ washroom. You, of course, left him to his own devices in there, but walked him back to the bed, noting how he grew stiffer with each step.

“I’m sorry we don’t have anything for the pain.” You whispered when he lay down once more on his stomach, small grunts of discomfort escaping him.

He shook his head. “S’fine, angelfish.” He mumbled softly, sleep tugging at him again already as you tucked him in with the worn blanket.

“Rest then, Bucky.” You soothed, relieved that he was quite cognizant, able to keep his food down, and resting well.

This one might make it.

-------------------------

Read Part Two

The Only Truth I Know Is You Masterlist

Tag list: @gretagerwigsmuse, @luminouslywriting, @softspeirs, @sunny747

[muns0nslov3r]

I’m Trying But He’s Hot.

König has been your bodyguard for a week now, and hes gotten on your nerves already. Hes told your father about every little thing, like when you snuck out, or when you snuck your boyfriend in.

You were just sick of it, you sulked on the couch as you quietly groaned.. könig giving you an unimpressed look as he sighed before looking away.

"Verzogenes Gör.." he grumbled under his breath as you shot him a glare, going back to sulking as you fixed your hair.. it was one thing to be stuck with dude for a couple hours but a whole damn day? God it was like your dad was trying to torture you.

You stared at the tv, just thinking of a way to get out of here.. as you sighed. “i’m gonna go to the restroom” you said as you got up, he just gave you a grunt of approval as you walked away.

instead, you went to your room.. got changed as you snuck out the window, and called up your friends as you walked down to the gas station near by. screw könig, he wasn’t so smart as you thought he was.. or yet you thought.

see after a while, königs suspicion grew as he knew what you were doing. sense your dad had an apple tag on you so he could see where you were, yeah.. so guess who showed up to your friends house. meanwhile, you and your boyfriend were fucking up in one of the guest rooms.

as könig forced his way into the house before going upstairs, his boots making his footsteps loud. he stormed into the room as he looked at you, you let out a gasp as you covered yourself. “what the fuck is wrong with you?!”

you shouted at him, as he just scoffed before going over to you and grabbing your arm harshly, getting you out of the bed as you got on your clothes quickly before he brought you downstairs. “i’m sorry everyone but you’ll be without her presence for the rest of the day.”

he grumbled to your friends before bringing you to the car, getting you in as you scoffed. crossing your arms as he got into the other side. “your acting like a spoiled brat, your not a little kid.” könig said harshly as he glared at her before starting to drive back home, the silence being heavy.

once you guys got back, you rushed inside as könig grumbled. “ Verdammter kleiner Scheißer.. get back here now.” he said harshly as he went inside before slamming the door, looking at you.

“you fucking embarrassed me you pervert!” you shouted, clenching your fist. “i’m just following your fathers orders.” könig sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “if you wanna keep acting like a brat, fucking go ahead.” he glared at you as he walked towards you. “just fucking know who’s in control here.”

he harshly said as he looked down on you, your heart doing flips at how he sounded.. how he fucking looked? god he looked like a wet fucking dream. “fuck off.” you scoffed, looking into his eyes as his pupils blown wide, he chuckled fakely for a second as he looked away before harshly grabbing your chin to force you to look at him.

“ Du weißt nicht, wozu ich fähig bin, Liebling.” his words rushing straight to your core as you felt your face heat up, feeling the warmth of his hand through his glove against your skin made you shiver with arousal. “you wouldn’t do shit, your a pussy.”

you spat out as you smirked, watching as his eyes scanned across your face before grabbing you by the wrists hard.. bringing you towards your room as you softly moaned at the harshness, he grabbed both of your wrists and pushed you down onto the bed.

planting his hands by your head as he stared down at you, forcing his knee between your thighs. “wanna try that again..Liebling?” he looked at your face, before softly saying something in your ear. “are you okay with this.?” you felt your heart melt with admiration for how gentle he was no matter what, as you nodded.

“words.. i need words.” he said, as you wrapped your arms around his neck. “yes.. i’m okay with this..” you smiled, slightly lifting up his mask as you pressed a kiss to his jaw.. hearing his breath hitch and his thigh go more up against your pussy as you softly moaned.

feeling a shockwave run through your body as you shivered, keeping his mask up and deeply kissing him. he groaned as he kissed you back, his hand going down to softly cup your breast.

running his thumb against your hardening nipple as you softly whimpered, him swallowing down each moan and whimper from your mouth. “fuck liebling..” he moaned, his hardening dick pressing against your thigh.. he grinded his dick against your thigh as he kissed you deeply, you reached your hand down to cup his crotch.

giving it a soft squeeze, fuck.. his dick felt fucking big. he removed your shirt as he softly groaned, pressing kisses along your neck.. then your breasts.

pressing a kiss to your nipple as it hardened under his touch, you softly moaned as you bit your lip grinding your cunt down against his thigh. "i need you könig.." you moaned as you tugged at his hair, he softly groaned as he kissed down to your clothed cunt, pulling your pants and panties down together as he moaned at the sight of your wet cunt.

you shuddered at the coldness of the air hitting your cunt, clenching around nothing from the look in königs eyes.. you felt a warm wetness go against your cunt as you arched your back at the sudden pleasure.

königs eyes searched your face as he swirled his tongue around on your clit, watching you squirm and moan in pleasure as your hands went to his shoulders when he started to suck onto your clit. "oh fuckk!" you cried out as you clamped your thighs against königs head, hearing him let out a muffled groan against your clit which made you gasp.

sure your boyfriend ate you out, but not as good as könig.. it was heavenly. "So eine hübsche Muschi, Liebling.." he mumbled against your clit as he brought his fingers to your entrance, prodding the tip of his middle finger against your cunt as a blush rose onto your cheeks.

feeling his digit sink into your wet cunt as you moaned, his finger moving slowly as he curled it. doing a come here motion with his finger against your g-spot as you felt like you were melting under his touch, his finger fucking into you and his tongue swirling against your clit made you dizzy as you whimpered.

already close, your legs got little bit shaky as you bit your bottom lip. "fuck- im gonna- can i cum..?" you whined, as könig gave you a nod of approval.

so you let go, cumming hard around his finger as you moaned, gripping his hair harshly as you buried his face more into your cunt. your cunt clenching and unclenching around his digit as he slowly pulled his finger out, you whining at the overstim.

he looked at you as his pupils were blown wide, heavy breathing, his aching dick straining against his pants. "Schatz..i need to fuck you." he took off his shirt, then his pants and boxers, exposing his hard dick.. his sticky tip already leaking.

getting on top of you as he slowly stroked his dick, lifting his fingers to your mouth. "spit." he said as you shuddered, gathering all the spit in your mouth before spitting down onto his fingers. "Braves Mädchen."

he mumbled, before bringing his fingers down to swipe the spit on your cunt before the rest onto his dick as he slowly stroked his dick while lining his tip up to your entrance, and thrusting his dick into your cunt. a groan leaving his lips and a moan leaving yours, your nails digging into his back as you looked down at where you two were connected.

his dick stretching out your cunt as you whimpered tilting your head back, he gave a little thrust as he grunted. holding your thighs as he put your legs on his shoulders, beginning to thrust more as the sounds of skin on skin filled the room.. as well with your moans.

the wet sounds of his dick sliding in and out of your pussy was intoxicating as you gripped the sheets so hard, you were afraid you were gonna tore them.

struggling to keep eye contact with him as he moved his hand to your lower stomach, your eyes fluttering as you groaned quietly. “oh könig.. i- i love your dick.. so fucking- ngh.. much..”

you whined as you looked up into those baby blues, as he huffed out a shaky breath. tilting his head back, as his dick fucked your cunt more. your cunt clenching around him, milking him for all he’s worth as you whimpered. “Liebling..” he groaned, his muscles flexing a bit as you ran your hands down his back.

he leaned down so your knees were sorta up to your chest, putting his hands onto both sides of you as he began to thrust more harder, whimpers being pulled out of your mouth as you dug your nails into his back.

hearing his quiet and shaky moans, feeling his tip bump against your g-spot with each and every thrust. “fuck- i’m gonna.. i’m gonna cum!”

you cried as you arched your back a bit, feeling his thumb go down and rub your clit. you cried out and squirmed a bit as you came hard around his dick, from you gripping the fuck out of his dick.. caused him to cum with you.

feeling his dick twitch inside you as he let out a long groan, burying his face into your neck as he carefully rested on top of you but being careful not to harm you.

pressing soft kisses to your collarbone as you softly sighed, running your fingers through his hair and softly scratching his scalp.. hearing him shiver as you chuckled quietly.

“are you okay?” he softly said, sitting up as he fixed your hair out of your face. “i’m okay.. don’t worry.” you smiled as you sighed, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

he pulled out of you as he quietly groaned at the sensitivity, before taking off to go grab a wash cloth.. soon coming back as he cleaned you off, then cleaned himself off. his eyes scanning over your face, and your body.. but in a innocent way this time.

he got on his boxers and got you into your shirt and a pair of shorts, and just cuddled up against you. you didn’t mind this.. hell you could cuddle with him forever, having him lay his head on your chest.

maybe, just maybe.. he wasn’t so bad after all.

[dutiful-wildcraft]

I've been watching a lot of I'm on Observation Duty/Spectator playthroughs and I'm feigning for spooky season. Have a little thing~

Just some fluff and humor, not edited 🎃

Price × Plus size OC

Price watches as Ruby prepares for one of her favorite nights. Autumn had  slowly replaced the muggy summer heat, shifting the leaves golden and leaving the nights pleasantly crisp.  

His sweet girl had been practically buzzing all week, excitedly explaining the history of Game Night.  But not just any game night, no, horror game night. 

Not played by her or course, but Darren, who excelled far more than she did.  It was a past time they'd both had since they were kids and Ruby far preferred to watch the playthroughs rather than struggle with the buttons. 

Price can easily imagine it, his sergeant perched in front of an old box television, his baby sister dutifully sat beside him, helping him solve puzzles, cheering him on with the monsters. It was adorable to see her still so excited about it.

She’d laid beside John in bed the days prior, asking about the rest of the 141’s favorite snacks. Should she do beer or soda? Does anyone have allergies? Tapping notes out in her phone like it was her job. 

She’d spent the day baking and making goodies. Putting up her little spooky knick knacks and pestering Price into sniffing themed candles. (He’d settled for cinnamon apple, after having a rather befuddled and then hardy laugh over the mashed potato scented candle she’d snuck in his hands).

As the sun set they piled into the living room. A makeshift nest built onto the floor where Gaz and Darren were sat shoulder to shoulder, square in front of the tv. Simon and Johnny piled onto the side couch, the bulk of them barely fitting as the pair practically inhaled the caramel covered popcorn Ruby had made. 

John was never one for video games, but having his soft girl beside him and his team laughing? He would spend every night like this.

The game isn't terribly graphic, really more of spooky spot the difference. Something all of them could join in on. Settings of graveyards, rundown hospitals and haunted homes. They're tasked to go through rooms and report any anomalous activity.  

Price had anticipated something fairly cheesy, maybe even a little boring. But the game had proven more challenging than any of them truly anticipated. The small group huffing and puffing as they failed again and again to report enough anomolies on time. 

I told ye tha’  cup was on the left and the remote on the right!!

I know that pillow wasn’t that color, you think it’d be that subtle?

Quit clickin’ through the rooms so fast!!

The fock they mean we missed an intruder? 🤨

Check all the corners sergeant.

It'd actually become pretty amusing. What had started out as articulate explanations as they bounced from room to room slowly devolved into caveman-esque shouting.

MUG BIG!

LAMP MOVE!

DOOR OPEN?

HEAD IN THE SINK!!!!!

John’s favorite however, was his brave thing slowly but surely scooting closer and closer to him the creepier things became. She'd been determined at first, pillow in her lap, leaning forward, just her knee brushing against his thigh.

The jumpscares had her flinching bodily, slowly sinking back into the couch cushions and hugging the pillow as a soft shield. Squinting at the screen with sour suspicion.

The next scare had her latching onto him. Pillow abandoned in favor of his arm, soft cheek pressed against his bicep. 

She's not scared of course, just protecting him from the digital danger. (Obviously).

The rest of the boys took pleasure in making up stories for the various intruders. Truly disturbing ghosts and monsters made silly.

Ah he prolly just forgot his wallet

Yeah, looked like you were havin a hard time shitting yourself mate, thought he'd help out.

Maybe he's just shy?

That's just how Simon hangs out.

…It's true.

A particularly harsh scare had her squealing, pointing frantically at the screen as the speedy intruder barreled toward them on the screen, breathing into the camera with sharp jaws. 

Darren naturally took this time to admire it, much to his siblings dismay.

“Report is Darri, report it Darri, report it Darri.”

“Now this is a specimen, you don't get monsters like this every day”

“DARREN”

“Ru, what animal ya reckon this was based off of?”

“It's about to be based off my foot in your ass.” she hisses, face tucked into Price's shoulder, refusing to look any longer. 

Price can't help but chuckle at her, pressing a kiss to her hair before shaking her off and curling his arm around her, tucking her snuggly against his side with an appreciative pat. 

The rest of the night goes similarly. The team becoming quite good at navigating the anomalies, and instead attempting to scare each other at any opportunity.

Ruby makes the mistake of slipping off into the bathroom down the conveniently long dark hallway.

Only a moment passes as the bathroom door swings open, followed by a loud scottish growl, a frantic gasp, and the dull thud of Ruby's fist connecting with the drywall instead of Soap's skull as he scampers out of the hallway laughing his ass off. 

“John Mactavish I will hunt you for sport.” his angel snarls, barreling around the corner after Soap, sore fist clutched in her opposite hand. The rest of the boys giggle furiously. 

Price is already out of his chair. A. to hide his own laughter, and B. to fetch the small med kit in case she hurt herself.

“All of you twats” she hisses the word with a faux english accent “better sleep with one eye open.” 

She continues her glaring as Price fusses with her hand. A little red, but she'll make it. He presses a bristly kiss to her knuckles, instantly drawing her attention back to him. He preens at how easy it is. Just his touch enough to have her smiling at him.

“Ready for bed?”

Even if she wasn't, she'd go with him regardless.

Price leaves the rest or his men to tidy up as he leads her off to bed. Waits patiently as she does her own little security ritual, double checking the lock and avoiding the mirror on her vanity. She even subtly checks the window, fussing with the curtains to appear nonchalant. 

Finally she crawls in beside him, curling against him snuggly and tossing a warm thick thigh over his hips. Clinging to him like a big soft octopus. 

He peppers her face in more kisses, easing away the mean pinch between her brows and easing it into something more serene. 

As her eyes flutter closed and her breathing evens out he murmurs against her hair.

“I've got an idea on how we can scare the piss out of Soap.”

[fleckcmscott]

Pillow Talk

Summary: While Y/N spends some time away, she and Arthur find a way to play.

Words: 3,992

Warnings: Smut, Swearing

A/N: This story stems from a request made by @jokerownsmysoul​. I really hope I got it right. 😂 Please enjoy, everyone! And thank you for reading! 💜

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

Y/N's happiness at attending the Atlantic Legal Society's conference had rubbed off on Arthur. Made her upcoming absence worth it.

Often he'd tag along, see the sights while she worked. Check out clubs, sign up for open mics where no one would ever see him again. Low-risk refinement. But this week's jobs were too good to pass up, and Amusement Mile's opening day meant lots of families and plenty of tips.

He could hold down the apartment. Hell, maybe he'd even enjoy it. Pour condensed milk over frozen strawberries, smoke as much as he wanted, catch a movie on Gothamvision. (When their rabbit ears had required aluminum foil to get a TV signal, he'd convinced her cable was a dire need.)

He wrapped an apple in a paper towel, tore a banana from the bunch, and stuck both in her purse. A breakfast that'd tide her over for the three-hour ride to Baltimore. Stirring milk into her coffee, he side-eyed the oven clock. When the java was halfway cold, he made his way to the bathroom.

Toes flexed in annoyance, Y/N grumbled around her toothbrush. "I can't believe I overslept."

"You'll get there," he said, and took the hairbrush from the shelf. "Here, let me." He drew horsehair bristles through her untamed mane.

"Thanks." The foam in her mouth made it sound more like fankhs. She spat into the sink, rinsed and spat again. "I don't want to buy another ticket."

A soft scowl crossed his brow. "You shouldn't've had to buy the first."

"Well, you know my boss. He didn't think it was necessary, which is silly with the WARN act being passed. That kind of ridiculousness makes me want Phil to come out of retirement." She hung her robe on the door hook and jogged to the bedroom, calling over her shoulder. "At least they're paying me!"

Minutes later Y/N emerged, frazzled around the edges but smart. She straightened a ruffle at her collar, tugged the corner of her blazer. She wore her age and era with pride. She guzzled her coffee like an engine on empty, poured herself another and skipped the dairy. "I'll regret this on the train."

They dashed to the elevator, vinyl suitcase in his grasp, her hand hooked at his elbow. As the steel doors parted, he made a show of holding them open with his foot. A beam to rival the rising sun crossed her face. 

"Thank you, sir," she said, and curtsied. The gesture made him want to lift her, spin around. They were running late - and she'd still taken a spare second to be playful.

God, how he loved her.

At this early hour, only a handful of Gothamites rode the subway. A guy sat in a corner seat. Sixty, gray stubble, wearing a flat leather cap. His outstretched arm held a wrinkled centerfold. Ms. December, judging by the Santa Hat, the sole fabric in the photo. A familiar friend that must've been in his pocket for a while.  

Y/N grasped the stanchion at the other end of the car. Arthur moved to stand behind her, a protective arm at her waist.

At every stop she inched towards him. Her round bottom nudged his thighs, her back grazed his chest. She smelled good, like the strawberries he'd eat tonight. He pressed his nose to the crown of her head, filled his veins with her scent.

A scarlet stripe bloomed from collarbone to temple, her ear a crimson shell. The corner of her mouth threatened to curl. Pink tongue darting to wet satin lips.

He squeezed her hip. "What is it?"

"It's nothing," she said. An obvious untruth given how her neck tightened.

Suspicion slanted his stare. But he let it lie. For now.

Wayne Central Station was a Beaux-Arts beauty smack dab in the middle of modernization and commercialization. And it had far too many flights of stairs. After the ups and downs of finding the right track, they landed on thirty-seven, the platform for the commuter line.

"You know," Y/N said, steps slowing to an amble. "I bet there are clown conferences. You could learn to juggle."

His days of working with other clowns were long behind him. But the suggestion was sweet, so he smiled. "My hands are already busy. You're a handful."

She stopped at a concrete column and riffled through her purse. "I'll call you when I check-in and give you the room number. There'll be a direct line." Then her riffling escalated to a frantic search. Patting her coat, the inner breast pocket. Checking her bag one more time. Taking advantage of her distraction, Arthur reached into his jacket. Anticipation tickled his shoulders into a shrug.

"Oh no," she said. "I could've sworn I put my ticket with my credit card."

He reached as if to tuck her hair back. Pulled a green card from behind her ear. "Is this it?" A relieved huff as she snatched her prize. She swatted his chest, wound her arms about his neck.

The squeal of metal on metal bounced off tile walls, announcing the oncoming train. A gust of wind whirled her silvery brown locks. Despite the mundanity of it all, the thousands of people about to step onto public transportation, the moment felt like a movie. A bona fide blockbuster. The ordinary suddenly extraordinary.

Fingers brushing his, she took her bag, speaking between kisses. "I love you. We'll talk soon."

~~~~~

The McKeldin Exhibition Center seemed a blunt, bulky building for the Atlantic Legal Society's twenty-fifth conference, a number Y/N would've considered celebratory. Four stories of concrete, cold steel, muscular exterior. A once modern design that now represented an idea of the future that, if the first five months of 1990 were to go by, wasn't bound to happen.

The registration attendants were friendly and professional. But Y/N wasn't a member of the guild, so she was directed to a line at the other end of a vast, airy hall. The additional hundred dollars she'd paid to attend included extra exercise. A gilded stripe ran along the top of her name tag, like she was a flake of gold to pan for, from which extract a membership fee.

Goodie bags contained the usual swag. A pen with the organization's logo, two legal pads, a folder to hold her notes. At the bottom were a blue stress ball and a gavel pinback button, which she'd pin on Sylvia back at the office. The young intern had received so little recognition in her short life that it'd thrill her.

White tablecloths and serving trays covered the tables in the reception area. Y/N maneuvered to a buffet to the right, snapped a napkin, two cheese and pepperoni skewers, and a paper cup of goldfish crackers. Munching away, she took the temperature of the room.

Lawyers and attorneys general, magistrates and judges swarmed, chatting and laughing, giving handshakes and back slaps. Legal secretaries and paralegals circled up to chat amongst themselves. Judging by overheard introductions, their origins stretched from the Eastern Seaboard all the way to Chicago.

Y/N recognized a former Gotham District Attorney, a lawyer from one of Shaw & Associates' satellite offices. The passing years had salt and peppered his hair, too. The city's newest criminal court judge was on the premises, one Henry Jake. An upset after an affair with one of his legal aides, his promotion from magistrate had been splashed on all the front pages.

He appeared eager to continue the scandal, proceeding to flirt in the way of men who like to wield their authority. A palm on the forearm here, an unwanted compliment there. It made Y/N want to chuck a stress ball at his head.

She stirred powdered creamer and irritation into a styrofoam cup of coffee, noted the restroom sign on the left wall. A woman in a floral shower curtain of a dress approached with tiny steps. Said she'd never been to a big city before, took a sip of Lipton and pushed her plastic glasses up the bridge of her nose.

"I'm Flossie Barteux, but all my friends call me Flo." The red stripe on her nametag denoted her as a fresh recruit.

"Nice to meet you, Flossie." Though maintaining distance, Y/N spoke with warmth. "I moved from the Ozarks to Gotham ten years ago. The lobby has some brochures. I think there's an aquarium on the waterfront, a couple museums, too. You should take advantage while you're in town." Then she gave a friendly nod and excused herself to the Industry Auditorium to sign up for presentations.

Whistleblower protections sounded interesting, considering past capers; she made a note to review Gotham's statutes for the next. Tips for wage and hour investigations filled an entire notebook. The presenter droned on in one agonizingly long sentence. It was impossible to keep up, even in shorthand. Y/N's fingers grew so fatigued she dropped her pen. It took several tries to regain the ability to make a fist.

When the conference broke for the evening, Flossie hopped in the same revolving door as Y/N and suggested dinner at a chain steakhouse across the street. A good number of attendees already stood in line.

To be honest, she could've used a break from the whole thing. But she didn't want to hurt the woman who sorely needed a work friend. She put their names on the waitlist and browsed chalkboard specials. Listened to Flossie's story of how going through probate for custody of her granddaughter had led her to the legal profession.

By the time Y/N stumbled back to her hotel, she could've dozed upright. At the bar, she ordered a variation on a Sidecar, a little number called Between the Sheets. She didn't ask for permission to take it to her room. She dropped a dollar bill in the tip jar and turned towards the lobby.

It was well equipped, a fax machine and pay phone in one corner, a stand with free chocolate chip cookies to the right. In the center of the far wall stood a bookshelf, flanked by overstuffed aqua chairs. A sign was propped on the coffee table: "Please read and return!" A set worthy of Donahue's photo studio.

She stepped onto the woven rug to browse the plethora of outdated bestsellers. Self-helps with mountains on the covers, charlatans offering poor financial advice. Children's books were piled haphazardly on the bottom shelf. And right in the middle was an entire row of romance novels, the ones in which every heroine's bosom heaved and bodice ripped. Ragged covers told the tale of how popular they were, spines split from overuse. As a pre-teen, Mabel had caught her reading a few. ("Why's your face red, Y/N? Are you sick?") Amused, Y/N took the one with the deepest seams.

Forbidden Seas was a terrible if fitting title, given the coverhunk's puffy shirt. He was alarmingly muscular, as though a bee had stung him, and he desperately needed an ice bag. Long, blonde tresses brushed the careening cleavage of the woman bent over his knee. Arthur's wiry frame held a hidden strength, cleaved her tightly whenever they danced, but that position would've ended with her on the floor.

Cackling, she returned the paperback to its place, betting the hunk would be at full mast by chapter four.

When she reached her room, she stretched her arms over her head, pushed herself to her tiptoes, released a short squeal. The conference center's folding chairs had next to no padding. Soreness nagged at her tailbone, a deep-seated throb ached her rear. She could really use a bath. She checked her watch. Arthur would be calling in about fifteen minutes. Luckily, the restroom had a phone.

Pantyhose rolled down her legs, a nail caught on the reinforced toe. The star-patterned vinyl floor was cold on her feet. A claw clip kept her hair off her shoulders, spare tendrils falling to her cheeks. Steam coated the mirror as the room filled with a pleasant heat. She dabbed away her mascara and eyeliner before it could streak. She sipped her cocktail, stepped into the bath. Gave her breasts a casual squeeze and sighed out the stress of the day.

The ringer rang right on the dot.

Voice as light as a game of I Spy, she said, "This isn't reception telling me to pipe down, is it?"

On the other end, Arthur's smile sucked his teeth. "No, it's just me."

"I'm glad it's just you."

The day had gone well, he told her. One of his gigs had cancelled, but that was all right. It let him get some work done around the apartment. He'd replaced the window shade that no longer rolled up, mopped the kitchen, sorted the drawers of his desk. He'd just tuned into a movie on TMC, a screwball comedy she'd deem too silly and dislike.

When he asked how the conference was going, she told him about Flossie, how she hoped the woman's eagerness to excel wouldn't result in her being suckered into membership upgrades. That the WARN act - while a step forward - put some guardrails on the mass layoffs that'd become the norm in the last decade but didn't prevent them. And the overeager judge she was happy to never have to face in court.

"You should teach a class on how to be a gentleman." She slunk deeper into the heat. "I'm learning a lot, but I'll be happy to be home."

"You're not missing much."

"I'm missing you."

"But you saw me this morning!" His protestations didn't fool her; he was pleased as punch.  A hitched giggle, one of his many laughs she loved. "Me, too. I mean, I can't wait to see you. But don't worry. I'm fine. Talk to me more. Tell me about the hotel."

"We'll have to stay here someday. There's a bar with a player piano, and I'm having a cocktail in the bath."

"You- You're on the phone in the tub?" The sound of him puttering. A drink set on the coffee table, a middle-aged groan as he sat on the sofa. "There is one thing I can't get out of my head." Nervous tongue smacked his lips. "What were you thinking about on the subway?"

Mercury threatened to crack the thermometer. But still. She was reticent to go there. "I already told you. It was nothing."

"Come on. You were as red as my clown nose."

She pressed the cool glass to her sweaty forehead. The flight of fancy had been completely inappropriate, not to mention out of character. She knew exactly what telling him would lead to, the direction in which this conversation would race. Tacky and cheap, belonging to a $3.99 a minute hotline.

And yet. She was grateful to have a husband she could blush around, whom she could fantasize about, whom she wanted to fantasize about. Besides. It'd been a stretch since they'd last made love. Tacky and cheap might be just what the Doctor of Laughter ordered.

She let the cognac trickle down her throat. Knuckles dragged up and down her breastbone. Her forearm brushed her pebbled nipple. A drop from the faucet plopped.

"Do you want to continue this?" she asked, an eager if uncertain invitation.

"Yeah," he purred. That rasp, the one positive of his cigarette addiction. "But I'm- I'm not sure what's next."

Neither was she, not quite. The next steps felt at once natural and as if they belonged to an unread novel on a hotel bookshelf. But it was him, so it would turn out all right. They'd figured it out every time before. "Tell me what you're wearing," she said. "Or what you're thinking about. Whatever you want."

"I'm in my pajamas. Um. I found my old journal when I was cleaning. I hadn't read it for years - it has everything from when I met you. Anyway, I read what I wrote our first night together? I'd wanted to touch you so badly and-" He gave a throaty laugh. "And all I knew what to do was squeeze your breast too hard."

The recollection struck a match in all the right places. She'd wanted him, too, more than was smart after such a short acquaintanceship. There'd been something that'd set him apart immediately. Whenever he'd looked at her, her heart had skipped to a new but familiar beat. His good looks, his kindness. Passion and flair hiding beneath a surface shyness, a mask you could see through if you took an extra minute.

"You knew how to look at me. How to listen. How to be gentle." She caressed her hip absentmindedly, a movement that soon became deliberate. "And when not to be."

Her knee shifted to rest on the lip of the tub, opening herself to the warm water. "I wouldn't want you to be gentle now," she whispered, and tugged at the curls between her thighs.

"I wouldn't be." Ragged breaths tempted over three hundred miles. A muted moan that meant he was palming his shaft. Her own palm felt empty. How she hungered for him to be in her grasp. Then he asked, "What- What did you pack for bed?"

"The blue nightie you gave me. The one that ties at the neck." It was six years old but a perennial favorite for both. The approval that'd radiated from him when she'd modeled it flashed in her memory. Strokes blazed at the crease of her thigh. "I'll wear it tonight - unless you want me to sleep naked."

A husky chuckle before he pressed her. Again. "Tell me what you were thinking about on the train. I wanna know."

Fingertips dipped to where she ached for him. Lower to tease plush, squishy flesh, plump with desire. Her eyelids fluttered shut, returning to the occasions she'd pleasured herself in front of him, both when he was inside of her and out. Even on the occasions he wasn't able to get hard, he loved it, asked her to do it again. Holding her. Stealing her breath from her mouth. Covering her hand with his. His thumb taking over until she cried his name.

Fever rippling through her arteries, she tapped her slick nub, body throbbing with need. She cleared her throat. She thought she'd lost her ability to be bashful with Arthur. But dirty talk didn't come as naturally now that she was alone, not the way it did when it was foreplay. When she'd beg him to fuck her, plead for more, more, more.

Yet, she wasn't alone. Though he was afar, she was abuzz with his presence. Spreading joy and happiness to others, always entertaining his audience, he was the performer in the relationship. Tonight the performer became the audience, and she was putting on a show for one.

A show she'd drag out a bit longer. Make it worth his while. "I'm touching my clit, Arthur. Slow and soft, like your tongue. God, I wish it was your tongue. You feel so good."

He groaned. Her grip on the telephone tightened, knuckles gone white. "When we were on the train," she began. "I imagined you shushing me. Your breath was hot on my ear. I wanted you to put your hand on my skin, down my skirt." Her strokes halted while she laughed. "I don't know why. I wasn't even horny."

"You're horny now."

"All hot and bothered."

A grunt came through the copper wire, luring her along. Her foot pressed the tub's curved rim. Splashes of imagery knotted her belly. The play of light on his slender abdomen when he'd put on a shirt. How his biceps flexed when he'd wash his hair. The tightening of his brow the second he lost himself to euphoria. The musky weight of him on her tongue.

She rubbed herself a little harder. A steady, firm pace. "When I come I feel your cock at my back-"

"Keep talking."

"-and I have to bite my lip to keep from moaning, because I know you'll fuck me as soon as we walk through the door."

"Oh, fuck..."

Water licked at her labia with each flick of her wrist, awakening every nerve ending, cresting wave upon wave of sensation. She shoved the receiver under her jaw, lifted her shoulder to lock it in place. Cradled her breast, nipples just at the waterline Lapping, lapping, lapping. She circled the right with her middle finger, wishing her hand was as large as Arthur's, so that she could play with the left. Shivering, her knees drew together and upward, pelvis striving towards her wanton touch.

Splish, splash. Splish, splash.

A growl rumbled out of him. "I- I'm gonna come."

"Yes."

She was there. She was there. About to fly over the edge, her feet about to leap. Gasps caught in her throat. Half his name lost in a whimper. The peak of delight finally reached...

The phone tumbled off her shoulder and plunged into the water. Landed on the fiberglass. An unenthusiastic thud.

"Shit, shit-"

Locked in spasm, she watched air bubbles rise from the sunken plastic. It was hard to move mid-orgasm. Her legs weren't yet in the Jello stage. Hanging onto the towel bar, she stood on very shaky ankles.

She plucked the receiver from the water, shook it out over the tub. Yanked the drain and placed the handset on the rim. Fingers a blur, she dialed their home number on the bedside phone. How quickly had Arthur realized she wasn't on the line?

Had he heard any of the denouement?

Nine rings and Arthur answered, out of breath but with a laugh. "What happened?"

She covered her face. "I dropped the phone. It's ruined." It would be the one time she would pay a fee for damages.

"Oh. Well, I was just cleaning up."

The cord twined through her fingers. "Did you?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Me, too."

"I know. I heard half of it."

Giggling, she excused herself to dry off. Pulled the clip from her hair, retrieved her nightie from her bag. She crawled between cool sheets, fluffed her pillow, pressed Arthur to her ear.

"What'll you do tomorrow," he asked, scratching his cheek.

A Department of Labor inspector would give a presentation on the Severe Violators program, a list of closely monitored companies that violated labor laws like it was a talent and never lifted a finger to change their ways. The padding to their bottom lines was bigger than the fines. She'd chatted with the inspector during a break.

"ACE Chemicals being on the list isn't a surprise. But Wayne Steel?" A sharp inhale before she yawned the rest. "I hadn't even heard of them."

"You're tired.”

"No. Relaxed. Happy. But not tired." She curled up on her side, burrowed deeper into the blankets. "This bed is empty. I have no one to press up against." Another yawn betrayed her.

At her third, Arthur interrupted. "Y/N, go to sleep." A grin in his words, like he was about to call her cute. "You need your rest."

"And why is that?"

His voice lowered to the volume of secrets. "Because when you get back, I'm going to fuck you as soon as we walk through the door."

Her eyes went wide, then she burst out laughing. A wave of dizziness swept through her. She brought the heel of her hand to her forehead. "What time'll you wake up tomorrow?"

"Six, probably. Maybe 5:30?

"Let's have coffee together. I'll make a cup at 6:15."

He agreed before she'd completed the request, said how dearly he loved her. And, yes, to her consternation, called her cute. She kept the eyeroll out of her reply. "You're wonderful, too. Now take your own advice and get some sleep. No journaling until dawn. All right?"

"All right. Have a good night. And Y/N?"

She was already fading, his lilt her favorite lullaby. "Yeah?"

"Wear your blue nightie for coffee. I’ll be in my briefs."

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve​​​​​ @ithinkimaperson​​​​​ @sweet-nothings04​​​​​ @stephieraptorr​​​​ @rommies​​​​​ @fallenstarsabyss @gruffle1​​​​​ @another-day-in-chuckletown​ @hhandley80​​​​​ @jokerownsmysoul​​​​​ @rafaelbottom @ralugraphics​​​​​ @iartsometimes​​​​​ @fleckficgirl​

[fandomregression]

Can you do headcanons for little Martin Blackwood?

Age Regressor Martin Blackwood Headcanons!

martin is Baby

he is Tiney

such a tiny baby and everyone loves him

martin learns that he regresses when hes still a teenager, but he keeps that secret all the way to his time in the archives. he knows when hes about to slip, and he finds a way to excuse himself and go be alone

he hates being alone, and he wants someone to take care of him, but he can't dare ask someone to do that. it just isn't fair! martin's always the one to take care of others, so they shouldn't have to worry about him!! but he needs the love and affection so badly...

sasha and tim already take care of jon, so it doesn't take them very long to figure out Something Tiney is happening with martin. he chews constantly, be it pens or his fingers or his shirt collar, doesn't matter. he goes quiet for long stretches of time. he gets this far away look in his eyes, and this sweet look about him when he does, but he always snaps out of it and looks surprised when he does

sasha and tim start experimenting, just to see if their suspicions are correct. they'll get his tea for him, they'll give him praise on his notes, they'll play disney songs on the stereo, and a few times tim even got him some stickers just to see what he'd do

(martin covered his desk in stickers)

after a while, sasha and tim are positive that they've got another regressor on their hands. they ask him about it, and at first martin denies it like crazy. but he does give in and explain yes, he regresses, but they super don't need to worry about him!! hes okay on his own!!!

they invite him over to hang out one evening (after explaining to jon, who is now a bit pouty and grumpy that his cgs are gonna make him share. the horror) and the four of them have dinner, hang out and watch tv, until martin gets sleepy

the thing with martin is when he gets sleepy, he starts feeling tiny. so he gets shy, and he tries to make himself as small as possible in the corner of the sofa. sasha notices, and she coaxes him out of the corner for cuddles. this squarely lands him in the 'fully regressed' category, and martin ends up with his thumb in his mouth, rubbing his eyes, and sleepily watching cartoons

it takes several times for martin to start really getting comfy with the idea of regressing with others, but once hes comfy he becomes the most spoiled baby

martin already has toys and things that he likes, like a taggy blankie, a crinkle book, a rattle, and a rubber chewy giraffe. he also has a stuffed highland cow named brownie who he HAS to have in order to sleep (brownie goes everywhere with him!!) and he has a plain cream colored paci

with tim and sasha, martin learns all the cutest things that make him feel even littler than anything he could do alone. tim holds his hand up and down stairs, across the street, or in stores so he doesnt get lost (he does this with jon too). sasha plays games like patty cake and peekaboo, and she reads lots of stories with him

martin is a fussy eater when hes small. when hes big, he'll eat just about anything, and he'll try anything once if it smells nice. but when hes small, food can be overwhelming, so he really likes simple things. lots of buttered noodles, plain chicken nuggets, and apple sauce pouches. apple sauce pouches are a life saver, really, he loves them so much

he also really likes getting bottles, and he likes when one of his cgs gives him his bottle. it makes him feel positively tiny, and it makes him feel very very safe and loved (esp warm vanilla milk!)

since he tends to lose his words, martin knows some baby sign language. it helps make sure his needs are being met, and the praise his cgs give him for asking for things makes him so happy

he doesnt like loud noises, so storms and things scare him very badly. he'll hide under covers until tim comes to rescue him

tim is dada, and sasha is mama (of course)

when hes big enough, martin likes to help them however he can. he'll dust the furniture, sweep the floors, or mix batter for baking to feel helpful. sasha and tim will praise him for a job well done, and he gets rewards like milkshakes or a new toy

loves loves loves warm baths. he loves bath bombs more than bubbles, especially pretty glittery ones with swirly colors. he has bath crayons and duckies and a little boat, and bath time is just so relaxing for him

charlie and lola >>>>>

he doesnt like high energy shows or movies, he likes nice and calm cartoons

i feel like he collects sylvanian families. and he has a playhouse for them. he takes such good care of them and has never lost a piece for any of them

this boy has an Aesthetic, and if he could ever figure out how to make sure he could surround himself in only his aesthetic, he would be the happiest baby on the planet

i've been reading lotsa lil martin recently so hes on my mIND thank u for this ask sgksgmafjagn hope u enjoy 🤲

[ruscha]

ii. quarantine

cooper & barb // post-1.8, pre-war wc: 961 // no warnings

Following his fateful espionage and the terrible truth that came with it, Cooper couldn’t get out of bed for days. The sun floated across the expansive windows of his bedroom like a regular circling buzzard, eyeing his lifeless form, licking its lips; as did the moon, a hungry fly just waiting for the corpse to smell. 

Janey visited him frequently, asking whether it was the flu or the pox and if she could please stay home from school to read him stories. Roosevelt napped next to him in the afternoons, offering consoling whines and occasionally burying his nose into Cooper’s side to elicit a pet or two. 

The night after he had visited Vault-Tec's LA office for the last time, Barb came home late with Pip-Boy in hand, her eyes sunken and wet from crying. Cooper was doubled over at the dining room table with a half-finished bottle of scotch next to him when she walked in, his limbs and head posed limp and awkward like one of Janey’s fabric dolls. The listening device was sitting matter-of-factly on the table between his hands, giving off a tiny static hum in correspondence with the Pip-Boy's gentle beeping. Cooper had been too shell-shocked to think about destroying it once he made it back to the house; his mind was too far away to care anymore.

There were very few words spoken between them. Barb had thought of plenty to say that afternoon when the nagging suspicion in her stomach turned to appalling realization— her husband had come to the office to see her and then left suddenly, said her secretary, and boy did he seem different than on TV, so much meeker, said Henry— but all of that anger had settled now. In its place was a hollowness; an impassable chasm. In a way, her heart had already prepared for the worst.

A week went by. Cooper’s agent called about an upcoming Vault-Tec commercial, and Barb politely took a message for him. Coop could just barely see her through the crack in the bedroom door, her feet tapping rhythmically on the tile as she forced a smile through the phone. So composed in her discomposure. 

Time stopped mattering to him in the fog. No matter how many friends stopped by about a cancelled dinner party or agents called to beg him back to work, Cooper couldn’t bring himself to do much of anything other than bathe and sleep, smoke the occasional cigarette, attempt to eat some of the food that Barb would instruct Janey to bring to his room. His mind was a wash of dizzying thoughts, each more contradictory than the last. A mushroom cloud of incomprehensible things was churning within him, devouring him from the inside.

He loved her. 

She had helped to plot the end of the world. 

Was it all inevitable? Was she simply foretelling the future? What a horrible future for Janey. What of the dogs, and horses, and films, and trees, and sky, and who were these ghouls parading around in patriot’s clothing while proclaiming that humanity was unsalvageable, unchangeable, worth losing? 

He loved her. And she spoke about the end of the world as if it were a good idea. A pragmatic solution. Billions gone in an instant. And she had worked so hard. Fought so hard to get to where she was in the company. They had fought about Bakersfield, and the Good Vaults. She wanted to keep Janey safe in one of the Good Vaults. 

The mushroom cloud roiled. 

Janey, but not Roosevelt. What kind of future is that? A future where only a select few survive, trapped underground for centuries, the blood of the rest of the world slowly dripping onto their heads? What of the horses, and dogs, and waterfalls, and mountains, and apple pie, and he loved her, and she lied to him, and he loved her, and she used him to sell it, to sell the end, the end of everything, he would be the face of it, his face plastered on a billboard, his face on the bomb, and he loved her and he wanted with every fiber of his being to burn that Vault-Tec building to the ground behind him as he left that day but he couldn’t do it, he didn’t have the gasoline, he was a coward, and he loved her, and he hated her, and what would happen to the future? Who would stop it? Who can stop it? When will it stop—

Cooper found himself awake again, drenched in sweat. He was hunched over the side of the bed in a daze as the smallest sprinkle of moonlight poured onto the floor in front of his feet. 

A rustling over his left shoulder. He turned to see Barb’s silhouette in the doorway, solemn. As if in mourning. 

“Your agent called again,” she muttered with careful resolve to mask the trembling. “They’ve decided to terminate your contract after the no-shows.”

He mustered a nod in response, still unable to look her in the eye. His tongue stuck dry and heavy to the roof of his mouth. 

“It’s— probably for the best,“ she continued after an awful pause, the lump in her throat now readily apparent in her words. She put a hand to her mouth to steady herself. “People are saying they saw you at meetings. With communists.” 

Cooper stiffened. Images of nails in coffins flashed across the inside of his eyelids. 

He took in a large breath for what felt like the first time, then turned to finally meet his wife face-to-face. She was only a shadow now— ghostly and distant. He regretted the waning moonlight’s ability to hide her eyes from him; he desperately wanted to look into her eyes one last time.

“Guess the show’s over, then,” He replied, a strange pang of relief coating his otherwise hoarse whisper. 

The room went still. 

The mushroom cloud billowed inside him. 

[sweetcocopowder]

Playing Couple Pt.2

「Synopsis 」 : Dean is getting restless but he finds out that Cas has made some friends that could further their investigation for the good.

「Word count」 : 1/49K

-> Genre: Supernatural Fluff

Paring: Dean Winchester / Castiel

[Warnings] : Cas wearing normal clothes

Note: Sorry this part is a little slow, setting up for the next part

| M.List | Pt. 1 | Pt. 3

The next day came by quickly and Dean found himself bored waiting around already. Castiel had somehow convinced him that he would go out and grocery shop for him. Dean tried to preoccupy himself inside on the TV or checking up on the protection around the house. But Cas had already checked everything over and nothing was on TV or anything on a binging sight that looked interesting. So, Dean decided an hour ago to clean Baby even though she wasn’t due for a clean.

He wears a singlet instead of all the layers he usually has on to wash the car. He’s noticed a few of neighbours come out to inspect their garden, stare at Dean for a while then head back inside. Or one of them brought out their bin out early to have a look at their new neighbour. Dean feels exposed out in the neighbourhood, not liking how everyone wants to get in on the new gossip.

Yes, there’s always gossip in the hunter circle. On whom killed what, how many one hunter has killed or who has betrayed who and the list goes on. But neighbourhood gossip is different. Dean can ditch a hunter and never see their face again if he didn’t like them. You’re stuck with your neighbours, and they’re stuck with you.

Castiel comes back just as Dean finishes up. He caught the public bus in to not raise suspicion since he wasn’t allowed to drive Baby. Dean made that very aware. Cas walks from up the street where the bus stop was with bags of groceries in hand that would normally stop a human in their tracks.

“How are things, honey?” Cas asks him casually.

It takes Dean a moment to remind himself it’s an act, and that they’re outside with watching eyes. He’ll have to get use to it, but it feels like he won’t.  

“Just finished up here,” Dean answers back awkwardly. “You need help?” He asks, even though he knows that Cas doesn’t need the help.

But Cas says, “Yes, that would be lovely.”

He holds out one hand that holds at least four bags. Dean takes two bags in each hand so he doesn’t pop his shoulder out. He follows Cas inside with a grunt with how heavy one of the bags are. Once inside, he quickly plops them on the counter and looks inside the bags. The bag that was weighing Dean down as two cartons of milk in it with orange juice and-

“You got me beer?” Dean says a little too happily, grabbing the warm six pack out.

“Yes,” Cas says as he begins unpacking the bags. “I know you like a beer with your greasier foods.”

It touches Dean but he doesn’t let it show. He gives a rough, “Thank you,” instead.

Cas takes the six pack off of Dean and puts it in the fridge for later tonight. Dean sits at the counter and watches the angel put everything in their rightful place.

“Anything happen while you were out?” Dean asks once Cas finishes.

Cas hesitates before saying a not so confident, “No.”

Dean raises an eyebrow at that, “What happened? Did you run into what we’re hunting?”

Castiel leans on the counter. “I had a bit of trouble getting the last apple pie that was there,” he says.

“You didn’t beat anyone up did you?”

The angel is silent.

“Cas,” Dean says firmly.

“I may have snatched the last apple pie out of a man’s basket while he wasn’t looking,” he replies with a shrug.

That gets a short laugh out of Dean, a smile spreading across his face. “Cas, you can’t go stealing other people’s groceries,” he says seriously but light heartedly.

“It’s not stealing if he hasn’t bought it yet,” Cas argues.

Dean can’t say anything back. Because the angel has a fair point. But it still isn’t right to do, but he can’t stop the angel from doing some of the stuff he does. He’s a stubborn son of a bitch sometimes.  

“Any updates on the creature?” Dean asks.

“Unfortunately, not,” Cas replies with a slight shake of his head.

The hunter groans and paces into the living room then back to the kitchen. “I can’t sit around like this, Cas,” he groans.

“It’s what we have to do,” Cas says. “You can try gardening. Anything to make us look like normal people on the neighbourhood.”

“Gardening!?” Dean snaps. “Do I look like I garden?”

“It was just a suggestion, Dean.”

-

Two days go by before a knock on their door has Dean jumping off the couch. Castiel took the gardening around the house since he has nothing else to do. Dean has just been mopping about this entire time. But the knock has Dean running to the door. He opens it a little too eagerly and is a little taken a back when a middle-aged woman stands there with a large smile on her chubby face. She’s short and stocky with a thick set of hair on her head. It’s short and frizzy, looking like it’s just been washed. She looks Hispanic but she might also have some Italian in her as well.

“Hello! I didn’t mean to bother you,” she says with a thick Hispanic accent. “Is Castiel in?”

Dean is a little taken a back. “Yeah, he’s out the back.”

“Oh, could you grab him please. I would like to ask him something,” she tells him, the smile never leaving her face.

“What is your name?” Dean asks.

“Gabriella.”

“Dean. I’ll grab him.” He introduces himself.

Dean closes the door and goes to fetch Cas. The angel is currently in the garden, trying to dig up all the weeds and replanting the flowers and other stuff that came with the house. The angel has changed from his suit and trench coat, and it is immensely weird to see him in normal clothes. He wears a white button up shirt with blue jeans. It reminds Dean of when he turned human for a while. He will never get use to seeing the angel in said, ‘human clothes’. Dean on the other hand just wears what he normally wears.

“Cas,” Dean says, grabbing his attention. “There’s a woman called Gabriella wanting you?”

The angel perks up at that. “Is she needing help with her cat again?”

“What? No?” Dean spits out a little too quickly.

Castiel takes his gardening gloves off and wipes his hands on his jeans. “She say anything else?” He asks.

“No, who is she?”

“She’s not the thing we’re hunting, Dean,” Cas has to tell him sternly. “I helped her with her cat down the street yesterday.”

“A cat?”

“Yes,” the angel says he walks back inside the house.

Dean follows him to the front door where Gabriella is still waiting. Her face lights up again at seeing the angel.

“Oh, Castiel! How are you!” Gabriella says cheerfully.

“I’m going good,” he responds.

Dean shuffles in beside Cas so he isn’t out of the conversation. An arm snaking around Dean’s waist makes him stiffen up and he has to not outwardly react to the foreign feeling. But Cas acts so natural, bringing Dean in closer because he knows that the hunter wants to listen in. They’re so close that Dean can smell the dirt and grass on the angel.

“I want to invite you to dinner on Thursday night. I have other friends on the neighbourhood that are coming,” Gabriella invites them. “I think it would be good for you two to meet other people that are here. Get settled in more,” she adds.

Getting to know everyone. That would benefit their job way more than sitting here doing nothing. Before Dean can agree, Cas is already.

“That sounds great. We’ll be there,” Castiel says, squeezing Dean’s side.

“Oh, that’s wonderful, you can come around seven. You don’t need to bring anything but yourselves,” Gabriella cheers lightly. “I’ll be seeing you Thursday if I don’t see you around before then.”

Then she’s off with a wave. She kinda waddles down the driveway and down the street. As soon as Cas closes the door, Dean is pushing himself out of the angel’s grip. Cas is a little offended but it’s to be expected. But Dean doesn’t snap at him for holding him.

“This is good! Right?” Dean celebrates this small win.

“We don’t know if the creature will be there,” Cas says, not wanting to have some hope and then they’re let down.

“Yes, I know I know,” Dean waves his hand. “But it’s a win.”

Thursday is three days away. Dean just has to put up with three more days of this shit before then. Oh, this job could finally be over and done with before the week ends. It’ll go smoothly and they’ll be back at the bunker to search for a more eventful job.

Oh, how Dean, is completely wrong on that.

-

Do not steal, plagiarize, translate, repost, or use my work in any way, shape or form.

Masterlist

NAV

[rytron]

Little known fact: Icy Joe, one of the new fraggles to debut on Apple TV's new Fraggle Rock: Back to the Rock series (currently in production on its second season), was inspired by the character Joseph 'Ice Pick Joe" Morelli (played by the late John Cazale) in Martin Scorcese's little-seen but much-celebrated lost 1973 mafia film 'GONCHAROV'.

"But, Icy Joe in Fraggle Rock: Back to the Rock is a woman" you say?

True! But that doesn't mean inspiration wasn't drawn from Cazale's portrayal of Ice Pick Joe. While neither Scorcese nor Cazale have ever confirmed any suspicions, many have noted Cazale's raw and visceral performance in the supporting role of Morelli played with and flipped many then-assumed gender stereotypes (the same of which can easily be said of Cybill Shepherd's performance as Katya in the film). Consider that the film itself quite cleanly functions as a deconstruction of the testosterone-fueled hetero-normativity of the mafia genre (including many of Scorcese's other films) it's not hard to draw a fairly straight line from Cazale's 'Ice Pick Joe' to Karen Prell's performance of 'Icy Joe' (notably, a character with a stereotypically masculine name) in a show where the inhabitants of Fraggle Rock don't always fit into clean gender binaries.

[susandsnell]

for the flower asks: tigerlily, poppy, azalea!

Thank you so much for sending this!

tigerlily— do you have any favorite quotes from any movies, tv shows, books, or poetry? (or from people in real life)

The challenge about questions like these is that you simultaneously know you've got a bunch of great answers but also struggle with thinking of many off the top of your head! So, just to offer a handful:

"Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise." from the musical version of Les Miserables

"You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. " - Desiderata, Max Ehrmann

"I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other." - Frankenstein, Mary Shelley

"Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind." - Shakespeare's Henry VI

"Despair has its own calms." - Dracula, Bram Stoker

And always;

"The hardest thing in the world is to live in it. Be brave. Live." - Buffy: The Vampire Slayer

poppy— out of the four seasons, which season of the year is your favorite and why?

I oscillate constantly between summer and fall! I love warm, pretty weather, summer clothes, and the fun associated with summer, but the autumnal spookiness, cozy and elegant fashions, and delightful gloom are also such a joy for me. I live in a part of Canada with a lot of seasonal change so the autumn colours on the trees and the associated apple and pumpkin treats are just too wonderful, too!

azalea— what is the most recent song you listened to? how do you feel about it?

I just listened to the Final Scene from Sweeney Todd (2012 London Revival cast), and I absolutely adore it, as I have for the past 16 years. The current revival's Tony performance got me on a major kick for listening to it a lot lately!

[blurredcolour]

In My Blood | Part Four

In My Blood Masterlist

Curtis "Curt" Biddick x SOE!Female Reader

You and Curt find a lot more than shelter for the night in Langon, but as your affection for one another only grows, you cannot help but start thinking about the fact that you are also nearing the end of your journey.

Warnings: MAJOR canon divergence, Language, Weapons, Spy Craft, Fear, Alcohol Consumption, Smoking, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes [Unprotected Vaginal Sex, Fingering, Multiple Orgasms] - 18+ ONLY.

Author’s Note: This story contains revisionist history, read at your own risk. Reader is half-Belgian, half-English and has been given an extensive backstory and family tree. While they have been given the codename of "Marie," no physical descriptions or Y/N are used.

Italics used for non-English words and to indicate dialogue spoken in a language other than English.

This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 5974

-------------------------

The rumble of a car engine brought your feet skidding to a halt, the scattering of gravel atop cobblestones carrying you further into the open than you intended. Curt’s hand wrapped around your wrist, hauling you back between the buildings for cover. You had been so very close, just two streets away from ‘Victoire’s’ home in Langon after creeping your way into town through ditches and alleyways. The sharp beam of a flashlight cut through the dark, ruining your night sight, making you blink furiously as you and Curt retreated further from its threatening glare.

As he pulled you around the back of the squat, brick building, pressing against you protectively, your breath hitched in your throat at the mortifyingly intense reaction his closeness evoked from your body. A shiver cascaded from the crown of your head down to the tips of your toes, leaving stiffened nipples and clenched thighs in its wake. Welding your lips shut, you forced slow, measured inhales and exhales through your nose, waiting for the sound of the car and its probing searchlight to recede, only risking a careful glance back toward the road after a good two minutes of silence. Even then, after extracting yourself from Curt’s distracting albeit shielding stance, you insisted on backtracking slightly before attempting a different approach to Victoire’s house.

Mercifully, you managed to reach her back garden with its now-empty planting beds and small shed without further encounters, knocking at the door loud enough to be heard inside but not arouse the suspicion of her neighbours. The curtain covering the small square of glass in the wooden door fluttered slightly in the darkness before the faint scraping of a chain lock being released was followed by the ‘click’ of a deadbolt. The door swung inward slowly as Victoire, a young woman not much older than yourself, appeared, swaddled in her house coat with something clenched in her hand.

As she began to step outside, forcing the pair of you to shuffle backwards out of the way, you and Curt shared a look of confusion before quickly following her in the direction of the shed. Gingerly manipulating the padlock, she carefully opened the latch and then the door for you.

“I am sorry, but the house is fully occupied.” She whispered and you nodded, clasping her hand in gratitude for any shelter she could offer, no matter how humble, before slipping into the drafty building full of empty pots and smelling of damp soil.

Taking a moment to get your bearings, you chose to slide to your suitcase beneath the potting bench before carefully moving several larger pots and gardening implements to open up enough floor space for yourself and Curt to rest for the night. The sound of the door sliding home, followed by the ‘snick’ of the padlock, made you glance back over your shoulder. The sight of Curt pulling the generous wool coat from his suitcase, the garment that you had acquired at great cost back in Beverst, barely discernable in the dark shed, made your lips curl fondly. At least he would be warm tonight. Settling onto the rough wooden floor, propped up against the wall, you swallowed your hiss at the sharp cold against your bare legs.

“Here.” Curt whispered once his suitcase was stowed next to yours, shuffling down to sit beside you, hip and shoulder pressed against yours in the limited space as he draped the coat across the pair of you.

Your eyes snapped from the dark navy fabric up to his face, inhaling sharply to find him so close, nose almost brushing his. “Curt…” You murmured softly in gratitude.

A grin of satisfaction unfurled on his features as he huddled closer to ensure you were both properly protected from the elements. There was a palpable tension between you, an electricity shimmering across your skin that made your lips part in an attempt to take in more oxygen and quell the swimming sensation in your head. Curt’s expression grew more serious, his eyes tracing along your face towards your lips, a motion like a caress that gnawed insistently at your self-control until you felt yourself lunging forward to crash your mouth against his.

A noise of surprise escaped him, only to be muffled by your lips before you felt the warmth of the coat fall away from your shoulders as his hand fought its way free to cup your cheek and pull you closer. Your lips parted with a sigh of relief, a motion which Curt quickly took advantage of, tongue swiping teasingly at the gap but never properly sliding into your mouth. Not until an indignant whimper sounded in the back of your throat, only to be rewarded by a thorough kiss that had you clinging to his shoulders until you needed to pull back to gasp for air.

You could feel the curl of his smile as he trailed his lips across your cheek to whisper, “can’t kiss a girl and not even know her first name.”

The feeling of his damp lips brushing against the curve of your ear made you shudder yet again, affection and want thrumming through your body with each beat of your racing heart. Shifting to press your lips against his ear in turn, you barely breathed your true name, a lance of fear as well as the thrill of being known rocketing through your gut. He repeated it with a soft sigh, sending your teeth sinking into your lower lip before you kissed him once more, a fierceness at hearing it tainting your actions as your hands delved into his hair, ruining the hold of the pomade he had put into it hours ago.

The heat of Curt’s palm slid down your neck across the front of your sweater to caress the swell of your breast and you hummed, arching eagerly into his touch while simultaneously growing frustrated with the awkward positions your found yourselves in. Shifting carefully, you swung your leg over his to straddle his thighs, the coat falling behind you, completely forgotten. His hands squeezed your hips warmly as you pressed a soft kiss to his lips only to pull back and begin painting kisses along his jaw and down his neck. Mapping the raised scars you could feel but not see in the darkness. After an initial huff, Curt hummed contentedly, tilting his head to offer more flesh to you as he resumed kneading your tender flesh with both hands.

Feeling your hips buck in response as you pressed a moan against his neck, he dropped one hand to your lower back, pulling your hips flush with his. The press of his hardening cock against the apex of your thighs sent your lips colliding with his once more, rocking experimentally, to your mutual pleasure – a melding of moans against your tongue. You were addicted to the way he made you feel, a woman fully alive, under your own name. Not ‘Marie,’ the fragile shell who internalized every secret and nurtured every wound.

And even though the friction of his length through his trousers against the thin barrier of your underwear made your eyes clench shut and breath shorten to harsh pants, still you wanted more. Hands sliding between your bodies, you began to work at the fly of his trousers, feeling his tongue flick at his lips, desperately trying to wet them.

“You sure?” He rasped and you eyed his silhouette a moment, swallowing roughly.

The reality of your situation was bleak, and while this was most definitely outside the bounds of propriety, the truth of it was you were either going to die or, by some miracle, make it back to England. To a world of strangers who did not, and never could, understand the truth of what you had faced. What you had endured. None of them would ever be like the man before you, would have shared the same dangers and trials. So the answer was rather easy.

“Yes.” You breathed emphatically and made quick work of freeing his cock, sealing your mouth against his neck as his blunt fingers pulled aside your underwear to slide through your slick folds.

Working together, you shifted up onto your knees to guide him into your warmth, your shaky breaths pouring into his gaping mouth as he stared up at you, brows furrowed in pleasure. Hips settling snuggly atop his, your teeth clacked against his in your desperation to smother your moan at the feeling of him seated fully inside you. Curt’s arms wrapped tightly around your waist as you rocked forward before you tensed your thighs to begin working your hips up and down his length, his head falling back against the tongue and groove wall, jaw slack.

Heavy sighs of your name tumbled from his lips, tone reverent and dream-like as he watched you with half-lidded eyes. Despite the fact that you remained fully clothed, to be called thus left you feeling practically laid bare before him. A pang of longing struck you, wishing you could see him better, see the flush on his cheeks. For now, the warmth of his skin beneath your hands would suffice. Was proving more than sufficient in combination with his prayerful use of your name and the fact that he was lasting far longer than the last man you had been intimate with – some pretty popinjay outside Sarah Spencer-Churchill’s debut ball who had cum within a few moments of being allowed up your gown. All told, it was a heady mixture that was making your thighs shake with the effort to drive the pair of you towards climax.

The sudden shift brought on by the bend of his knees made you gasp, planting your hands on his shoulders to avoid smacking your chin against his. You had barely stabilized yourself before his fingers curled into your hips and he began to thrust up into you insistently. A cry of sheer delight flew from lips, unfortunately only half smothered by his solicitous mouth, but thankfully it did not interrupt his exquisite rhythm, nor seem to arouse suspicion outside. Toes curling in your shoes as your nails dug into the leather of his jacket, it was not long before you were hurtling over the precipice into orgasm, clenching around him ruthlessly.

The feel of his sticky, hot release drew aftershocks of pleasure from you as you slumped against his chest, utterly spent, entire body rising and falling as his chest heaved beneath you. Curt tender kisses feathering along your temple and cheek pulled soft giggles from you, making you lift your head to press your lips against his warmly. As the flush of the afterglow slowly ebbed from your skin, the wind whistling through the gaps in the shed’s construction began to steal the warmth from your body, making you shiver yet again.

“Hold on, gorgeous, let’s get you warm.” Curt murmured softly, breathing returning to normal as he helped you rearrange your underwear before re-assembling his trousers.

Tucking you close into his chest, he gathered the coat once more, bundling the pair of you beneath it, making you hum in comfort as you burrowed your head beneath his chin. Pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, he murmured, “sleep” and you found no desire to argue with him.

The next sensation you were aware of was the sound of the padlock rattling outside, a sure sign that Victoire had returned to summon the pair of you – hopefully for breakfast. Shafts of weak light filtered through the numerous gaps in the shed walls as you forced yourself awake, reluctantly but quickly emerging from the warm cocoon of Curt’s arms. Rain was gently but steadily pattering against the roof as you managed to settle onto the floor at his side, the pair of you presenting a quite proper sight to your host as she popped her head in.

“Come inside, there is food, and you can clean up.”

“Thank you, Victoire.” You smiled sleepily as Curt stirred beside you.

Collecting your luggage, you both followed her through the icy drizzle into her warm home that seemed devoid of all guests, only young son playing with some toys on a blanket in the kitchen where she had set out a breakfast hash of canned corned beef and potatoes.

“You spoil us.” You murmured as Curt dug in with a bright if clumsily pronounced ‘Merci,’ making you struggle against the urge to smile fondly.

“You received the worst accommodations last night, therefore you get the best breakfast.” She insisted, pouring two cups of hot coffee substitute which was bitter but warm. “Things seem busy as of late, am I right, Marie?”

Nodding as you swallowed your mouthful, you pointed down the hall as you saw Curt’s plate was empty. “Bathroom is first door on the right, you go ahead.” Turning back to Victoire you sighed heavily. “Incredibly busy, and more dangerous.” You replied in French.

She hummed thoughtfully, taking a sip from her own stained and chipped mug. “I hope you are being safe out there.”

“As much as I can.”

Her son let out a squeal of delight as he crashed one wooden car into another, drawing an exhausted smile from his mother. “At least he will never know.” She murmured, standing to ruffle his hair warmly before cleaning up from breakfast.

Curt returned from the bathroom, clothes changed and freshly shaved.

“I’ll be right back.” You murmured and took your suitcase to do the same, stripping bare to take a bath in the sink with a borrowed washcloth.

Changing the bandage on your nearly healed arm with supplies from your luggage, you then slid into a fresh outfit. Retrieving a silk scarf from the depths of your suitcase, you secured it atop your hair, both as protection against the persistent rain, and to make yourself less recognizable to anyone who might be looking for you. You certainly hoped they were still searching in Bordeaux but were not about to be unnecessarily cavalier about it. You also retrieved the last of your cash reserves from the envelope secured in the zippered portion of your suitcase, transferring it to your handbag. Things really must be coming to an end if this was all you had left.

Stepping back into the kitchen, you felt Curt’s eyes on you, assessing for a moment before he stood from where he had been entertaining Victoire’s son on his blanket. Watching curiously as he shrugged from his leather jacket, that fond smile from earlier stole its way across your face as he pulled on the wool coat – the length of it stretching to his knees and the cuffs covering his hands – before he flipped up the collar, obscuring a great deal of his face but legitimately appearing to be simply warding off the elements. In countless ways he had proven himself to be the easiest of your charges, practically a natural at sneaking his way across occupied Europe, despite your initial sense of his inability to shut his mouth. You were going to miss him.

Doing your best to ignore the way that made your stomach plummet, breath snagging on your emotions as you tried to inhale, you turned to Victoire to wish her farewell.

“Thank you again for the shelter and incredible meal.”

“My pleasure, as always, Marie. Best of luck to you both.”

“You and yours, also.” You nodded firmly, collecting your things.

Curt, as soon as he finished rolling up the overly long sleeves of his coat, did the same, nodding to your host before the pair of you headed out into the rain, shoulders hunching as a natural barrier against the wind. It was a fifteen-minute walk from Victoire’s house to Langon Station – a long building of pink brick and white stone, much more understated than the rest of the stations you had visited thus far on your journey. Damp and tired, you were unspeakably grateful that the Nazi officer on duty barely glanced at your papers, waving you onto the ticket counter where you were relieved to learn that trains were indeed running to Toulouse today.

Once again, the train in service was small, with no private compartments available. Wedging yourself side-by-side with Curt, you pinched the inside of your cheek between your teeth, doing your utmost to ignore the way it felt utterly different to have his body pressed against yours. Rather than sleeping, a glance over at him revealed that Curt was leaning against the window to watch you quietly, a small smile curling at the corners of his mouth. Bowing your head under that love-struck gaze, you swallowed roughly, trying your very best to remain focused on the final leg of your journey for which you were responsible. With numerous stoppages, some on sidings to allow freight trains to pass, some for absolutely no clear purpose, as well as one transfer at Agen, it took nearly the entire day to reach Toulouse.

While it gave the pair of you the opportunity to thoroughly dry out, it also left each of you feeling remarkably hungry by the time you reached ‘Françoise’s’ apartment. As the door swung open, the sight of her cloud of snow-white hair, barely contained in a semblance of a style despite numerous pins, with her shadowy black cat Charbon weaving himself around her ankles, was nearly enough to make you collapse with exhaustion and relief.

“Ah, come in.” She whispered and ushered you both inside quickly, casting a glance around the hallway behind you before firmly shutting the world out with an extensive number of deadbolts and chains. “Marie, welcome. Who is your friend?”

“Curt.” He smiled, setting down his suitcase to offer his hand, which Françoise eyed a moment before shaking with an unusually strong grip for a woman in her sixties.

“You both look ready to fall asleep, go rest and I will find something to feed you.”

“Bless you, Françoise.” You murmured, leading Curt down a short hallway to point out the washroom and showing him into his room. “You can sleep here, keep the curtains closed and your voice down.”

He nodded, eyeing you a moment, but a persistent meow interrupted anything he may have been about to say.

“Yes, Charbon, you can come have a nap with me.” You smirked. “Rest well, Curt.” You turned, the cat trotting happily in your wake into the room next door, hopping up onto the bed expectantly.

You took a few moments to remove most of your clothing before slipping beneath the blankets and fell deeply asleep to the sound of an enthusiastically purring cat. Waking to a stew of beans accompanied with thick slices of a coarse bread, you and Curt devoured all that Françoise could set before you, chatting briefly over cups of tea before you all turned in for the first solid of night of sleep you had enjoyed in weeks. Charbon, of course, spent the night with Françoise who slept with her door open to give him free run of the apartment. Enjoying showers and a filling breakfast the next day, you turned to Françoise to begin planning the last and most physically demanding portion of your journey.

“I will make contact with the Ponzáns, would you be able to acquire two rucksacks for us? We will have suitcases to leave in return.”

Her black eyebrows, hand drawn with a makeup pencil, jumped nearly to her hairline. “Two.” She echoed flatly before retrieving a cigarette from a tarnished silver case. The scent of bitter German tobacco filled the air, a vivid reminder of why you had given up the habit. “Marie, you are leaving.”

It was not a question, but you nodded in answer all the same.

Her mouth twisted in displeasure, the scarlet of her lipstick interrupted by the cracks of age. MI9 liked to call her eccentric, you simply viewed her as a woman who had lived a full life and refused to let the expectations of age dictate how she ought to continue to live now.

“A great loss.” She sighed with an exhale of smoke through her nostrils, tapping the ash into a crystal ashtray, one of many that lived on every surface in her apartment. “Well, it will do no good dwelling, you and I must get to work. I am sure they will ask for a great price to ferry you, however.”

You grunted in agreement, all too certain that Pablo’s eyes would light up in an hour or so. “Hopefully it is not be the crown jewels.” You sighed and a rattling laugh burst forth from her throat.

“Might very well be, Marie.” Her hand with its dry, paper-thin skin patted at the back of yours before she leveraged herself to her feet. “Now, Curt, have you ever washed a dish?”

“No, ma’am, but I am not above trying.” He replied, wrenching his eyes from you and following the woman to the kitchen.

Collecting the dishes from the table, you set them on the counter in the small kitchen before heading to your room to collect your handbag, ensuring your knife and gun were both readily available within. Pausing in the doorway, you took a moment to enjoy the sight of Curt with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, hands in the dishpan as Françoise provided stern guidance at his side.

“I’ll be back in a few hours.” You said gently, nodding as both of them turned back to you quickly.

“See you soon, dear.” Françoise nodded.

“Be safe.” Curt said firmly, eyeing you intensely, surely in a bid to communicate his desire for you to return without injury, covered in blood, or having shot someone else.

“That is the plan.” You replied reassuringly before slipping back out, pleased to find the rain had ceased.

The walk to the bookstore was remarkably pleasant, though the crisp autumn air drove your hands into your pockets to keep warm. Stepping inside, the bell chiming overhead, you nodded with a friendly smile to the man behind the counter. You did not know his name, nor he yours, but he was a friend of the Resistance. A conduit for the Françoise Line to reach the Ponzán Group to guide downed airmen across the Pyrenees. And now, hopefully not at too great a price, yourself as well.

Perusing the shelves for a time, reading the synopses of a few books before putting them back, you walked up to the counter once you were certain the store was empty.

“Good afternoon. I was wondering if you had any books on Saint Christopher?”

As you spoke, the rack of comic books on display at his elbow caught your eye, the illustration of a boxer prominent on the cover. Momentarily distracted by the thought that you should purchase a copy for Curt, you huffed inwardly at your schoolgirlish distraction, looking to the shopkeeper as he replied.

“That’s a good question. I might have a few options in the back, one moment.” He slipped out from behind the counter to lock the front door before leading you into the back room and down a set of stairs narrowed by stacks of boxes, knocking on the door before it swung inward to reveal Pablo himself.

“Well, well, if it isn’t you.” He nodded dismissively to the shopkeeper before turning back inside the rather well-appointed secret office. Shutting the door behind you, you settled into the seat opposite him as he tilted his head. “What can we do for you and your English friends, Marie?”

“Passage for two across the mountains with proper winter clothing for one and accessories for the other.” You replied cooly, showing that you were unaffected by his attempts to intimidate you.

“Boots too? What sizes are we talking about?” He tilted his head probingly.

Exhaling slowly. “I am not interested in playing games, Pablo. I need the winter clothing. The airman needs just the accessories. I believe he wears an American size 8 or 9 for his boots?”

His eyes glittered hard in the light of the candle on his desk, gaze narrowing greedily. “Run into a spot of trouble with the Vichy, Marie?” He taunted, putting on an infuriatingly poor impression of your upper-class English accent, the one you spoke with thanks to your mother’s tutelage. “Or was it the big bad Gestapo?” He sneered a little before grabbing a piece of paper, writing out a terrific sum of francs and a list of weapons before referring briefly to a leather notebook in his breast pocket before adding a set of coordinates. “Payment and drop location. We will confirm once we have been in receipt.”

“Right.” You replied tersely, tucking the slip of paper into your bag before standing. “Give Francisco my regards.”

“Oh I will, Marie.” Pablo grinned darkly, tenting his fingers as he watched you exit his office.

Climbing back up the stairs, you paused at the counter to purchase a newspaper, grabbing the comic book just as shopkeeper was about to give you the total and passed over the requisite number of francs for both. Taking a moment in the corner of the shop to slide the rather offensive list of demands into the paper, you tucked your purchases under your arm and headed next to a café where you would be able to pass along the Ponzán group’s order to a runner for the wireless operator in the area. Glancing at your watch, you confirmed it was just before noon, and tried not to smile as the young girl was seated in the back corner at her usual table.

Snagging a seat by the window, you ordered a black coffee and perused the comic book, pleased to see that it was most definitely the story of a boxer. Coffee finished, you deposited your payment on the table and made your way towards the bathroom, casually setting the folded newspaper on the girl’s table as you passed by before stepping into the single-stalled washroom. After flushing, you took a moment to tidy your appearance, taking a few breaths before opening the door and retrieving the empty and turned newspaper from the corner of her table, no other patron or staff person even glancing in your direction.

It was a tense walk back to the safety of Françoise’s apartment, being sure to take a circuitous route and triple-check that you were not being followed, before making your way up the stairs just as the woman herself was returning with the two requested packs. Drawing her keys from the pocket of her worn fur coat, she unlocked the numerous deadbolts before ushering you inside. As she locked up behind you, you bent to scoop up Charbon, going to Curt’s door to knock quietly.

“We are back.” You spoke softly through the wood.

It slowly creaked open, and he smiled in relief as he laid eyes on you. “Success?” He murmured and you nodded.

“It is arranged, we shall see if the price is a pill that can be swallowed.”

“For your luggage.” Françoise’s arm thrusted a rucksack between the pair of you, startling Curt before he took it with a nod of thanks. “You two probably need to do laundry now?”

“As always, you are correctly.” You set the cat down, ignoring his meow of protest as you took the other bag. “I can do that. This,” You held the comic out to Curt, “is for you.”

He took it with his other hand and smirked slowly. “Boxing…you remembered.”

Françoise shook her head and trundled down the hall to the bathroom to retrieve the laundry supplies, giving you no chance to discuss your gift to him as you gathered dirty clothes from both suitcases and worked with your host to scrub and rinse and wring for the rest for the day. Once the apartment was sufficiently strung with clothing hung to dry, intimates mercifully relegated to your respective rooms, there was dinner, and then a hushed game of poker at which Françoise mopped the floor with both of you.

The pattern continued thus for several days, Françoise keeping the pair of you busy with chores as you awaited news of a successful drop. Every evening, she would outdrink and outwit the both of you at cards, making you grateful you were only gambling with tokens and not real money. All communication with Curt was forced to be bland, sanitized, safe to be overheard by the English-speaking and ever-present woman whose apartment you were sheltering in. Only brief moments of intense eye contact across the round dining table, covered with its mended lace tablecloth, or a brushing of hands as you worked together in the kitchen to wash and dry the dishes, revealed there was something much more to the pair of you than simple traveling companions.

Retiring to your room after your third night of defeat at cards, you were feeling restless, thoroughly empathizing with animals held in cages against their will. Normally you would be out, walking the streets of Toulouse, scavenging, acquiring, making connections. But now, as a wanted and known person yourself, you too had to stay indoors as much as possible. You had always tried to be patient with your charges but had never truly understood how it felt to be in their shoes until now.

Turning your unsettled energy to more useful pursuits, you set the rucksack on your bed and carefully began to transfer the remnants of your suitcase into it, pausing as you came across the small tin of gun oil, cloth, and bore brush bundled inside a set of thick woollen socks. Setting it on the desk to your right, you finished your task, setting the empty suitcase by the door to turn over to Françoise before changing into your nightgown, a light summer affair without sleeves. Sliding a cardigan overtop of your bare and finally bandage-free, you retrieved your pistol and knife from your handbag settling in to clean your weapons.

Ejecting the clip from the pistol, you stripped it down before working with the bore brush to clean the barrel before applying a few drops to lubricant it. Turning, then, to the action, you ensured it too was cleaned and lubricated before you reassembled the weapon before moving onto your knife. You were nearly finished polishing the blade with a few drops of gun oil when your door suddenly swung open, making you jump to your feet.

“Easy, gorgeous.” Curt whispered, quietly closing the door behind him before turning the handle to let the latch slide home. “Just me.” He stood there clad only in his boxer shorts and an undershirt.

Releasing your knife onto the desk with an exhale of relief, you tilted your head in silent question, watching as he quickly closed the distance between you.

“Can’t stop thinking about you.” He sighed, sliding his arm around your back to pull you close as he kissed you deeply.

Your hands quickly rose to cup his cheeks warmly as you returned his kiss, hoping you convey you were suffering the same, despite your inability to speak at the moment. Guiding you backwards one step at a time, you were saved an uncomfortable collision with the wall as his free hand leaned up against it, ensuring your comfort as his mouth devoured yours. Hands sliding to cup the back of his head, you bit your lip as he began to nip and suck his way down your neck, humming against the expanse of skin exposed by your nightgown. As he encountered the set of buttons trailing down the front of your sleepwear, his fingers began to work at opening them, one by one, hand delving beneath the thin cotton to cup your right breast.

Sighing heavily in delight, you writhed against him, gnawing on your lip savagely as he circled his tongue around your nipple before sealing his mouth around the hardened bud. Curt seemed to be on some kind of personal mission to test your ability to remain quiet, well aware of that open door just down the hall, of neighbours through the adjoining walls, as he fought with the hem of your nightgown to trail his fingers up the outside of your thigh. Eyes meeting yours with lust-blown pupils as he found no underwear blocking his target, he cupped your mound as his mouth shifted to torture your left breast, forcing you to clamp a hand over your mouth as he parted your folds to apply mind-numbing pleasure to your clit.

The hand still clinging to his hair gripped hard as his middle finger slowly slid deep inside you, a sharp ‘merde’ escaping against your palm as you bucked, and he hummed happily against your sensitive flesh. The feeling of his ring finger joining the insistent thrusting, his thumb continuing its circling pressure, had your head rolling back and forth against the wall, desperately trying to swallow your sobs of pleasure or at the very least smother them against your hand.

“C’mon gorgeous, let me feel you.” He panted against your sternum, pleading once more with the addition of your name before pressing his lips against your skin hotly.

Hips bucking sharply against him, you were helpless not to oblige, clenching rhythmically around his fingers in release. Working you through it until he felt your body slacken against his, Curt then pulled his digits from you carefully, only to make a show of slowly licking them clean, your thighs pressing together quickly as your heavy breathing was the only sound in the room. The instant his mouth was free, you grasped his jaw and pulled him in for a hungry kiss. Pressing closer, he began to slide the hem of your nightgown high above your hips. Sensing his intentions, you quickly reached out to push down the waistband of his boxers, lifting one leg to wrap about his hips.

Pulling back from your lips, his eyes bore into yours as he rocked forward, driving his length home into your warmth. Eyes rolling back into your head, you clung to his shoulders but gasped as he suddenly hiked your second leg to wrap around him, pinning you against the wall with a cocky smirk before beginning to thrust in earnest. Drowning your moans in frantic kisses against his lips, you clutched and pulled at the straps of his undershirt, heels digging into cheeks of his ass. Body already sensitive, and his pelvis grinding so enthusiastically against your clit, it did not take long for you to climax once more.

A squeak flew from your lips as he quickly pulled from your body, sliding down the wall slightly as he deprived you of the sensation of his orgasm, his cum spraying across your lower abdomen instead. Though you supposed it was for the best in the end. Lowering one trembling leg and then another, you reached up to grab a clean handkerchief from its position on the drying line nearby, lips twitching fondly as he insisted on taking it from you to gently wipe your skin clean.

“Woulda come sooner…” he smirked briefly but soldiered on, “but that damn cat kept gettin’ in my way.” He finished with a huff.

“Charbon?” You giggled breathlessly, reaching up to smooth his hair which you had put into such disarray. “He is harmless…”

“What does that name mean, anyway?” He asked, crumpling the handkerchief into his fist.

“Charcoal.” You replied quietly, fingertips tracing along his cheekbones affectionately.

“I’ll turn him into charcoal if he tries to keep me away from you again…” He muttered gruffly, lips pressing against the pads of your fingers as they strayed too close to his mouth.

Your eyes widened at the threat against the cat’s life. “Curt!” You admonished half-heartedly before you pressed your face against his chest to smother your resulting laughter.

-------------------------

Read Part Five

In My Blood Masterlist

Tag list: @precious-little-scoundrel, @luminouslywriting, @polikabra, @beingalive1

[bluesandwhich]

im watching the crowded room (apple TV show) it's really cool so far in episode 1

it's a mystery suspicion kinda show and i really liked it since the first teaser trailer, it starts Tom Holland as the lead of Danny and Amanda Seyfried as Rya.

If you like mystery shows, maybe check it out first 3 episodes r out now!!

i really like toms acting, he has a really diverse range and im glad to see him taking such roles

[movierecipe]

Bad Sisters S2 Apple TV Plus YouTube Short Trailer With mounting suspicions, shocking revelations, and family bonds tested, the sisters must uncover who they can really trust. Don't miss the drama and suspense in this highly anticipated Bad Sisters season 2. For more updates, Subscribe Now: https://www.youtube.com/@movierecipe2070?sub_confirmation=1 via YouTube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YnGOIWNyoKQ