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kaces-graham-crackers · 2 months ago

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My Eyes on You - Valentine's Special

| -Tara Carpenter x Secret Admirer Reader- |

Summary: It starts with a note—small, unsigned, tucked into Tara’s locker like a secret waiting to be unraveled. One at her usual café, slipped between the pages of a book she was reading. Each one too personal, too knowing, referencing moments and memories she didn’t realize someone else had been holding onto. The final note—a time, a place. The answer is waiting in the dark; the admirer is finally ready to be seen.

Word Count: 3.5k

The final bell sliced through the low hum of conversation, a signal that sent students spilling into the hallways like floodgates had been opened. The usual chaos of end-of-day energy buzzed around you—weekend plans being made, lockers slamming shut, the steady stream of people funneled toward the exit.

Beside you, Tara walked quickly, fingers toying absentmindedly with the edge of an envelope she had just pulled from her locker—another one. “Alright, let’s see what my little ghostwriter has to say today,” she mused, already peeling it open. Mindy, Chad, and Anika slowed their steps just enough to listen, equally nosy and entertained. Chad groaned. “Again? What is this, like, the third one this week?”

“Fifth,” Tara corrected, unfolding the note with the same air of nonchalance she had every time, as if it didn’t matter. Like it wasn’t slowly picking apart the edges of her mind. Your stomach twisted as she smoothed the paper, eyes scanning the words before reading them aloud. "I wonder if you ever noticed how they looked at you that night at the ice cream shop. The way you made it hard for them not to fall. The way you always do."

Silence.

Anika let out a low whistle. “Damn. That’s kind of... romantic?” “Or creepy,” Mindy added, arms crossing. “Who even remembers that night?” You did.

You remembered how Tara had ordered her usual—chocolate with sprinkles—then, for unknown reasons, attempted to balance the entire cone on the back of her hand. She’d made it three steps before it tumbled, a mess of melted ice cream and laughter, the kind that doesn’t just fade away but settles somewhere deep, like an old song stuck on repeat. And maybe, you had looked at her a little too long that night. Tara scoffed, shoving the note into her pocket with practiced ease. She played it off like it was nothing and didn’t sit in the back of her mind like the others did. Like she wasn’t already dissecting it, wondering who had been watching her so closely.

If there was one thing about Tara Carpenter, she didn’t like not knowing.

The group stepped outside, the evening air crisp against your skin, thick with the familiar scent of damp pavement and the distant burn of street food carts from the edge of campus. Students filtered onto the sidewalks, peeling off toward dorms, Ubers, and whatever half-baked plans they had for the night. Chad slung his backpack over one shoulder, exhaling sharply. “This is getting weird,” he muttered, glancing between Tara and the half-crumpled note in her grip. “First the locker notes, then the one in your notebook, and now this?” He gestured vaguely at her pocket, like the mere presence of the letters was an affront to common sense. “How the hell are they even leaving them without you noticing?”

“They’re sneaky,” Mindy supplied, ever the voice of rational paranoia. “Or you just don’t pay attention.” Tara rolled her eyes. “You’re both being dramatic. It’s just some random admirer. No big deal.” Anika smirked. “You like the attention, though.”

Tara didn’t deny it. Instead, she shrugged, nonchalant, but there was something else beneath it—a flicker of thoughtfulness as her fingers absently brushed the edge of her pocket. “I just think it’s funny,” she mused, voice lighter than the look in her eyes. “They remember stuff. Specific things. They’re either incredibly observant or completely obsessed.” Quinn chimed in, “Or both” lips twitching with amusement. “And I, for one, think that’s hot.” Tara was right. The notes weren’t just recycled compliments or half-hearted poetry. They were deliberate—threaded with memories, details so specific they felt like echoes of something intimate. Little moments she hadn’t realized someone else had been holding onto.

As the group neared the edge of campus, the natural rhythm of parting ways set in. Chad was already absorbed in texting someone, Anika and Mindy were murmuring about where to get food, and Quinn peeled off toward the subway without a backward glance. But Tara lingered, hands stuffed in her pockets, shoulders loose but mind elsewhere. "You gonna keep them?" you asked, keeping your tone light, though something about the weight of her answer already hung in the air.

She glanced at you, then looked away just as quickly, a barely-there smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Probably. Maybe one day I’ll figure out who they are." Something was behind her voice, something layered beneath the teasing—a challenge, a certainty. She was already putting the pieces together, forming a list of possibilities.

And if she kept looking and followed the trail long enough, she would find the answer. The sun had dipped below the horizon by the time you and Tara found yourselves sprawled out in the living room of her apartment, an unspoken tradition after long school days. The coffee table was cluttered with remnants of a shared snack—half-eaten chips, a bottle of soda, Tara’s feet propped up like she had no intention of moving anytime soon.

Tara had all six notes fanned out in front of her, scanning them one by one, brow furrowed in concentration. You leaned over slightly, pointing at the most recent one about the ice cream shop.

“Alright, so whoever this is, they were there that night,” you said. “And they remembered it in a way that isn’t just casual. Like… ‘I saw you spill ice cream on yourself’ is one thing. But this?” You tapped the line Tara had read aloud earlier. The way you made it hard for them not to fall. “That’s personal.”

Tara hummed, running a finger over the note. “It could still be a coincidence.” You shot her a look. “Five other notes, Tara. At this point, it’s a pattern.” Before she could respond, unlocking the front door made you glance up.

Sam stepped inside, shrugging off her jacket. Her hair was slightly tousled from the wind outside. She blinked when she saw you both camped out on the floor, and then her gaze flicked to the scattered notes between you.

“… Okay. What conspiracy are we unraveling tonight?”

Tara sighed dramatically, tossing one of the notes toward Sam as she flopped back onto the couch. “I have a secret admirer.”

Sam caught the note midair, raising an eyebrow as she read it. She stayed quiet for a moment, then exhaled sharply, rubbing her temple like this was the last thing she needed to deal with tonight. “You’re not taking this seriously, are you?” Sam asked, already walking toward the kitchen. Tara smirked. “Why? You jealous?” Sam scoffed, opening the fridge. “I’m exhausted. And the last time someone started leaving weird messages around, I had to stab a guy, so forgive me for not being thrilled about this little romantic mystery.”

You chuckled. “Not everything is a potential murder, Sam.”

She shot you a pointed look as she grabbed a water bottle. “In this family? Everything is a potential murder.” Tara rolled her eyes, sitting up again. “Look, it’s someone in our friend group. They’d have to be close enough to know all these details about me.” You nodded. “So, let’s break it down. Who was at the ice cream shop that night?” Tara glanced at the notes again, thinking. “Me, you, Mindy, Anika, Chad, Quinn—”

“And Ethan,” Sam added from the kitchen.

You paused. “So basically… everyone we know.” Tara groaned, running a hand through her hair. “Great. That narrows it down.” Sam leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Or… you could just not entertain this.” Tara ignored her, eyes scanning the notes again, fingers tapping idly against her thigh. The admirer had been careful, deliberate. But not careful enough. Someone in your friend group was watching.

The following note arrived at the usual hangout spot—Mindy’s apartment, where the group had piled onto the couch for their weekly horror movie night. The air smelled like popcorn and leftover takeout, and the coffee table was already littered with empty cups and snack wrappers.

Tara had been sitting beside you, legs tucked under her, fully prepared to ignore Chad’s commentary about why horror protagonists always make the worst decisions. But as she reached for her phone, a note brushed against her fingertips inside her jacket pocket. Her stomach sank as she pulled it out, carefully unfolding the small piece of paper, already knowing what it would be. Mindy noticed first. “Oh, for the love of—another one?”

Tara ignored her, smoothing out the paper as she read aloud.

"I wonder if you know how you pull people in without trying. How your laugh lingers, how your presence shifts the air. If only you could see yourself the way I do." The room fell silent.

Chad groaned dramatically, running a hand down his face. “Okay, that’s it. This is officially romantic stalker levels now.” Mindy leaned over, peering at the note. “Gotta admit… they’ve got a way with words.” Tara’s expression was unreadable, her thumb running over the ink as if she could feel the weight of the words. This was different from the others. More personal. The admirer wasn’t just watching her anymore. They were hoping she’d see them too. Anika nudged her playfully. “So, do you have any guesses yet, or are we still pretending this isn’t completely messing with your head?”

Tara huffed, folding the note carefully before tucking it back into her pocket. “I don’t know. It has to be someone close, but…” She trailed off, her gaze flickering briefly toward you before shifting away just as quickly. She wasn’t ready to finish that thought. Not yet. But she knew you would have her back whoever or whatever would happen next. The night air was crisp, cutting through Tara’s jacket as she adjusted the strap of her bag and fumbled with the keys in her pocket. The streets of New York were still alive around her, the dull roar of traffic, the occasional burst of laughter from passing strangers, the rhythmic buzz of the city that never quite slept.

She was exhausted. A full day of classes, followed by an impromptu hangout at Anika’s place, had drained whatever energy she had left. All she wanted now was to get home, shower, and maybe—maybe—finally stop thinking about the secret admirer that had been slowly unraveling her brain for weeks. It had become a routine: a note here, a whisper of a memory there, moments from her life reflected at her like she was walking through a house of mirrors. She wasn’t sure when it had stopped feeling like a game. Tara stepped into the elevator of her apartment complex, jabbing the button for her floor before leaning against the cool metal wall. The ride up was quiet, the distant hum of the city fading into the background as she let her head fall back, exhaling slowly.

She was starting to think she’d never get an answer. Then the elevator doors slid open. And she saw it. A single envelope was placed carefully at the foot of her apartment door.

Tara stopped breathing.

It wasn’t wedged under the door like a delivery, nor had it been tossed carelessly to the side. It was placed deliberately, centered perfectly, as if waiting for her to pick it up.

Her heart slammed against her ribs as she stepped forward, kneeling slightly to grab it, fingers trembling just a little as she turned it over in her hands. No name. No initials. Just a tiny, folded note, simple and unassuming. But Tara knew better. She exhaled sharply, pushing the door open with her shoulder before stepping inside, kicking it shut behind her as she walked straight to the couch, already unfolding the paper.

The handwriting was familiar now. She had spent weeks staring at it, tracing her fingers over the ink, memorizing how the words slanted slightly, like the writer had been hesitant and confident all at once.

But this time, it was different.

This time, there were no riddles, no carefully crafted phrases meant to make her think. This time, there was just a single message.

“Meet me on the rooftop. Sunset.”

Tara’s breath caught. There was no signature. No initials. Just instructions.

For the first time, the admirer wasn’t hiding behind poetic confessions or lingering memories. They were asking her to meet them. Her fingers clenched around the paper, pulse pounding in her ears.

She had spent weeks playing this game, reading notes, searching for connections, and chasing a shadow that refused to be caught. Now, they were stepping out of the dark. And she was going to see them. Her first instinct was to text you.

She didn’t know why—maybe it was because you were always there when she found these notes, the one person who didn’t roll their eyes or brush it off. Maybe it was because she trusted you to keep her grounded when things felt slipping out of her control.

Tara: You free?

You: Always. What’s up?

Tara:… meet me. Roof.

She hesitated before hitting send, but only for a second. She didn’t want to go alone no matter who awaited her.

When Tara pushed open the rooftop door, the sky melted into soft shades of orange and pink. The crisp evening air greeted her first, followed by the distant hum of the city below, but none of it registered—the moment her eyes adjusted to the dimming light, she stopped short.

The rooftop had been transformed.

Roses, carefully arranged, petals scattered across the surface. A table set for two, candlelight flickering inside small glass jars. A bottle of chilled sparkling grape juice sat in an ice bucket, beads of condensation forming along the glass, next to her favorite meal, plated with precision, waiting for her like something out of a dream.

Her breath hitched. She felt you step up beside her, the warmth of your presence grounding her before she could spiral.

"This is…” She trailed off, shaking her head. "Okay, what the hell?" She turned slightly, scanning the rooftop, waiting for someone to step forward. But no one did. No movement. No shadow emerging from the dimming light. The realization sent a strange chill down her spine.

No one was here.

She exhaled, a mix of frustration and disbelief curling in her chest. "I don’t get it. Who—" She stopped because you weren’t looking for anyone. You were looking at her. And suddenly, it was too quiet. Before she could speak and string together the thousands of questions screaming in her head, you opened your mouth. Tara’s mind was short-circuiting. The notes, the memories, the lingering glances that never seemed out of place until now—it was all you.

She didn’t know what to say.

For weeks, she had been searching for an answer, turning over every possibility, teasing out every clue, only to realize the answer had been standing next to her the whole time. Her jaw tightened as she exhaled sharply, trying to process it all. “You seriously had me running around like a lunatic over this?” You huffed out a laugh, rubbing the back of your neck. “In my defense, I didn’t think you’d go full FBI mode.”

Tara shot you a look, arms crossing. “You were writing me anonymous love letters. What did you expect me to do? … not wonder who the hell was obsessed with me?”You blinked. “‘Obsessed’ is a strong word.” Tara scoffed, pulling one of the notes from her pocket and unfolding it dramatically. “Oh, I don’t know. ‘I wonder if you know what you do to people’ seems intense.” You groaned. “Okay, yeah. Maybe a little obsessed.”Silence stretched between you for a beat. Then—Tara raised a brow. “So?”

Your brows furrowed. “So…?” She gestured vaguely. “Aren’t you going to explain yourself? Or am I supposed to be so charmed by this grand rooftop gesture that I swoon and fall into your arms?” You smirked, arms crossing. “Would that work?” Tara rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched.

You inhaled, exhaling slowly before shrugging. “Look… I wanted to tell you. I did. But every time I got close, you’d get excited about the mystery, and I—” You shook your head, running a hand through your hair. “I chickened out. I figured if you were looking for the answer, maybe—just maybe—you wanted to find it.” Tara tilted her head, considering you. “And if I didn’t?” You swallowed. “Then I guess I would’ve spent Valentine’s Day up here alone, eating an embarrassing amount of pasta and wallowing in my bad decisions.”

She let out a sharp breath, something like a laugh, and shook her head. “Jesus. You’re an idiot.” You grinned. “An idiot who likes you, though.” Tara bit her lip. Something in her expression shifted, something softer—dangerously close to fond. “... Yeah,” she murmured, not looking away this time. “I kinda figured that part out.” She was still standing close—too close—and suddenly, it wasn’t the city air making it hard to breathe. Tara’s gaze flickered over your face, searching, weighing something.

“You made me go through all of this just to tell me something I probably already knew, didn’t you?” You smirked. “I dunno. I think you kinda liked the chase.” Her brows lifted. “Oh? That what you think?” You shrugged. “I mean, you didn’t have to come up here. You could’ve just ignored the note. Tossed it. Pretended you weren’t interested.”

Tara sucked in a slow breath, her lips curving ever so slightly. “… Maybe I like knowing how far someone’s willing to go for me.” Your heart stumbled out your chest. She was teasing, but something was dangerous beneath it—something honest.

You wet your lips. “Would you be mad if I kissed you right now?”

Then—she smirked.

“Depends,” she said, tilting her chin slightly. “Are you gonna make me chase you for that too?”, and just like that—you were done for. Because before you could think, before you could overanalyze or second-guess or do anything remotely rational, you leaned in.

Tara met you halfway, and suddenly, nothing else mattered.

The city faded. The roses, the flickering candlelight, the skyline stretching beyond the rooftop—all of it blurred, dissolving into the background the second her lips touched yours. She kissed you like she had been waiting for this—like she had spent the past few weeks unraveling a mystery only to realize she had been at the center of it all along.

She met you halfway, but it wasn’t enough. Not for her. Not after weeks of chasing a mystery, weeks of untangling riddles and second-guessing what she wanted. Now that she had you right in front of her—now that she knew it had always been you—she wasn’t going to hesitate. So she didn’t. Her hands slid up, gripping the collar of your jacket before moving—faster than you expected, rougher than you expected—to the back of your neck.

And then she pulled. There was nothing soft about it. Your breath barely had time to hitch before her lips crashed into yours—a collision, not a question. It was all at once—weeks of tension, wondering, and wanting, all spilling into how she kissed you now. Firm. Certain. You made a quiet, startled noise against her mouth, fingers twitching at your sides before finding their place—one hand pressing against the curve of her waist, the other sliding up to cup the back of her head.

She tilted her chin, deepening the kiss, swallowing the sharp breath you took like she wanted to keep it. Your head spun, lungs burning from how completely she had just stolen the air from them. When she finally eased up, she didn’t let go. Her fingers lingered against your skin, her grip still firm against your neck, like she wasn’t ready to step away. Her breath was uneven when she finally spoke. “Took you long enough.”

You exhaled a short laugh, forehead brushing hers. “Me? You’re the one who had me running all over the city like a detective.” Tara hummed, thumb tracing absent circles against the nape of your neck. “And yet, you still showed up.”You smirked. “Guess I like the chase."

Her lips twitched. “Not anymore, you don’t.” And just like that, she kissed you again. Slower this time. Still firm. Still claiming. This wasn’t an answer—it was a statement. A fact.

Your pulse was a wreck when she finally pulled back, but her hands were steady. She turned slightly, glancing toward the table—the one you had spent hours setting up, the one she was just now acknowledging. Her grip on your neck didn’t waver, but her lips curled as she exhaled.

“You went all out, huh?” You swallowed, still trying to remember how to function. “Yeah. I mean... figured if I was going to confess, might as well make it dramatic.” Tara hummed, finally letting her fingers slip away from your skin—slow, reluctant. She took your hand instead, tugging you forward. “Come on,” she murmured, leading you toward the table. She glanced at you from the corner of her eye, smirking. “Let’s see what you planned for our first date.”

And you—still breathless, still dazed, still wrecked from the way she had just pulled you in like she had been waiting forever to do it—had no choice but to follow.

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almostempty · 5 months ago

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What’s Love Got to Do with It

(oberyn x f!reader) wc: 4.6k | other fics

note: hey y’all it’s me ya gurl, here to defile another prompt with a silly idea <3 Sooo, from the three brain cells that brought you fuckboy!joel and divorced dad rock dilf!joel 🫡i now humbly present …. Frat bro Oberyn, Aka The Red Viper, aka the Prince of Pong, aka the Slut of Delta Psi (i did steal the frat name from the film Neighbors—in which they do sing a line from Creed in their frat chant, so in some twisted way, they’re kind of all connected right??)

I fear this may have just been funny to me so feel free to skip, but thank you to everyone who tolerates my shenanigans <3.

ANYWAY, The lovely @baronessvonglitter bestowed upon me Oberyn x What’s Love Got to Do with It for fucktober (happy belated bday babe) but naturally, i made it weird. Thanks to @sunshinehaze1 for reminding me that modern AUs exist when I got scared of the GOT universe and to @auterdelabre for reminding me that the answer is always fuckboy. Don’t blame them for anything else.

Summary: You attend a fraternity toga party, and you catch the eye of Delta Psi’s notorious Red Viper. He shows you how he got the nickname and then he shows you something else he’s known for.

tags/warnings: explicit 18+ smut, alcohol/partying, gratuitous flirting, piv, fuckboy behavior aka on to the next one, infidelity, i couldn’t bring myself to write his dialogue in frat bro™ –aka i didn’t fully commit to the bit bc that man just had to be smooth and had to fuck no matter what universe i put him in, apologies if that ruins your immersion in my pwp, per usual: no y/n, f!reader is able bodied otherwise no specifics, unprotected piv as if it’s no biggie because it’s fiction (don’t do that irl), no beta/limited proofreading sorry for all mistakes

“Oh my god, that’s him!” Your best friend shouts into your ear as you walk down the sidewalk. You blend into the sea of toga-clad college kids, sandals slapping against the pavement. Liv leans on you, pointing out the guy she’s talking about. You can hear the music pouring out into the street and people inside yelling and chanting over someone doing a keg stand or something equally as exciting and alcohol-related, you assume.

The guy she pointed out is leaning casually against the banister, letting some ripped blond dude entertain him on the porch. “That’s the guy your roommate was talking about?” you question your friend. Liv agrees with a smile as you walk towards the front steps.

Everyone else on the porch looks like a frat bro wrapped in a wrinkly bedsheet, but for some reason, he seems almost godlike. He’s luminous under the warm lights. As if he knew you were checking him out, he turns his head just as you walk past, and his eyes sweep over you, making your face hot. Something sparks between you before he turns away, taking a swig of his drink.

Liv had given you a rundown on what to expect at your first Delta Psi party. You had argued that you knew what college parties were like. You transferred this quarter as a senior, and you just didn’t have Greek life at your other school or your best friend to convince you to go out. But now, you’re here, dressed up and entering a party that really does feel a little more intense than the ones back at your small-town university.

Liv’s roommate had given you the rundown on the guys she knew in the fraternity, but you didn’t pay much attention to her descriptions. You figured there was no way a Brad, Dylan, Connor, or a Brent would actually be hot. And then, when she started with the ones with nicknames, you completely checked out after Viper and Rooster. It has to defy the laws of nature for a frat bro that goes by Rooster to be able to find your clit—even if he IS hot.

Yet, now you realize you might be eating your words because you get it. You were too quick to judge, whoops. “Which one was that?” you ask in Liv’s ear as you both make your way through the people sloshing drinks and dancing.

“Viper!”

You can’t help the immediate grimace that emerges on your face. “That’s so douchey!” you shout back over the noise before she pulls you down a hall toward that kitchen. She leans in close to your ear, telling you that her roommate swears she got the best head of her life from him. “No fucking way,” you argue.

“Way,” she smirks back. “He’s got a girlfriend now, though. They’re, like, totally in love, it’s all over social media.” She mocks puking at the idea, and you share a laugh.

You explore the party together. The house is huge; one room on the main floor is blasting EDM, and another is blasting top 40 hits. There are a couple of beer pong tables in the backyard and a detached garage filled with stoners on old couches giggling to themselves. You know that Liv is itching to park her ass on one of those sofas and find a girl or guy to whom she can woo with her French inhale and makeout with for the rest of the night.

But, she’s a loyal ass bitch who wouldn’t abandon you. You circle back through the house. You spend a little while dancing together and taking your time to see if there’s anyone else who catches your eye. Nobody really sticks out to you in the first room until you catch his eyes again. You have to do a double-take as you circle your waist and roll your body against Liv.

He’s semi-shrouded in the corner; with the dim lighting and the packed house, it would be easy to miss the two of them altogether. But when the girl clinging to him turns around to grind her ass against him, he locks eyes with you, and you swear that fucker winks at you before a group of girls prance into the room, shouting oh my god, it’s our song! You try to shake it off. You were definitely just seeing things with the lights.

You signal to Liv, and she follows you into the other room. You dance together a bit longer. She offers you a swig from her rhinestone-encrusted flask, but you turn her down, staying sober tonight. You feel euphoric enough with the strobe lights and the thrumming bass from the EDM remixes blasting in the room.

You turn down a few wasted white dudes who try to dance up on the two of you. Too drunk. Not your type. Too handsy. You’re not afraid to punch a man in the throat or the nuts if they don’t get the hint, but they back off when you give them a gentle shove and a shake of your head. The most recent suitor is turning and scoping for another girl to approach when you see him again.

He’s moving towards you, looking right at you, but there’s no girl on his arm–or crotch, now. For some reason, it makes you feel too hot. You’re sweating from the dancing anyway, so you ignore the electric look in his eye that makes your clit twitch and grab Liv’s arm to make a dash for the backyard to get some fresh air.

You debrief with each other and come to an agreement. You tell Liv to do her thing, urging her to head towards the couch with the skater dude wearing the toga made from a dinosaur patterned sheet and the high-top vans. She agrees to text you if she plans to relocate or wants to leave before you finish taking another lap around the party.

You sort of lie to her, claiming someone inside caught your eye. They did, but you aren’t planning to do anything about it. Instead, you part ways and head back through the house, past the pledge posing as a bouncer at the front door, and onto the front porch. The music is still loud, but it’s quieter out front. People still trickle in and out of the party. You stare out at the night sky, searching for the moon. In your own little world, you’re basking in your own peace.

“I haven’t seen you here before,” a rich, velvety voice washes over your shoulder. It should make you jerk away, give you goosebumps, and raise your hackles. But, instead, the interruption stirs liquid heat in your core and makes your nipples hard. Because it’s him.

You turn your head and confirm. He’s so close to you.

“You know every girl here?” you challenge him.

“I know the ladies and gentlemen that pique my curiosity,” his voice is so smooth. He’s a charmer, for sure. He offers you a drink, holding out two plastic cups in one hand. The size of his hand does make you tingly, but his smile falters when you shoot him one of your signature dirty looks.

Before he can ask about the look, you take one of the cups, give him a cloyingly sweet smile, and pour it out over the railing into the grass below. The tail of his brow quirks, and he gives you a sly smile that widens into a grin and a full-chested laugh. “Oops,” you mock.

“You’re a bold woman,” he muses, “I like that.”

He doesn’t back down after you toss out his drink. He doesn’t take it as a rejection. He understands when you explain you don’t take open drinks from strangers at a frat party, but you roll your eyes hard when he gloats about not needing tricks or drugs to find a lover.

He banters with you as he downs the remaining drink. He’s quick, with sharp wit and a devious smile. You can’t keep your eyes off his exposed chest, his arms, his neck, his eyes. It’s still confusing how he can look so regal, whereas everyone else in the party looks a little…goofy? Cliche? He pulls you back to the present, asking for your name before he gives you his.

“They call me ‘the Red Viper,’” he gives you a provocative grin like he knows exactly how hot he looks, even with a bedsheet draped over his shoulder.

You play into his hand, “Is that some kinda of euphemism?” Feeding his ego with a suggestive arch of your brow. Maybe you’re bold, but you don’t think he’s the type to be deterred by a confident woman. In fact, it seems to make him glow even brighter.

His voice lowers, dripping with an enticing challenge, “Are you looking to find out?” he asks.

His jaw quirks, and you’re mesmerized watching him suck at his lower lip. It looks so perfectly plump and kissable, curling into a smirk as his eyes gleam with mischief. “Come,” he beckons for you to follow him deeper into the party.

“I thought you had a girlfriend,” you say stiffly, remembering what Liv had said as you walked in. He looks at you curiously before shaking his head lightly.

“You mean Cora? From earlier? She’s not my girlfriend. We were just dancing.”

“No,” you shake your head, “I heard it’s all over social media. That you’re loved up.”

“Oh, so you’ve heard of me?” he gives you that cocky smile that absolutely shouldn’t work but somehow makes you feel warm like you’re laying on the warm sand on a beach listening to the waves crashing. You don’t say anything else, and he leans in a little closer, “What’s love got to do with it?” he asks huskily. Dangerously.

It makes you shudder with something warm and twisted.

“Now,” he guides you gently but firmly, “Come.” You need him to stop saying it like an order before you do.

You let him walk you through the party. Weaving through the boisterous crowds. They part easily for him, clearing a path like he’s royalty.

“They call me ‘the Red Viper’ because I’m lethal at any game involving a red Solo cup.” He murmurs it into your ear like it’s a sexy secret.

You laugh brightly at that, giving him a gentle shove. “That’s the lamest thing I’ve ever heard!”

He gives you a coy shrug. “It’s the truth.” He leads you into the backyard, towards the beer pong tables. “I’ll show you,” he says just for you to hear. The string lights illuminate the yard in soft light; however, the mood is anything but romantic, with the drunk cheering college kids taking their drinking games very seriously.

You watch, amused, as one team high-fives each other over their trick shot. At another table, both teams heatedly argue about “house rules.”

“It’s the prince of pong!” one of his fraternity brothers shouts across the lawn. He gives you the most dramatic I told you so glance, and you mouth “lame” back at him. He calls ‘next game,’ and as if he were their lord, one table immediately clears out, forfeiting in a demonstration of fealty.

“Ladies first,” he offers once he’s set up all the cups to his liking. He’s so arrogant about it, and it shouldn’t turn you on, but it absolutely does.

You grin across the table at him. “You’re on.”

He’s merciful at first. You land a few cups, giving you enough confidence to talk shit and tease him. But it rapidly becomes apparent that he’s a man of his word as he easily picks off every cup on your end of the table with precision.

Despite your rapid descent towards a loss, you eat up his charm. His magnetic energy. He makes the rest of the party disappear when he looks at you. It makes your heart tingle and your pussy flutter. He’s a gracious winner, only gloating a little as he reracks the table and offers it up to other party-goers.

“Alright, Viper, you won. You can retain your title.” You admit defeat as he slinks up close to you, ushering you along to the side of the house, only a few steps away but more secluded from the rest of the party.

“And now, will you allow me to claim my prize?” he asks in his smoky, deep voice.

Despite his clear intentions, you feign confusion as he wraps one wide hand around your waist and tilts your chin towards his face with the other. “I didn’t know we were playing for stakes,” you smile brashly. Your skin blazes under his touch and his seductive gaze as his eyes drop to your mouth.

He starts to dip towards you, but you swerve away from him. It’s on the tip of your tongue to ask again if he’s in a relationship. He growls softly, almost a purr, next to your ear. “What’s wrong, my lady?” he murmurs. The intimacy of it is heady, and your surroundings fade.

You want to take whatever he’s offering, no questions, so instead you whisper, “Tell me your real name.”

He sighs softly before giving in and telling you his name.

“Oberyn,” you repeat back, “that’s unique.”

He starts muttering about how he’s an international student, but you’ve got all the info you needed. Now you don’t have to add a guy named Viper to your mental list of hookups.

“I like it,” you cut him off before slotting your mouth against his and making up for ducking out of his last attempt at a kiss with your eagerness. He wraps his arm around you, and you’re transported. One large hand presses against your lower back, urging your hips toward his, and the other cradles your jaw, giving you a sense of stability as he matches your ferocity.

You briefly wonder if you’d have melted if he wasn’t holding you so tightly before your thoughts are consumed by the sensation of his lips against yours and his tongue running along yours. It’s not a kiss you would’ve expected from a frat guy. It’s romantic and passionate, and you feel your body rolling against his, caught up in the sensation and intensity.

You keep going, letting yourself enjoy the moment, eating up the flavor of him, the scent of him, and the throbbing intensifying between your legs. You slip one of your hands along the back of his neck into his soft hair, and he groans into your mouth. It makes your knees weak.

You chase his mouth as he pulls back and looks into your heavy-lidded eyes. Sharing the hot air between you, it feels like a current is looping through your bodies, buzzing with need.

“Let’s go upstairs,” he urges in a gravelly whisper. You can feel him hardening against you. His hand on your back is firm, keeping you flush, pelvis to pelvis, making you nearly dizzy. However, his hand on your jaw is gentle, brushing his thumb along your cheek sweetly. You still can’t help goading just a little.

“What for?” you ask playfully.

“To fuck.”

It makes your cheeks hot. Maybe there should be red flags popping up in your mind, but you don’t care. He likes a bold woman, and you like a direct man.

“Unless you’d rather do it in the grass here,” he tilts his head toward the ground. You act like you’re considering the option seriously, making him laugh before he releases you from his arms. “Don’t tease,” he says with a severe look, “It wouldn’t bother me.”

Me either, you consider before deciding not to say that part aloud. You tell him to take you to a real bed, and he does. Swiftly guiding you into the house and up the stairs, past the pledge guarding the rooms, and into his bedroom. He spins around, pinning you against the door for another searing kiss. It’s more urgent this time. He’s quickly moving to your neck, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your tender skin as you both greedily run your hands along each other’s bodies.

Before you can get your hands under his toga, he’s detaching from you and sinking to his knees. He moves efficiently, bunching up your toga and asking you to hold it. Then he’s hovering his hot mouth over your mound before kissing you over your lacey panties.

“Mmm,” he hums into you and traces the crease of your thighs with one hand, following the line until he’s softly running his fingers along the edge of your panties, the tips of his fingers barely dipping beneath the hem as he moves towards your core. You watch, staring down with your mouth parted as he holds your gaze.

He teases you, running his fingertips along your seam over the soaked fabric, tapping and teasing at your swollen clit through the fabric as he watches your needy expression morph into frustration. You shift, spreading your legs wider, but he stops you with a large hand on each thigh.

“Hold still,” he orders, and you feel compelled to listen. He pulls your underwear down and off of you, then hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, spreading your cunt open. “That’s better.”

You can’t tell if he’s talking to himself or to you. You don’t have a chance to ask before he’s burying his face into your soft, wet pussy. Your breath hitches at the sensation and one of your hands flies out to grab at the door frame to steady you, while the other one digs into Oberyn’s hair.

He’s unbothered by your dramatics. Oberyn moves with enthusiasm, drawing his tongue along your slit and pressing into your sex with his jaw. His facial hair tickles at your tender skin deliciously and his nose grazes over your clit as if his face were molded to maximize your pleasure. He changes his strategy, mouthing at your clit and sweeping his tongue over it like he’s making out with it, with the same passion that he kissed you with outside and a moment ago.

You can feel it starting to build. Your hip flexors straining and thighs starting to tremble as your breathing gets quicker and more shallow. Closer and closer and closer. He’s perceptive and diligent. Repeating the same tricks that make you moan and dig your fingers into his hair.

You’re stuck on the precipice, so close but not quite there. Your eyes roam around the dimly lit room, the bed, the bookshelf, the tapestry pinned to the wall, the collection of cologne bottles lined up on the desk, the mirror on top of the desk–pointing right at the bed.

It starts to frustrate you. Not the decor choices, but the tension and the building pressure. You squirm slightly, hoping the smallest adjustment will somehow bring everything into a sharper focus. You let your eyes close, letting the roar of the party downstairs fade, focusing on the pressure and warmth of Oberyn’s mouth.

More, more, more.

It’s all you can think as Oberyn stays dedicated to getting you off on his tongue. He sucks firmly at your clit before releasing you with a slick sound. He hovers, mouth fanning warm air over your core looking up at you. His eyes are lit with hunger.

“More?” he asks in his deep, rich voice.

You can’t tell if you were chanting out loud or if he’s somehow reading your mind. “Please,” you respond with a needy edge, “more.” You catch the sparkle in his eye and the flash of a grin. He works you up again, towards the brink, relishing in your responses as you whine with need as he resumes holding you in a purgatory of pleasure.

Mercifully, he does give you more. Oberyn grips your thigh with one hand, steadying you, while he swipes two fingers along the length of your pussy once, twice, coating them in your arousal before plunging them inside of you. The increased pressure and friction from his fingers pumping into you causes you to moan. It’s a lower register than your breathy panting from earlier, layered with satisfaction as you can feel the anticipation starting to crest.

“Don’t stop,” you beg, “I’m so close.”

He doesn’t stop, groaning at your words, rumbling against you. That snaps the tension and you cry out his name and a string of curses as your orgasm hits. He doesn’t slow down when your cunt contracts around his fingers and he doesn’t lose focus when you shake and writhe against mouth. Not until you’re pulling him off of you, oversensitive and wrung out.

Oberyn stands, wiping at his chin before pulling you in close for another breathtaking kiss. He walks you back toward the bed and you fall into it, pulling him with you. You tangle together, frantically, you want him inside of you now. He laughs softly against your hot neck, sensing your frustration.

“Shh,” he murmurs as you huff with defeat. He moves deftly, braced over you with one arm, and freeing his cock with the other. Your hands stroke up and down his shoulders and back, and you hook one leg around his hip, encouraging him. “You want me to fuck you now?” he asks and you whisper a yes that turns into a gasp as he runs his tip through your soaked center. “And how do you want it?”

“Hard.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, sinking into you deeper and deeper, and pulling back, all the way out, then all the way in. “Fuck,” he says to himself as he sets a quick pace, slaming his hips into yours making the bedframe creak with every thrust. If the noise from the party didn’t drown everything else out, you might be embarrassed to have strangers over hear, but you would be surprised if anyone could hear a thing. And, even if you were louder than the party, you could care less about being caught as Oberyn fucks you into the mattress.

“Harder,” you goad him, hoping for more. To your horror he pulls out of you completely, but you swiftly find yourself flipped onto your stomach as he lifts your hips and enters you from behind. You press back, meeting his thrusts, bouncing off of his hips until he presses his palm between your shoulder blades. He forces your chest into the mattress, holding you still so he can fuck you like he means it, with enough force that all you can do brace yourself and ball your fists, twisting the bedding between your fingers.

With your cheek against the bed you can watch your reflection in the mirror. It’s hot, even with your togas draped and bunched up, you look good together. It makes you grin. He catches you looking and turns, meeting your eyes in the mirror before watching your bodies. He grips your hips firmly and you can barely keep your eyes open to watch as he continues.

He overwhelms you with his stamina, keeping up a pace that has your mind feeling blissfully fuzzy. He says something else before folding over you and slipping his hand around towards your clit, determined to feel you come around his cock. You’re so close already, it’s only a moment, a few more thrusts, before shuddering beneath him. He tries to fuck you through it, but you clench and constrict around him so tightly that he pulls out while you’re still moaning.

You can hear the slick wet sounds as he strokes himself, cursing under his breath again, before you feel the warmth as he comes across the swell of your ass and your fluttering cunt. You sink, dropping your hips and relaxing onto the bed while he catches his breath. Oberyn squeezes at your thighs, offering praise you don’t quite hear, then he’s slipping off the bed. He cleans you up with a towel, but you remain still for a little longer, enjoying the satisfaction and the sweet ache from the intensity.

“Take your time,” he tells you, leaning down to press a kiss to your shoulder. It’s gentle. You murmur a thanks at him before breaking into an airy giggle. It makes your ribcage shake, bouncing slightly on the mattress, realizing that Liv is going to die when you tell her you can confirm her roommates story. Oberyn doesn’t question your reaction.

He pauses to readjust his toga and his hair in the mirror. Once seemingly satisfied, he turns back towards you, watching you sit up. “I’ll see you out there,” he says with a smile before he slips out of the room.

You linger for just a little. Allowing yourself the privacy to revel in the sweet satisfaction of the post-sex chemicals flowing through your body. You let yourself grin while you check your phone to see where Liv is at.

You take another minute, using the mirror to fix your own appearance, aiming for a slightly less obvious version of I just got railed, before meeting your own eyes. For a sobering second you remember you didn’t get a real answer about if he has a girlfriend. He sure as fuck doesn’t act like it, you decide. You shake off the thought.

He might be a frat bro, he might be a piece of shit, all you know for sure is that he is hot, a good kisser, and he knew how to make you come. Three things you didn’t think you’d find in one guy under this roof. You give yourself a final onceover before heading out of the room and down the stairs.

You don’t see Oberyn in the first few rooms you pass. You keep looking; he couldn’t have gone far. You’re barely finished that thought when you spot him in the kitchen. The sight makes you stumble, shooting a hand out to the wall to catch your balance.

He’s leaning casually, with his hip against the counter, as a starry-eyed girl looks up at him, giggling flirtatiously, as she lays a hand along his bicep.

It’s in slow motion. The way he looks at her hand, the way his eyes trail along her arm, over the curve of her breasts, and down her legs before flitting back to her face with that same sinful smirk you just fell for.

Your shoulders drop. It’s not like you were planning your wedding or that you even thought a date was on the table—but you didn’t think he’d be on to the next girl before you made it down the stairs.

You start to recenter yourself, reaching to check your phone again before you look for Liv.

He sees you before you can mind your business and plan your next move. Catching your eye through the doorway. Before you can formulate a reaction, you’re stuck, held in his gaze. He winks at you again, only this time there’s no question if you were making it up. He winked at you and despite everything, it makes your whole body tingle.

“I saw that!” Liv shouts into your ear, wrapping an arm around you. “You have to tell me what the fuck that was about. But first can we please get pancakes or cheese fries?”

You don’t bother turning back for a second glance as you follow Liv toward the front door.

You must understand though the touch of your hand

Makes my pulse react

That it's only the thrill of boy meeting girl

Opposites attract

It's physical

Only logical

You must try to ignore that it means more than that

Oh, oh, oh

What's love got to do, got to do with it?

…..

tags for babes, but no presh:

@lovely-vamp-princess

@gothcsz

@auteurdelabre

@adoreyouusugar

@swankyorange

@itwasntimethatdidit40

@ivoryandflame

@magneticecstasy

#fucktober #birthday baroness #oberyn x f!reader #oberyn martell x f!reader #oberyn martell smut #posting at 3 in the morning my time as per usual

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adnauseum11 · 1 year ago

Text

I.E.D. (John Price x Reader)

John breaks the news of his imminent departure.

2.2k words

CW: swearing, mild violence, alcohol

This work is part of the S.N.A.F.U. series, the Masterlist is pinned to my blog as well.

Feedback welcome!

IED = Improvised. Explosive. Device.

Masterlist

Ao3

It takes less than five minutes for John to completely eviscerate your plans after he returns from his phone call. He’s watching you absorb the news with an infuriating calm expectancy. You can feel your face flush, disbelief and hurt washing over you in equal measure. There’s a dull rushing in your ears, and you have to ask him to repeat himself as you slowly set down the wreath you are unpacking.

“I have to go, tonight, in a few hours.”

He’s standing close, his hand smoothing over your shoulder and neck, tracking your reaction closely.

“What? You’re leaving? In a few hours?”

You can’t help the shocked whine in your voice as you process this news, even as you hate how needy it makes you sound.

“I can’t say too much but I’m required on a mission, love. I’ll be gone for a few days at least, probably a week.”

His tone is careful, mollifying, which only serves to heighten your distress.

“Out back in the field? You said you turned it down!”

“I did. This isn’t that.”

“Oh…right. Well, then by all means, that makes it fine.”

You can feel your face get hot and the prickle of tears behind your eyes, but you clamp down on that reaction like a dog with a bone. Anger is easier.

“Darling, I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear –“

“No shit.”

You deadpan flatly. John has the good grace to wince, holding his hands up in placating gesture.

“There’s extenuating circumstances here, love.”

“Since when are you still even entertaining these contracts?”

Your fists clench at your sides, the urge to swing something at his head building with every passing moment of this hideous conversation. You march away from him instead, hoping some distance will help your impulse control. He follows but wisely allows you some space.

“I’m not, not really. This is different. It’s just… bad timing, darling.”

“You’re really leaving me here at Christmas, alone, with no plans and not even a job to go to? Seriously!? At least there would be other people at work, John! I wouldn’t be forced to be alone! Did you even consider me before you agreed to this!?”

“Darling, this wasn’t planned.”

“But you’re choosing to go.”

“I have to go, it involves me.”

His temper finally makes an appearance, his whole demeanour becoming unyeilding.

“I’m sorry - I thought I heard you say you were involved. How the fuck are you involved in anything; you’ve been retired for a while now.”

You shake your head, trying to make his words fit with what you know of his life. John hisses a curse, his sudden discomfort with the topic setting off alarm bells in your head.

“John.”

He drags his palm over his face in a gesture that belies his reluctance.

“John.”

“I’m involved in that it’s tied up with a mission I was on years ago. We thought it was put to rest and I guess… it’s not, anymore.”

He answers finally, his explanation sparse. He doesn’t want to be having this conversation, you can tell by the way he’s holding himself, his back and arms rigid. He rarely discusses his work with you, a topic you have by mutual agreement left well enough alone for years. Your anxiety means you can’t handle hearing the details without spiralling, and the nature of John’s work often precluded any details from being available, a situation that suited you both. Now you’re pulling teeth, trying to get to the bottom of this turn of events, neither one of you used to it.

“And why do YOU have to go, why not someone else, who is active?”

“I’m part of the group they’re looking for.”

“Looking for.”

You deadpan again, the words sounding hollow as you repeat them back to him.

“Darling, I can’t really disclose anything, you know that.”

“Right. But someone is looking for you.”

“Someone is looking for the men that were on my taskforce, hence why I am involved, yes.”

John nods, his jaw tight. You pause to take in this tiny bit of information and a sudden bolt of realization hits you. The man in your apartment hadn’t stolen anything, he’d been looking for something.

“Were they looking for you in my apartment?”

John’s face falls and you feel your stomach drop. His reaction tells you all you need to know. Some awful part of you can’t help but need to hear the truth from his own mouth, like running a finger over a bruise.

“Suspect the break-in was related, yeah.”

His tone is hesitant, but the words rankle all the same.

“Why are people looking for you at my apartment, not here?”

John refuses to answer, staring you down with pressed lips.

“Why John?”

You repeat yourself forcefully, hands finding your own hips. You can tell the moment John decides to relent, whatever mental math he’s doing not adding up to his liking.

“Looking for a way to scare me, is the assumption. Use you to hurt me.”

He finally speaks, his gravelly voice low. A cold chill runs down your spine and you look at the man in front of you with what feel like fresh eyes. Danger lives closer to John than you had ever stopped to fully imagine.

“Were you going to tell me, or let me keep thinking it was a random break in?”

“Darling-“

He starts but stops immediately, reflexively scratching his whiskered cheek in uncertainty. You can read him like a book, instantly piecing together the reason for his hesitancy is he doesn’t like the way the truth sounds.

“Oh my god, John, I’m so mad at you right now I could spit. What the fuck?”

“I just want you safe, that’s all that matters to me. I didn’t want to frighten you off.”

“So, moving me in here, talking me into quitting my job, all that was to do what?? Keep an eye on me?”

“I want you here. It also happened to be the safest course of action. Both things can be true. And I didn’t talk you in to quitting your job, I just stopped talking you out of it, love.”

John’s uncharacteristically defensive, a wrinkle between his arched brows.

“You told me to rely on you! And now you’re fucking off over the holidays with no guarantee you’ll make it back! And I’m what – being watched or stalked or something?? And you weren’t going to say anything??”

This time you can’t help yourself from the impulse, grabbing the nearest reindeer figurine off the kitchen island and hurling it in his direction. John easily sidesteps it, his eyebrows shooting up in disbelief at your eruption. You grab another figurine but John is on you before you can haul off and throw it, grabbing your wrist.

“Oi! Knock it off!”

He barks at you, using a voice you’ve not heard turned in your direction before. You drop the deer on instinct but glare at him, your jaw jutting out in anger.

“I don’t have any confirmation that someone is watching you I just prefer to limit the possibilities for vulnerabilities when I’m not there to mitigate them.”

“Fucking speak English, John, I don’t speak military”

You jerk out of his grip, putting some distance between you again. If you weren’t so agitated you would have an easier time of focusing on what he’s saying but it feels like your heart is sinking through the floor, heavy with disappointment and doubt. Another recent memory asserts itself, hitting you like a sucker punch.

“Oh my god, the pub? You kept saying you were concerned for my safety; I really thought you were just jealous.”

You can feel the blood drain out of your face, your heart pounding as things slowly shift in to focus. The last few weeks were unrolling in a completely different context for John you are realizing. The sweet and protective gestures taking on a completely new layer of significance. John holds his hands up, trying to ease closer to you again but you take another step back, feeling the kitchen counter behind you. John stops moving, the expression he’s wearing strange to you. He’s always so confident that the look of uncertainty is alarming on his face, making your thumping heart press against your breastbone painfully.

“I don’t know if that’s related. It’s unlikely. Like I said, nothing is confirmed. Just…playing it safe.”

John admits, his face settling into worry.

“You weren’t going to tell me any of this, were you? You were going to keep manipulating me. You just needed to keep tabs on me so I didn’t get caught up in whatever the fuck is going on.”

It’s not a question, it’s a confirmation.

“That’s not true, of course I want you around. I love you, darling. You wanted to quit. I didn’t make you do anything you didn’t want to do. I just made it safer.”

John sounds a little desperate, the sound grating and unnatural to your ears.

“I don’t want to be alone at Christmas, John! I didn’t even know it was a possibility for you to be gone until minutes ago! Now you’re leaving on a mission and I’m what? Just supposed to sit here until you get back? That’s not love, you didn’t consider me at all. If you come back. Oh god.”

You feel a sweep of nausea and grip your stomach, pitching forward at the waist in discomfort.

“When I come back, the threat will be neutralized. Not doing all this for fucking maybes.”

“Alright, you know what - yeah you, you should go.”

You suddenly agree, crossing your arms over your painfully twisted stomach. You can’t remember the last time you were this upset with him, it’s been literal years. John curses under his breath, unable or unwilling to argue with you. He’s immobile, watching you intently for any clue as to your head space.

“Darling –“

He’s using a careful tone of voice and reaches for you again but it makes you flinch.

“Don’t John. Just go do what you need to do. It’s fine.”

“It’s clearly not fine, darling.”

He retreats, hands on his hips, and you can feel his eyes locked on your face.

“For the purposes of this conversation, it’s fine.”

There’s an excruciatingly long pause before John responds, his voice soft. You refuse to meet his gaze, staring at the spot the missing reindeer should be in.

“We’ll talk when I get back, yeah?”

You don’t answer, giving no indication you’ve heard him. Your insides feel like glass, one sharp breath away from shattering. Trying to reconcile the man standing in front of you, who’s been purposely keeping things from you with the man you’re in love with who bends over backwards for you is taking more brain power than you can summon. You’ll be damned if you cry in front of a man who is actively manipulating you. Taking your cue from the ceramic deer lining the island, you freeze in place.

John either gets the hint or gives up because he leaves you in the kitchen, breathing carefully in the corner of the cabinets. You barely dare to move, everything feeling surreal. You eventually tuck yourself into your spot on the couch, buried under the blanket when John returns, his rucksack slung over a shoulder. He drops it at the door and you track it’s fall, determined to look at something other than the concerned man boring holes into you with his eyes.

“I don’t want to leave like this. Talk to me please, love.”

“Don’t, John. This is what you chose.”

“I chose to keep you safe the best way I know how. I didn’t choose for this situation to crop up now, it’s beyond my control. I love you darling, I’m not –“

“You say you love me but you don’t trust me, John. You don’t want to tell me things because your scared of how I’ll react. It’s not fair. You’re making choices that affect me too but I’m not part of the conversation. I just…I’m really pissed with you right now. And I doubt you have time to sort it out.”

You stay tucked under the blanket, your eyes finally meeting John’s across the expanse of the room. You can tell your point lands when his shoulders deflate, his posture shifting.

“You’re right, I don’t have time.”

He agrees, crossing the room to stop in front of you. You have to crane your neck to keep your eyes on his face until he bends to kiss you. You realize his intention and turn, giving him your cheek instead of your lips. His palm strokes over your hair before he backs off with a heavy sigh, scooping up his rucksack again.

“We’ll figure this out when I get back.”

John gives you one last reluctant look before he closes the door behind him. You can hear the lock turn, and your heart lurches, the finality of the sound chilling.

You spend the rest of the night on the couch, alternating between drinking a bottle of John’s expensive white wine and crying until your face is raw and hurting. You only briefly consider sleeping in John’s big bed alone, the idea so thoroughly off-putting you reject it nearly as soon as it crosses your mind. If anyone had asked you how you pictured your evening ending, face down in the couch cushions, drunk and alone wouldn’t have crossed your mind as a possibility.

Next Chapter

Tag list:

@deadbranch @beebeechaos @cadotoast @syoddeye @writeforfandoms @itr-00 @chloepluto1306 @batw3nch

#fanfic #captain john price #john price x reader #call of duty #john price #john price cod #john price x f!reader #friends to lovers #captain price #john price x you #cod fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #captain price x reader #captain john price x reader #cw alcohol

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thornedrose44 · 2 years ago

Note

16 supercorp please 🥺

Prompt: “Eat the rich, am I right?”

(Read on AO3)

Kara threw back the shot, swallowing the alien liquor in one go, desperately seeking the fuzziness and disconnection that only inebriation could bring.

“Woah, slow down there.” Alex laughed, “You know since adopting Esme my alcohol tolerance has plummeted.”

“Right… sorry.” Kara mumbled, moving to adjust her glasses only for her fingers to brush bare skin, the surprise of it and the sheer stupidity of the action making her gaze dart over to the spot she’d ordered herself not to look at.

She grimaced and quickly drank another shot.

Alex’s brow immediately pinched with concern, her head twisting round to track down whatever sight had provoked the discontent in her sister; before she had a chance to locate the issue, Nia was falling into the booth beside Alex, giggly and slightly sweat-sheened from dancing. Brainy slipped in next to Kara, looking equally flustered and energetic.

“This place is amazing! We should come every week!” Nia declared jubilantly.

“I concur!” Brainy agreed instantly, his smile wide, lopsided and smeared with a purple shade that matched Nia’s lipstick.

“Let’s see if you both feel the same in the morning…” Alex drawled, sipping her pint glass of water, having made the smart decision to alternate alcohol with hydration.

Nia either pointedly ignored this statement or had already mentally moved on from the conversation, Kara couldn’t really tell which, too busy sneakily taking another shot. Nia was already shifting in her seat, head rotating this way and that way, desperate to get back out on the dance-floor and burn more energy as she took hasty sips of the cocktail Alex and Kara had been guarding.

“Holy moly!” Nia exclaimed, going still as her eyes locked onto something. “Those two are about to get it on.”

“What? Who?” Alex asked curiously, even as Kara went rigid, eyes burning and heart racing.

“Talk about eat the rich, am I right?” Nia snorted, nudging Alex’s side as Alex slowly turned back to meet Kara’s gaze, her expression painfully sympathetic and understanding. “I knew Lena and Andrea had a whole thing but I had no idea it was heating back up again. I mean hot damn. Hey, Kara?” Nia murmured, leaning over the table, head lolling forward like an eager puppy with absolutely no filter. “Did you know? Do you think Lena’s going to go home with Andrea? Do you think they’re going to get together? Oh my god, can you imagine if they like properly date or… get married? How rich would they be together? Do you-”

CRACK-BANG

The table of their booth splintered apart, thudding loud and heavy to the ground - Alex let out a wince of pain as it banged her knees on the descent, Nia and Brainy’s alcohol levels dulling them to the impact.

“Shi-Shoot, I… I am so sorry…” Kara said, staggering to her feet, stomping the debris harder into the ground and inadvertently making any repair impossible.

“Is everyone okay?”

Kara cringed, looking over to find Lena, Andrea and Kelly - all of them having rushed over the instant they heard the noise. Staff were approaching but a wave from Lena and promise to pay for the expenses kept them at bay. Kara could barely look at her best friend, shoulders hunched up high and body curled forward with shame and in a vain attempt to mitigate the ache in her chest.

Lena was in a black dress with a high cut up the thigh; her hair was loose, curly and voluminous like a dark-haired Sandy from Grease. Her cheeks were flushed a bright pink, eyes dark and sparkling and the neck of her dress was pulled off one shoulder to reveal the expanse of tempting flesh.

(Kara had watched Andrea’s hands tease at the split in Lena’s dress, fingertips kissing the flash of thigh before marking a path up Lena’s side, hooking around the edge of fabric to pull it to the side allowing Andrea’s nose and the ghost of her lips to trail along Lena’s collarbone).

“We’re fine.” Alex answered immediately, getting to her feet and reaching for Kara - only for Kara to sway backwards out of reach and nearly fall over.

Hands in all directions reached out to steady her but with her ears filled with the sound of Lena’s familiar thrumming heartbeat is it any wonder that she fell towards Lena who touched her like she was fragile rather than a wrecking ball?

“You okay?” Lena whispered, head ducking forward so the words were just between the two of them.

Kara blinked into caring green eyes, breath catching in her throat so stubbornly that she felt herself actually choke on it - words totally beyond her capability.

She shook her head, unable to stop the action.

Lena’s face instantly set, becoming determined and clear as if all the alcohol was instantly purged from her system. Hands that had been delicately placed on Kara’s shoulders to offer maximum stabilisation, traced down her arms until their fingers were tangled - locking them together.

“I’m taking Kara home.” Lena declared, barely glancing around at the rest of the group.

Kara knew her sister would frown, considering whether to step in but would ease back if Kara shuffled that little bit closer to Lena - proving that this was what she wanted. During the shuffle forward, Kara caught a glimpse of Andrea’s expression: strained, disappointed and not so slightly annoyed. Any sense of victory Kara would have felt at provoking such a reaction was diminished by how Lena released Kara’s hand to fleetingly squeeze Andrea’s forearm, murmuring a promise to call or text when possible.

The interaction soured the mix of liquids in her stomach and as Lena led her out of the side-exit of the club to avoid scrutiny, Kara had to stop them so she could throw up in the gutter. Lena held her hair back, fingers cold and soothing on the back of Kara’s heated neck, her words even more gentle. Lena guided Kara into her chauffeured car, forcing her to drink water and then letting her rest her head on her shoulder and play with Lena’s fingers for the whole journey.

They arrived back at Kara’s apartment, Lena still steering her with infinite care, helping drink more water and get changed into pyjamas - Lena purposefully looking away whenever bare skin was exposed which only made the ache in Kara’s chest all the more pronounced.

“Why does she get to touch you like that?” Kara asked when she could no longer hold the drunk-induced words back.

“Hmm?” Lena hummed, raising an eyebrow curiously as she tucked the duvet in around Kara’s heavy-limbed form, “Who gets to touch me like what?”

Kara pursed her lips, looking into the far corner of her room as she muttered darkly, “Andrea…”

Lena froze for a painful beat, and Kara was suddenly acutely aware of how her eardrums throbbed with the remnant bass of the club. Lena slowly pulled away standing up to her full height as she peered down at Kara, her expression inscrutable.

“Because she asked, because she showed interest.” Lena said eventually, the words clipped and sharp. “You’ve never even tried to touch me like that. Never given any indication that you would want to…”

Kara still adamantly refused to look at her, fingers fidgeting with the edge of her quilt.

“I know you went out on a date with William Day.” Lena murmured, and Kara cringed away at that.

She was aware that she had said yes to him because she hoped he would reduce how much she thought of Lena but all it did was make Lena feel all the more easily replaced and forgotten.

Lena sighed and pinched her brow with index finger and thumb as if this conversation - if Kara - was producing a migraine. “Nevermind. You should sleep.”

“Are you going to sleep with her?” Kara asked quietly, wanting the salt to be rubbed into her wounds, wanting the burn in the hope that the sheer sharpness of it would reduce the underlying ache.

“If she asks…” Lena whispered hesitantly - Kara lived and died a thousand times over in that minor pause -, “probably. Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”

“I don’t like her.”

“I didn’t like Mike or Mon-El.” Lena shot back, shaking her head. “That’s not a good enough reason.”

“Then what would be?” Kara demanded, head turning towards her, gaze focused on the white flash of thigh through the slit in Lena’s dress - still not able to look up into her green eyes.

“If you like me more.” Lena breathed.

Kara licked her lips, lungs inflating to put the long-awaited declaration out into the world only for her jaw to snap shut and her tongue to stick to the bottom of her mouth.

“You can’t say it, can you?” Lena laughed, the sound mournful and broken. “That’s the difference, you know? She’s not scared or embarrassed to like me, to ask to touch me.”

“Is that what you think: that I’m embarrassed?” Kara cringed, head bowing down as if she was praying to Lena, offering herself up in supplication.

“I don’t know,” Lena admitted, “but when I have no alternative… what should I default to thinking? If you say and do nothing despite my repeated invitations to it’s either because you don’t like me like that or you do but you don’t want to act on it.”

Another pause, another chance for redemption.

“It’s… I…” Kara began falteringly before trailing off into the heaviest of silences.

Lena sighed again, hand reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Kara’s ear, “Go to sleep, Kara.”

#supercorp #supercorp prompt #eat the rich au

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ox-imagines · 8 months ago

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Dsgjfkk hello, sorry to bother you with my brainrot but I'm so curious. Which tokyo debunker ghouls do you think would be into taller women vs not? I'm 5'8-5'9 and a (chunky and comfortable) Heel Enjoyer, so I typically end up standing around 6', and it's made a couple reallll weird dates lol

Thank you for your ask! I hope I answered it to your satisfaction!

Into it: Alan, Jin, Haru, Zenji, Jiro, Sho

Alan

Really Alan isn’t too picky about his partners visually, and he’s a tall guy who doesn’t mind dating someone who’s also tall. I feel like he’d be the type to equate short=cute and tall=attractive. It also doesn’t hurt to be tall because that means you’re less small and therefore probably not as easy to harm, though regardless he will still treat you as if you’re fragile; it just helps subconsciously loosen his mental block.

Jin

Jin is another one who is tall and wouldn’t mind a tall partner, he’d just prefer you not be taller than him. Even if you are though, he’ll eventually put his reservations about it aside. Fuck society, after all; who cares if people don’t consider it “normal”? If someone has something to say about it, they can say it to his face, and let’s just say it won’t go too well for them if they’re actually bold enough to.

Haru

Ok look. I am pro sub Haru. I think a tall woman would easily have him weak in the knees. He finds it so attractive and too often catches himself thinking about you having him pinned to a wall. He would be a SIMP. Please step on him. If he has to climb you like a tree he will gladly do so. He often acts up and gets cheeky with you as a way of subtly begging you to put him in his place.

Zenji

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, Zenji genuinely thinks everyone is beautiful in their own way! I don’t think he’d necessarily want to be with someone taller than him, but luckily he’s over 6 feet tall and usually wears platform sandals, so that won’t be a problem for most people. He otherwise doesn’t mind your height at all and thinks it’s part of what makes you unique! He enjoys waking up next to you because both of you have long limbs and you'll often end up tangled together cuddling.

Jiro

Like his brother, he is quite tall. He doesn’t view people the same way his brother does, but he would also date someone tall, though he wouldn’t care in the least if you happened to be taller than him. He doesn’t care about or think in terms of social norms, so he doesn’t think the height of a potential partner should matter, unless for some reason you’re trying to have children of a certain height. In fact, for Jiro, if you’re taller than average he’d probably take more interest in you because you stand out as compared to other girls he studies.

Sho

This man is another who finds tall women attractive. He’s fairly tall himself and loves the idea of having a tall partner, like the couples in the media who are both tall and hot. It doesn’t at all detriment his ego to be with someone his height or taller, even if Leo makes snide remarks about it. He likes to show off, and for him if you were around his height or taller it would be a point of pride that he was able to bag you since most women seem to like men who are taller than them.

Iffy about it/it depends: Lyca, Kaito, Tohma, Leo

Lyca

Social norms don't affect Lyca. In fact, a bigger mate might be beneficial because size usually equals strength, right? That being said, though, it might take a while to get to the point of being with him because girls make him nervous, and you being tall would make you seem a little more intimidating to him.

Kaito

Surface level, Kaito is very subscribed to what other people think and what the media says is cool and right. He's not actively into tall girls, especially since he's not very tall himself. However, if you start giving him attention, it won't take much to get him thinking about you and he'll quickly become more like Haru, practically begging for you to do whatever you want to him.

Tohma

Tohma doesn't really have too much of a preference either way. He'd prefer you to be at least a tiny bit shorter than him, but otherwise, he doesn't think it's much of a sensible concern. Height isn't a trait that makes someone a good partner.

Leo

Leo would prefer for a female partner to be shorter than him in most occasions. He thinks it's a better aesthetic, plus he could tease her about being short and put his arm on her head like an armrest. But just maybe you could convince him to date a tall girl. He's cuddly, so if you let him cuddle into your side and put your arms around him he'll enjoy it. Also if he gives it some thought, he might decide it would actually be beneficial to date a tall girl. It's outside the norm, so it would inevitably get people talking, and any attention is good attention in Leo's opinion.

Doesn't like it: Towa, Romeo

The only two I can imagine just not liking it are Towa and Romeo, and even they could be convinced if you can get past their initial distaste.

Towa

Towa wouldn't like the idea of a girl taller than him. It doesn't fit into his traditional understanding of romance, and he likes when girls seem small and weaker as compared to him, he thinks it's cute. He's an affectionate person, so if you can convince him to like you as a friend first it could go somewhere anyway despite him initially not seeing you as "suitable".

Romeo

Romeo is a bit too shallow and a bit too invested in appearances and societal expectations to even consider dating a woman his height or taller. If you somehow manage to endear yourself to him, you may be able to change his mind, but it'll take a lot of time and effort, so good luck.

#tdb #tokyo debunker #tohma ishibashi #zenji kotodama #towa otonashi #tokyo debunker x reader #haru sagara #jin kamurai #romeo lucci #leo kurosagi #kaito fuji #lyca colt #alan mido #sho haizono #shohei haizono #jiro kirisaki

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lagunaseca2013 · 2 months ago

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Marc should get Val pregnant

hello dearest anon I’m a little drunk in my uber home from my terrible work dinner event and this is. the greatest ask I’ve ever received. I had um. too many thoughts about this so everything under the cut lol

okay I have so many questions are we still talking about omegaverse?? reverse omegaverse au where vale is the omega and STILL traps marc in a one sided bond hell yeah I say omega rights! unleashing so many new implications plot-wise and vale and marc’s specific crazy trauma-wise. that’s not even getting to the mpreg of it all………orrrr are we talking normal life but mpreg is real? bc I have to confess I am NOT shy about mpreg however I usually default to omegaverse/pussyverse bc ass babies just don’t have that je ne sais quoi. to me personally. we all have our preferences okay….for you I will allow ass babies for the sake of uhhhh diversity

anyway um yes normal life marc getting vale mpregnant would be. an impressive accomplishment for him personally in the sense that we would have to manipulate the facts of this universe so that either 1) vale regularly lets marc fuck him, or 2) vale is really fertile and the one random time marc was both topping and not wearing a condom he got knocked up. both deliciously complicated scenarios. let’s go w number two and throw in that he’s post retirement bc it’s funny to me and bc realistically 2015 vale would mabort that thang and kill marc about it.

my beloved present day old man vale hanging around the ducati garage doing whatever the equivalent of pulling marc’s pigtails would be, breaking the ice by reinstating the sexual tension (pecco is so miserable he starts spam texting luca his complaining until luca gets annoyed enough to respond and tell him to just come to his motorhome if it’s really that bad). they’re in a weird place of not apologizing or forgiving each other for everything but like. finding the humor in the absolute fucking ridiculousness of the situation. start fucking again but it’s different now. it’s nuanced sex. they do it in missionary and look into each others eyes on occasion, marc SOMETIMES tops.

thennnn marc gets the ninth and instead of the open-ended fury vale just kind of assumed was still there he’s HAPPY for him he shows up at the podium and shakes his hand!!!! the media is going wild pulling all kinds of narratives. he’s refusing to answer questions about marc for a welcome change but when they interview him about pecco’s loss he’s like quietly benevolent about it!! progress I say!! after the gala ducati is having the championship party to end all champion parties and marc and vale are ALL over over each other all night, their whatever it is that they have has always been an open secret among the grid but now it’s soooo obvious to everyone that the rumors were true! some incredibly scandalous blurry background pics of them circulate after a ducati engineer accidentally posts a few w them like dry humping each other in the back of the club lol.

marc is having all of his dreams come true, he’s soooo drunk, he and vale are TRUE EQUALS in the eyes of the motogp gods, vale LIKES HIM again this is the best night ever. vale is also wasted and so pleasantly surprised by how happy and proud he is for marc. and also marc is. soooo hot in my wildest dreams he keeps the haircut he has rn for the whole season so it’s curly at his nape and vale wants to pull on it and fuck his face and—you get it.

they go back to marc’s motorhome, they get nasty, vale gets like the craziest urge he’s had in a while and is like you should fuck me mr. world champion now that we’re equals blah blah blah. marc doesn’t have any condoms….bc vale always fucks him raw….(we’ll talk about that later) and vale is so horny and also a billion years ago his doctor told him he has like a hostile womb or something so he’s kind of always thought that even tho he’s a carrier he probably couldn’t have kids. marc is like are u sure (coochie eyes) vale is like if you don’t do something rn I’m gonna do something drastic. they both talk a big game and then it’s slow and sensual and deeply emotionally fraught. vale cums first untouched and then flips over and begs marc to finish inside him. they pass out and then marc stumbles out of bed at whatever in the morning and somewhat makes it to testing on time. pecco is eating his not eating disorder girl core breakfast all moody and judgmental (sore loser) like wow marc I did not think you would be walking around today.

cue people making sly little comments or teasing marc about getting dicked down by vale allll day lol. even bez (who has spent the entire season resenting the reconciliation) is like chilling w vale who has sunglasses on bc old men get hangovers and ribbing him like you should’ve fucked him harder last night, how is he still on top of the timing board after the show you guys put on at the club? vale is like sinking lower and lower into his chair barely comprehending what’s going on around him, fucked out and sore and getting sense memories about how stretched out he was on marc’s giant cock. ahem.

in this fantasy scenario it’s all fine but they still don’t talk about it for a while and also vale thinks he’s like contracted a mystery illness bc he can’t keep any food down but he’s horny as fuck all the time?? his nipples are sore, he’s randomly getting PIMPLES at age 47, etc. marc is doing his excessive offseason travel and like sending him yacht nudes from jamaica or whatever the fuck. vale looks like death and is also maybe becoming the first man to die from jacking off so much so he keeps avoiding sending pics back by calling marc and like talking him through getting off. they miss each other SO BAD and won’t acknowledge it at all until vale who is isolating from the academy and miserable alone bc he doesn’t want to get anyone sick and also vulnerability makes his skin crawl just kind of crumbles and is like….when you’re done with your vacations….you should come to the ranch….they’re both equally horrified and attached to the idea. they both know it’s probably going to make or break their fragile little truce!

except the day before marc is set to come luca forces him to see a doctor, the doctor runs a full panel of bloodwork bc he thinks vale has like a fungal infection or something. surprise! it’s a parasite! due in seven months! vale immediately panics and like is so close to saying something horrible to marc to stop him from coming but luca, longtime witness to vale’s self destruction, takes his phone and talks him down. I’m imagining an awesome speech where he basically tells vale he has to stop destroying his relationships just bc his parents didn’t work out. and then he leaves him alone in his house to tell marc the news……..they live happily ever after the end.

okay now let’s do it omegaverse style! uccio voice someone claiming to be your [alpha] would never [knot you] like that

moment of silence for omega vale au of omegaverse au where vale somehow manages to one-sided mate marc AND get knocked up all in the same heat. IN THE YEAR 2015! they would be soooo messed up about that forever. the only way vale is keeping it is if he has like a semi-cryptic pregnancy and finds out when it’s way too late. which ofc triggers him so bad bc he’s been RACING this whole time which he views as morally wrong thank you graziano and also punishing marc for uhhhh letting himself get bitten by vale. okay sure.

so he’s pregnant he HAS to keep it and his baby daddy is……..let’s be realistic marc is going INSANE here he can FEEL how bad vale wants and needs him and also this umm vague presence (baby) that he maybe is dumb enough to think is like the literal hand wavey omegaverse spiritual manifestation of their love or whatever. I’m losing the plot. so. I’m gonna be crazy and say a baby could fix this. no wait let me explain.

let’s say vale finds out during sepang! he just dragged marc’s name through the dirt and also for the first time in his life sort of pulled the omega card (it’s 2015, alpha shaming could be a little in! think white woman feminism around that time) which is crazy bc vale has mostly slid under the radar as an undefined androgynous charismatic freak who has never answered a single question about his secondary gender. he doesn’t actually say he’s an omega ofc he just makes allusions to marc’s toxic alphalinity in a way that separates himself from it and subtly implies that he’s at a biological disadvantage. okay girl let’s weaponize gender essentialism bc we’re having a mating crisis! so.

he does and says that. then he gets on the bike and pulls a move that could seriously harm himself AND marc. ik he didn’t actually get hurt but let’s say motogp cares about safety a little bit and forces him to go to medical anyway. he’s fuming, he gives his phone to uccio bc it’s blowing up, he’s getting an ultrasound bc my background is f1 and that’s what they do to them when they absorb too much gforce or whatever, and the doctor like drops the wand in shock and they’re both staring at each other like. why the fuck does that sound like a heartbeat and look like an embryo. and now all the FUN can begin :)

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uhzuku · 1 year ago

Text

╰─▸ ❝ 𝐒𝐎𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐃~! ❞ ──── 𝐟𝐭. 𝐤. 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞.

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: “Y’gotta shut that pretty mouth before you get us caught,” Kakashi moans, his callused hands grasping at your hips as the water sloshes around you. “F-Fuck, that feels good…”

𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦: naruto | 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: kakashi hatake/reader | 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: nsfw ; minors dni | 𝐰/𝐜: 3.06k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: age gap, jonin reader, spoilers for season 2 of naruto, teen death mentions, kakashi & reader are friends, exhibitionism, public sex, bath sex, spit swallowing, biting, creampies, minor cockwarming ( briefly ), y’all nasty af idk what else to tell u homie, previously established relationship.

𝐚 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐜𝐚𝐬: the fifth and final day of kinktober <3 enjoy u weirdos

— 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐦𝐞 !!

Sitting back, eyes closed, you soak in the heat of the water of the natural hot spring, relishing the way it soothed the ache in your sore muscles. Your last mission, one of utmost secrecy at the bidding of a the now deceased Lord Third Hokage ( and wasn’t that a startling fucking thought, knowing the old man was good and dead when he’d been around to see three hokages including himself come and go and then even came out of retirement in Minato’s place ), had run long and difficult; only two of the six that had set out had come back, with one of the pair being yourself.

Two of those who would never return had been your own students, still so green at the gills and small in stature in your eyes that wearing their blood home still made you ache all over in ways unrelated to your strained body.

Water suddenly sloshes up over the sides of the public baths you recline in, but you don’t react. You recognize those footsteps, recognize the breathing patterns behind you to your right and recognize the familiar aura of that intense chakra that you used to be so jealous of — but that was a long time ago, and you no longer had any care or need to be jealous of a superior turned equal.

“What ways have you rid yourself of your students now, Kakashi?” you ask lazily, not bothering to open your eyes. “I hope they aren’t trailing behind you like a litter of lost kittens.” No matter how fond you were of Kakashi, his children were no obligation of yours, and despite how good it felt to bask in the relentless warmth of the public bath, you would abandon it in favor of peace and quiet. You were in no mood for children — not now. Not after what had happened on this last mission. A silence follows, though comfortable, before the unseen man replies.

“I told them to take the day off,” he admits quietly, settling down nearby. “After what happened, it’s the least they deserved.”

You hum thoughtfully to yourself. “Mmm, I agree,” you murmur, then sigh and cross your arms over your bare breasts, eyes still closed. “They’re too young for this. I still think we should bump up the genin applicant age requirements to sixteen.”

You can practically sense the man nearby nod. “Yes. All the trauma… It isn’t healthy. Not for children — it’s why I never take students.” His voice is soft and conflicted; he loves this trio, you already can tell. Nothing wrong with it, of course, those sorts of feelings from teacher and student just typically backfire eventually — your own set being the perfect worst-case example.

“And yet now you lead three,” you muse wryly, a half-amused smirk on your lips. A scoffed sigh at your right shows his own ill-concealed amusement, and the two of you fall back into silence, wordlessly enjoying the heat of the water as well as one another’s company.

After a moment, a soft utterance of your name — hesitant and cautious — has your ears metaphorically pricking up. “Where…” Kakashi pauses, thinking the question over; ultimately he decides to pursue its answer. “Where are yours? Your students.”

Your kids.

A stiff, cold silence settles over you both, the frigid sensation cruelly eating into Kakashi’s bones despite the heat of the baths, and you say nothing — but he can see the way your muscles have tensed in a way that looks painful, and he’d seen the way only you and a single lost-looking chunin had returned bloodied and bruised from a mission that had started out with six in number, and he knows. Kakashi knows what happened, he just doesn’t want to believe it. You’d had this pair of students at your back for years now, they were about to graduate entirely and leave your tutelage. Kakashi himself knew them both by name, had greeted them whenever he visited you for whatever reason; they’d both made homes for themselves in you and your house, and for you to be without them after striking out on a job with them was the only real evidence he needed of the truth.

But again, he didn’t want to believe it.

“Gone,” you finally mutter, voice cold and empty of emotion. “Information was bad. One of ours sold us out on top of it. We couldn’t catch a break.” Another long silence separates the two of you, and the small area of water between you both feels like an endless ocean. Kakashi silently mourns with you, knowing nothing could soothe the hurt of what’s already happened; you’d lost students before, twice before actually, but these had been the first you’d taken on in so long, and they’d been with you for years at this point. Adding onto the agony, you’d only ever lost one at a time in those two instances before — and never your entire set.

Kakashi wonders when and what he’ll have to tell his own students; they’d joined you and yours for exercises and more than a handful of missions in the past, and Kakashi knew how fond Naruto, Sasuke, and Sakura were of the pair of seventeen year olds that followed your lead — but later. They’d hurt enough this week. “I — ” he starts to apologize, wanting you to know he understands, but you don’t let him.

“It is what it is,” you almost growl, and Kakashi knows that you don’t want to speak about this anymore. He won’t make you. You never forced him to discuss his own losses, so what kind of person would he be to press yours?

The two of you sit in silence again, the tension slowly easing into a more comfortable aura, and you both finally relax, basking for an hour in the simple, easy quiet that had fallen between the two of you. You can hear each other’s breathing, can sense the soothing pulse of one another’s chakra, and it’s an easy existence. The two of you had always managed to rest together once your burning jealousy faded and Kakashi’s self-deprecation eased enough for him to accept the hesitant companionship you offered — not friends right away, but you’d started off by sharing a few drinks every now and then, and then meetings every other fortnight or so became weekly, then biweekly, and they finally evolved into happening whenever one of you felt the need to see the other.

Like now.

“God, my calves ache,” you grumble, finally breaking the silence again, and he doesn’t bother fighting off the fond smile that creeps up at the sound of your grumpy voice. He’d been nervous that the most recent mission would change everything, but that was foolish; neither of you were strangers to loss. You’d manage, as always.

“If it makes you feel better, my shoulders feel like shit,” he offers, his soft smile widening upon hearing you snort.

“You trying to one-up me, Hatake?” you ask lazily, sitting up and stretching. He turns to answer, and after seeing them so often it’s easy to practically ignore the way your breasts lift above the water and reveal half-hard nipples as you raise your arms.

“I could make this a competition if you really wanted one,” he retorts easily, and your amused huff turns his smile to a slight grin.

“Fuck you,” you reply. A warm, excited buzz starts to fill him, a feeling he frequently had when in your presence; god, he loved spending time with you, however it may be.

“Right now? Normally we drink first,” he teases, and another silence falls between the two of you. Kakashi squeezes his eyes shut and kicks himself a little, wondering where the urge to say something that hinted at being vulgar to you had come from; this wasn’t one of his dirty romance novels, this was you, and Kakashi liked you. He didn’t want to fuck this up.

He jumps a little at the feeling of someone straddling his lap, and when his eyes instinctively flick open they widen at the sight of you gazing down at him with a dirty grin twisting your lips.

“Don’t tell me the old man can’t get it up after making the joke,” you tease in turn, and he starts grinning again. Why was he worried, again? This was you he was speaking to. You’d said much filthier things, things that would get you kicked out of most public places should you be overheard.

“Big talk for someone with such a small dick,” he replies, tilting his head to the side while looking up at you, and you scoff.

“I think my cock’s plenty large, Hatake,” you rumble, reaching between your bodies and taking his cock in one hand. A soft gasp leaps from his lips unintentionally, and you laugh breathily. “See? Large and still growing,” you murmur playfully through your messy grin, and Kakashi laughs in a way that devolves into a shaky whimper when you run your thumb across the sensitive underside of the tip of his cock.

“I’m n-not sure that belongs to you,” he manages to choke out as you start pumping his shaft one-handed beneath the water, and you hum slightly.

“Isn’t it?” you ask slyly, leaning down and beginning to lave hot, open-mouthed kisses along his neck. You stop for a moment with your tongue pressed flat against his racing pulsepoint before biting slightly at it and sucking at the hot flesh before moving up to his jawline. Soft pleased noises are your reward from the man you’re straddling, and you smile softly against his heated skin in between kisses and bites before continuing.

Your free hand begins to wander, gently beginning to massage the shoulders he’d complained of aching, all while covering him in love bites and kisses. “God, I’m so glad you’re home,” Kakashi whispers, his big hands coming to rest on your hips as you caress him with both your hands and your mouth. “Y’were gone so long-“ he’s interrupted when your mouth covers his so your tongues can lave over each other before you move on, and he keeps speaking. “-I kept getting so fucking hard and couldn’t do a damn thing about it without you, and I… Fuck, I missed you, I wanted you home, wanted you home so bad!” His deep voice comes out in a slight whine as his hips buck up into your loosely fisted hand, but you don’t fault him for it. Kakashi had always been especially sensitive to your touch, and this time was no different.

He continues to nonsensically ramble as you play with his cock and drown him with your lips, your hips slowly starting a smooth rhythm of grinding against him to soothe the taut heat in your belly.

“You talk too much,” you growl into his mouth, nipping at his lips in between kisses all while getting rougher and rougher with each roll of your hips and jerk of your hand. “Shut up and fuck me until you have to carry me out of the fucking hot springs.” It all comes out louder than you’d intended, something that makes Kakashi a little nervous; this wasn’t a private bathing area, anyone could come in at any time, and if you got caught the two of you would be blacklisted by the staff. You had to be careful.

“Y’gotta shut that pretty mouth before you get us caught,” Kakashi moans, his callused hands grasping at your hips as the water sloshes around you. “F-Fuck, that feels good…!”

“I gotta shut my mouth?” you reply, voice filled with exasperated sarcasm. “Hatake, you’re whining like a virgin touching his first pair of tits, don’t even try me.”

“God, you’re such a fucking brat,” Kakashi groans, and you chuckle right before he captures his mouth with your own at the same time as you lift your hips. He does the same, freeing his cock from beneath the water, and you sink down on it before it really has a chance to start getting cold. The two of you moan into the other’s mouth at the simultaneous feeling of being filled and filling someone.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Hatake,” you whine breathily into him, and he moans deeply and rolls his hips up into yours in response. The only noises falling from those sinful lips of his are stuttered whines and groans, noises you mirror and respond to in kind as he fucks up into you at the same time you thrust down, the head of his cock slamming against your sensitive cervix as the cock your insides are practically moulded to carved out it’s usual place inside you.

“F-Fuck yes — please, more!” Kakashi whimpers, and you let your head fall back at the tone of his words, slamming down just a little bit harder. Water sloshes violently around the two of you, splashing up over the lip of the bath as the two of you roll your bodies together in that perfect way that the two of you were well practiced in.

Throwing your arms around his shoulders, you hold on tight and he brutally fucks his hips up into yours, water splashing and his heavy balls slapping audibly against you as he fills you to the brim with his cock. “O-Oooh-!” you moan suddenly, the noise swift and punched out of you. At the sound of it, Kakashi’s voice cracks.

“Oh, God yes — harder, ride me fucking hard, just like that-!”

His eyes are rolling up now, and the grip he has on your hips is bruisingly tight. One of his big hands runs up the length of your spine, his forearm crossing your shoulder blades while his hand grips desperately at your shoulder, tugging you closer to him and mashing your chests together. One of your own hands moves to cup the back of his head, your fingers disappearing into his white hair, and your own head lolls forward so your forehead rests against one of your arms around his shoulders.

“Fuck, Kakashi,” you whisper out in a whine, moaning softly as he cants his hips up in the way he knows you like without even thinking. “A-aah-! Mmmhh… Oh, fuck…”

“S-So good,” he grunts, “Fuckfuckfuck — Y-Yes, c’mon, s’close-!” His rhythm is getting lost in the pleasured haze you’re both collapsing into. You can feel yourself on the brink, and you relinquish your grip around his shoulders with one hand to push the other between your grinding bodies to rub furious circles around your clit, your hips stuttering messily up into your own touch.

“Y’gonna cum for me, Kakashi?” You ask breathlessly through a moan. “Gonna cum in me, gonn fill me up? Gonna breed my whore fuckin’ cunt?”

“Only a whore for me,” Kakashi growls plaintively against you, and you whine.

“Y-Yeah, baby, only for you. ‘M all yours…” The promise has him moaning again, your own voice joining him as the two of you both ease closer and closer to the edge, a long drawn out series of filthy noises and sounds falling from both of your lips at the same time.

The stone at least two feet outside of the baths is darkened by water that’s splashed over from the violent movements going on in the heated pools, and both you and Kakashi are sopping wet and soaked; anyone with a brain in their head would know what’s happened, people who frequent the public baths here aren’t typically idiots — but you don’t care. You’re too fucking close to cumming to give a fuck about the disgust, about the reports that would be made, about the notice that would be put up warning patrons of the consequences of being caught fucking on the property.

“M’gonna cum,”Kakashi whimpers breathily, “God, I’m gonna cum, gonna cum so hard!”

“Yeah?” you ask weakly, letting out a gasped cry when he hits inside perfectly. “A-Aah! Y-Yes, yes — cum for me, Kakashi, fill me up!” You watch through a haze as his eyes roll back and his jaw drops, his mouth open and ready for the moment you spit in his mouth. A garbled cry echoes in his throat moments before he swallows what you’d given him, and two quick ruts up into you end with him keeping his hips up and grinding his cock inside as a familiar warmth spreads inside your cunt. You circle your clit faster and faster until your own orgasm washes over you, your own eyes rolling back and one twitching slightly as you clamp down on and begin milking his cock of all the cum it has to offer, pressing down into where he’s pushing up into you.

Your grip on him tightens as you cling to him like some love-stricken beast, and he reacts in kind, squeezing you back and clutching your naked body close as his cock twitches inside of you with each new spurt of cum he releases inside.

“Fuckin’ — F-Fuckin’ love you,” he mumbles into your skin as his heart races against yours, and you hold him close while he does the same with you.

You press a gentle kiss to the crown of his head. “Love you too,” you whisper, allowing yourself the simple pleasure. ‘I love you’s were only said in moments like this, with him balls deep inside where he belonged and filling you up like you deserved.

The two of you rest with his cock still in you, basking in the afterglow before Kakashi finally breaks it.

“Come home with me,” he says quietly. “Sleep in my bed with me tonight, wanna hold you to sleep.” You’re quiet for a moment, unsure, but eventually nod.

“Okay,” you whisper. You’ll allow yourself the luxury of comfort, even if just for tonight. If anyone but Kakashi had offered it, though, you know you would have denied them. Kakashi just had a way about him that you couldn’t deny. “Let’s get out of this water and — and go home.” You hear his breath hitch when you refer to his home as your own, but don’t comment on it. Why would you, when not a word you’d uttered was a lie?

And hell, if the two of you fucked a handful more times around his house before falling asleep for over eleven hours, no one had to know but the two of you.

𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 © { 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 } 𝐛𝐲 𝟒𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐒. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐲, 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞, 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭.

#kakashi hatake x reader #hatake kakashi x reader #naruto x reader #naruto shippuden x reader #kakashi hatake x you #hatake kakashi x you #naruto x you #naruto shippuden x you #— kinktober_23.♡

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atopvisenyashill · 27 days ago

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Re Jonsa neutrality - are you open to the idea of them being married to unite their claims but only loving each other as siblings (idc if they’re technically cousins, they were raised as siblings) à la Aegon the Uncrowned and Rhaena TBB? Personally I think that’s most likely, potentially with Dany and Jon being in love on the side. I just don’t think that Sansa marrying for politics AND love would be good for her character development. And frankly I’d hate it if there was a rivalry over Jon’s affections between Sansa and Dany, it’s kicked up enough misogyny in the fandom already.

thank you for the ask! okay two things.

first - I think if jonsa happens, like if they marry, it has to be romantic. if it was just about uniting their claims, to be completely honest, i think jon would still do ultimately what i think he would do in a jonsa-love union which is leave Winterfell for the Gift so his own claim is out of sight and out of mind. he's already denied his claim to Winterfell in favor of Sansa's, and I can't see him changing his mind just because the Wall has fallen. Especially if one or both of the boys is alive - I just don't think the Jon Snow we know in the books would let them crown him without kicking up a fuss about Sansa's claim coming before his, nor do I think he would marry her just to combine their claims. the only scenario i can see him getting talked into marrying Sansa without them having fallen in love is one in which someone - the High Septon maybe, perhaps the Lannisters themselves - is trying to get Sansa to go back to Tyrion, in which case I think Jon could be willing to quickly prove she's still a maid, then marry and consummate, to let her stay in Winterfell.

As for Sansa, I am whole heartedly against any scenario in which she marries strictly for politics; not only do I think it doesn't really match where her story line is going, I think it's deeply depressing as an ending for her. Same as Brienne, I do not think their desires for an equal marriage built on love are going to be answered with convenient political matches; rather I think their desires for love are going to be answered in "odd" ways likely outside of wedlock, the same way their desires for true knights to exist are answered in odd ways outside the typical bonds of chivalry and masculinity. If Sansa marries, I do believe it will be for love. If she loves someone she can't marry, I don't think she will get married (though she will have bastards she claims are fathered by a wolf and/or name Arya's children as her own heirs).

So basically, no I don't think they would combine their lines the way Rhaena and Aegon did; if they marry, it will be for love not for politics.

Secondly - I don't think Jon/Dany is happening lmao, I think that was fully a show invention. Similar to Tyrion and Dany meeting so early, it happened because D&D wanted it to happen and not because it's anything George gave them. My reasons for that are:

there's just no time. if jon is getting a second lover, it's happening in twow not ados and I can't see Dany getting to westeros any sooner than the epilogue of twow

they just like, aren't each other's type even a little bit but especially re: Jon's feelings on Dany. people always use that dumbshit line about ladies in towers to pretend like Jon would never fall in love with Sansa but Jon is not just like, mindlessly attracted to every Action Gil he meets; he's pretty obviously turned off by both Ygritte and Val's hot tempers, and he's also very mistrustful of magic, even his own.

i don't think either of them are going to be particularly thrilled to meet each other. i think people really underestimate how turned off westeros is going to be when she lands with an army of unsullied and dothraki screamers, especially considering how "anti kneeler" jon has gotten since his time with the wildlings. i think the night's watch are very right that jon has absorbed too much of the wildling culture to ever truly fit back in with southron cultures, much less with non-northern cultures. and armies made up of sellswords don't do well in westeros, historically speaking. and for her part, while dany is obviously on the lookout for the other two heads of the dragon she thinks are coming, she's also on the lookout for the mummer's dragon and the betrayals, and she's gotten legitimately paranoid about these events over the course of adwd.

frankly, i can't see either sansa OR dany being okay with sharing a lover, however dispassionate the marriage might be

nor can i see jon being okay with being someone's secret lover - i've been a proponent of a secret marriage between sansa & jon, but that's always in the context of them looking for more concrete evidence to prove he's lyanna & rhaegar's so they can go public with their relationship, rather than something that would remain secret, or remain illicit in some way. jon is too much ned's son imo to be particularly happy with this sort of set up. very much like jaime, he wants a typical westerosi male sort of life - a castle to raise and live in, a wife to love, trueborn children to name after the ones he loves. being someone's lover is just like, more of the same wrt the way bastards are treated - good enough to fuck, not good enough to build a life with.

tldr is i just don't see the point of a politics only marriage for either of them - it's just More Of The Same for Sansa, and it's way OOC for Jon Snow. If he wants to protect her claim, the best thing he can do is disappear, and if their relationship never crosses into romantic, that is the option I think he's most likely to take, and not a political marriage. I would also hate some sort of romantic rivalry between Sansa and Dany over Jon, the same way as I'm not fond of the idea of Jon killing Dany but to be honest, I don't think romantic Jonsa is really compatible story wise with romantic Jonerys. I think it's very much an either/or situation. If the girls are hostile to each other and it involves Jon, I think it would center more about Jon's claim and who is "in control" of it rather than both of them straight up vying for him romantically.

#if there's a million spelling errors its bc i'm on the shitty keyboard at work #and i type too fast to always register that the goddamn keyboard has died for a few seconds #asks #g0lightly #book jonsa #i wrote this in like 20 minutes on desk so if any of it is confusing feel free to ask follow ups aljdsf #also hope my tone comes across correctly as 'just yappin'

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synthetickitsune · 1 year ago

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Vernon (Seventeen) | Lying in the snow fluff-ish | 0.9k | gn!reader

It’s the first time you’re having a picnic in winter.

Perhaps picnic isn’t exactly the right word, seeing as you only have two thermoses of hot chocolate and an old picnic blanket. It’s still a nice date though. Perhaps that’s not the right word either. You both just needed a little break from life.

You can’t feel your face, it’s gone numb from the cold a long time ago. Your fingers, though, remain tender with warmth spreading through them from the warm cup in your hands. The chocolate inside it won’t be any good cold, but you can’t bring yourself to go through the motions of sitting up, bringing the cup to your lips, tipping it so the hot liquid pours into your mouth, swallowing it… It feels like too much work. The thought alone is overwhelming. And the warmth at your fingertips feels reassuring.

“There are flowers blooming in Antarctica,” Vernon speaks up suddenly. His voice sounds alien in the silent field, empty, like most of it got swallowed by the snow.

“I heard about that too, but didn’t fact check it yet - do you think it’s true?” you answer, turning the cup slowly between your fingers. The image in your head, flowers growing among snow and the most stubborn of grasses, growing where they’re not supposed to, growing where it shouldn’t be possible, almost makes tears spring up in your eyes. There’s a sort of pressure in your chest, not unlike pain, but the feeling is too hollow.

“Wouldn’t be surprised if it was,” he shrugs, his shoulders bumping into yours in the small space that the blanket offers. You doubt it really makes any difference at all, lying on the blanket or directly on the pressed down snow, but you like the little spot you made for yourselves.

You’re both lying down, watching the sky that looks like it’s on fire. The artificial orange of the streetlamps stuck in the atmosphere paints over the stars and the clouds, leaving behind only the illusion of arson. Unlike the flames you imagine, the chocolate and the cup have gone cold. You feel cold seeping into your fingers, your bones growing fragile and painful. You don’t want to be wasteful, so you sit up and drink the liquid with a grimace that makes Vernon hum sympathetically before drinking his own, no doubt equally cold, chocolate.

“Do you think there’s any chance it’s a good thing?” you ask, still sitting up and thinking about having another cup. Maybe you’d feel better if something warmed you up from the inside.

“Hmm… Who knows. When was the last time something good happened anyway,” he hums. He takes the decision off your hands, pouring himself and you both another cup. You give him a small smile as a way of thanks.

“It probably happens all the time, we just don’t know or don’t pay attention to it, right?” You suppose that must be the case. Something about balance and harmony and all that. It’s easier to remember and think of the bad things going on, and it feels inappropriate to celebrate the good at the same time.

“Sounds about right,” he thinks for a while and nods, “It’s really nice here, isn’t it? It’s so quiet.”

You hum in agreement. It was kind of amazing, actually. The field wasn’t even that far from civilization, close enough that you could see the houses nearby when you sat up, but the sound of cars passing by barely reached you. Anything barely reached you anymore, including the cold and the occasional blow of the freezing winter wind.

“We should head back soon or we will freeze. I don’t really feel the cold though, what about you?” Vernon looks at you and it’s all the answer he needs. He gives you a sad smile and motions for you to drink your chocolate before he finishes his in one long gulp. “We can’t stay here forever or I’d keep you company for as long as you need.”

You chuckle, your breath blowing ripples across the dark surface of the chocolate before you drink up. Maybe pretending it’s something stronger than a sweet treat of a drink will give you courage to face life.

“Can we do this again soon?” you ask, plead almost, but you don’t want to seem that desperate or unhappy. You are happy. Most of the time anyway, just not lately. But that’s not his fault and you’d hate to make him feel that way.

“Of course,” he reassures you. He twists the cup back onto his thermos and you follow. “We can come here again tomorrow if the weather holds. Wouldn’t be much fun lying here in a snowstorm…”

He trails off and once you meet eyes, you know you’re both thinking the same thing. It’s not a good idea, it’s not a safe idea, and you won’t act on it, but in theory, it sounds pretty tempting. Endless swirls of white and frost everywhere, nothing but the howling of the wind in your ears and the deeply numbing cold. How beautiful that would be. How soothing to your soul. Almost as if you could walk into the storm and walk out to a different, better world.

“Let’s go,” Vernon nudges you gently, a knowing look on his face. He’s been thinking the same thing. “We’ll come again.”

You pick up the things you brought together and double check you’re not leaving anything behind. In the silent field, every sound is so loud yet they don’t resonate at all. It feels like you’re in a comfortable bubble. You don’t want to leave, but Vernon offers you his hand. You’re glad he’s there to take you home. But it does make you wonder if he’d be as anchored to reality if he didn’t have you to get home safely.

#seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen reactions #seventeen x reader #vernon scenarios #vernon x reader #vernon fluff #svt scenarios #svt fluff #drabble #fluff

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cal-daisies-and-briars · 6 months ago

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Hiiiii!! I’m here to humbly request my weekly sentences.

🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

🚒🚒🚒🚒🚒🚒🚒🚒🚒🚒🚒🚒🚒🚒🚒🚒

YAY! Here we go!

45 for 🧟:

---

Pressing forward, into Buck. Like Buck might crack open and envelop him. And you know what? Buck wants to. He leans back into the couch, letting Eddie chase him with his mouth, until he’s leaning right over him. Practically straddling him. Buck can feel Eddie’s bulge, hard through his pants, when he leans against Buck and his brain sort of glitches. He’s never wanted to feel that before, but now that he has? Holy shit? His own dick is straining against his jeans, equally as aroused. This is a fucking revalation.

“God,” Buck pants as Eddie moves his lips from Buck’s mouth to Buck’s jaw. “You’re so hot.”

Eddie chuckles. Buck feels the vibration of it against his throat, along with Eddie’s stubble. He likes that. He likes stubble.

“You figure out the answer to your question from earlier yet?” Eddie asks.

“I’m figuring something out, alright,” Buck confirms.

Eddie pauses. “So this is good?”

“This is so good,” Buck confirms before kissing him again.

They make out for a little while longer. Then things start to get handsy. And, honest to god, Buck doesn’t even start it. It’s Eddie. All Eddie. Like Buck’s body language and verbal encouragement has fueled him with a sort of confidence. And Buck loves it. Loves the hand slipping under his shirt, tugging it off. Loves the way they’re grinding against each other. It’s all building towards something. Something Buck didn’t expect when he woke up to thieves ruining Eddie’s truck this morning. But something he’s anticipating a lot now that it’s on the table.

“Wait,” Buck pants when Eddie finally gets the shirt off from over his head.

Eddie freezes. Like Buck is about to remember he’s supposed to be straight and toss Eddie off of him.

“I was serious before,” Buck says.

“About what?” Eddie asks.

“You should really take the big old master bedroom with the king sized bed tonight,” Buck says.

It takes a moment for understanding to register in Eddie’s eyes. “Well, I was serious, too. Who wants to sleep in all that by themselves?”

---

66 for ❄️:

---

“You’ve never thought about trying to resolve it?” Eddie asks.

“Of course I have.”

“And?” Eddie presses.

He’s not sure why. Maybe because the thought of fixing things with a sibling is lower stakes and less scary than fixing things with a child. And they both have children to fix things with.

“Hard to fix things with someone in the throes of addiction,” Charlie says.

“Right,” Eddie says. “He’s still not sober?”

“I don’t know,” Charlie admits. “He wasn’t for a long time. And then, last I heard, he was. But that was years ago. If he is, well… That’s the longest he’s ever kept it up.”

“Damn,” Eddie sighs. “That’s tough.”

Charlie nods.

“Do you want closure?” Eddie asks.

“It would… Yeah. It would be good.”

“I think you should try,” Eddie says.

“Words of wisdom, huh?” Charlie mumbles.

“Just an idea,” Eddie shrugs.

“Maybe I’ll fix things with my brother when you tell that best friend of yours you’re in love with him.”

Eddie gapes. “What? I didn’t tell you that!”

Charlie smirks. “But it’s true.”

Fuck.

“Well, that’s not fair…” Eddie scowls. “Plus, he has a boyfriend. There are different rules than for estranged brothers.”

Charlie hums thoughtfully. “Alright. Tell you what…”

“Uh oh,” Eddie mutters.

“This guy, he loves you right?” Charlie asks.

“I didn’t tell you that, either,” Eddie says.

“You’ve described the dynamic,” Charlie says. “That’s close enough.”

Eddie groans. “Okay, yeah. I think if he knew I was an option, he would… He would want that option.”

“Well, then alright. I give it two more months with his boyfriend, max.”

“What?” Eddie scoffs. “Man, you can’t know that.”

“I’d put money on it. I bet it’ll be even less.”

Eddie huffs.

“You talk to him. I talk to my brother. Deal?”

“Fine,” Eddie grumbles. “Whatever. You’re wrong, so it doesn’t matter.”

---

48 for 🚒:

---

“It’s not!” Buck insists.

“Well, both those things are easily resolved,” Hen’s voice adds. “You know he’d never choose Tommy over you.”

Hmm. That’s considerably harder to deny.

“Do we know someone else dating a Tommy?” Buck asks.

Bobby sighs.

He lifts his radio to his mouth. “Guys, this is an open channel.”

Buck’s face starts burning. Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Eddie’s gonna know he heard. About… Well, about something that might not be about him even. But the whole gay thing… Obviously he didn’t want Buck to know. Why didn’t he want Buck to know? Hen and Chim and garden shears guy can know but not Buck?

There’s a long peel of silence from the other end of the radio.

“Gossip on an open channel,” Paulson sighs, shaking his head. He’s missing the plot a little.

“Uh, Cap,” Chim eventually cuts in. “How much of that…”

“Enough,” Bobby replies, wincing a little.

“And I’m guessing that…”

“Yep,” Bobby confirms. “He heard it.”

No, no, no. Don’t imply about him. Don’t do that.

“Okay,” Hen cuts in. “Traffic’s bad tonight, Bobby. It might take us longer getting home from the hospital than usual.”

Buck looks out the window. Traffic isn’t great. But it’s also not… Unusually bad? It’s Los Angeles standard?

“Understood, Hen,” Bobby replies. “No rush.”

No rush? They’re firefighters. What’s going on?

Bobby lowers his radio and turns back to Buck.

“That wasn’t about me,” Buck says again.

#daisies and briars writes #go and kill go and die fic #a cold world fic

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aconflagrationofmyown · 2 years ago

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A Whole Man is Hard to Find -chapter seventeen

-Summary: Rosey conducts a series of interviews with those who know the Captain intimately but through wildly differing association, a prostitute, his quartermaster and his doctor. Meanwhile above decks Captain Presley deflowers a new river with the support of Johnny Cash. Both lovers live for the few moments they can steal at the end of the day to savor each other.

-Warnings 18+: usual universe warnings apply with this addition of caning, mentions of past female rape, past murder and talk of Syphilis and the use of the archaic word “sodomy”. Along with current smut, which mostly includes gratuitous descriptions of sweat, sweaty balls, men being very hot when they’re sweaty so long as they’re Elvis and -it’s a lot of sweat porn ok?!

“Beaumont.” Aida acknowledged from her place on the floor, arm deep in the Captain’s personal trunks.

“Overton.” Rosey snickered at the stand off, keeping her pistol raised all the same. “What’re you in here for?” she repeated.

“So the captain didn’t send you back after all.” Aida ignored her, “My, my, isn’t he gettin’ brave now, defyin’ the colonel every which way.”

The power of her sneer nearly swayed Rosey. “A change of plans,” she diverted, “the Captain can do that.”

“Oh can he?”

“Yes.”

“That's new. He never could before.”

“He’s not beholden to his partner.” Rosey took aims to measure her language lest she commit an indiscretion, “They are, after all, just partners. Equals, there was a change of plans, that’s all.”

“Equals.” Aida savored the word as she rose to her feet before letting out a grating cackle that made Rosey flinch, “I’ll give ya credit for your ignorance, child, s’not like you’ve seen what I’ve seen.”

“No, no I suppose that I haven't seen what you’ve seen.” Rosey conceded, her voice dripping with disdainful accusation.

“No, how could you?” Aida hemmed her in against the door and Rosey felt torn between shoving this witch off or making an ally of someone who knew him so well, “Word on the boat is you’ve been kept quite remote on that little plantation, and sure, sure, he’s tidied himself up real nice for you, hasn’t he? How would you know what kind of man he is?”

The urge was strong to spit back in Aida’s face the proof that she had known him longer than she, that Rosey had ridden atop his young shoulders in peacetime and held him nowadays aboard while he cried his memories out. She wanted to protest that she knew him well. But those were not things due to Aida, the Captain had been upset she’d even seen them in the bath together, how much more would he object to their history being exposed. And besides, these were things to prove Rosey knew him, but Aida was right, she knew precious little *of* him. “I know the kind of man he is with me, and he’s a good man.” she murmured instead.

“Is he?” Aida wasn't sneering, she looked intrigued and Rosey’s heart thudded in fear of a misstep. Vaguely she recalled Elvis having told her in their early days that he had a reputation to maintain, to keep folks in line. Being a feared man didn’t deter him from tossing gifts into the crowd or holding babies or patronizing school charities. Rosey figured that admitting he was good to her could hardly damage his reputation. But the way Aida’s maimed eyes kept searching hers made her frightened of betraying him.

“Incredible the lengths men’ll go to for virgin cunt.” the woman declared at last and Rosey flinched at the language. “What’ll it last ‘em? A minute? Fifteen if he’s got willpower? And then poof, done, gone, you’re just like anyone else to him, after he’s done.”

“What were you snooping for?” Rosey didn’t dignify this sad prophecy with an answer.

“Oh, just some things-“

“Of yours?” Rosey snapped, the weight of her still clutched pistol reminding her of her worth and her dearness to him.

“You could say I have a stake in them.” she shrugged.

“What do you mean by that?” Rosey pressed her scornfully.

“You seen any photographs laying about? Or buried under all them books he hauls?” Aida asked her and while Rosey contemplated how to play her hand when she’d not only never seen photographs aboard or even imagined he’d possessed some, Aida went on while turning back to the trunks, “Id’have thought he’d make certain to have at least something in his arsenal if he’s gonna be a brat. ‘Stead it looks like his partner has everything required to sink him and Elvis hasn’t got anything but a stuck up girl-child to defend himself with.”

“Why would the colonel sink his own partner?” Rosey maintained, choosing to leave her place by the door and take a seat on the bed, sheets still thrashed and unmade from his devouring a few hours before. Her legs clenched at the memory.

“You’re good.” Aida proclaimed and some stupid and starved part of a Rosey actually preened at being praised by such a hardened individual. “You’re real good. What’s your deal with the Colonel?”

“I haven’t anything against the man, he’s just tiring.” Rosey insisted.

“No, I mean, what did he offer you to come along?”

Rosey pondered this line of questioning with a perturbed heart, realizing she either had a chance to spin a lie here or else get caught in one. “Who says we’ve got any deal?”

“Do I need to name your predecessors for you?” Aida asked, sitting back down on the floor with shameless confidence in the Captain’s prolonged absence, “Let’s see, of course there was Aida first,” she chuckled that harsh chuckle of hers at this self narration, “and then there was a Polly and a Tamara and we can’t forget the pretty, pristine Lucilla who had him turnin’ himself inside out to please her, all for not, all of them unable or unwilling to stay when the colonel yanked his chain. All of them reportin’ dutifully to the colonel on his wakings and his habits. And those ones were just the ones he made promises to, that promised him back. There was Etta, though she lasted all of a sneeze ‘cause the colonel was against her.”

“Is this your way of telling me you’re his spurned lover?” Rosey asked, amused.

“Ha,” the woman shook her head, “there ever been a woman spy who hadn’t had to play lover?”

“You’re a trash spy.” Rosey found it in herself to jest, “Look at your work,” she gestured to the clutter on the floor, “and halfway in you just spill it out that you’re a spy? Aida, I had some hopes you hated me but I trusted you didn’t think me a fool.”

“Didn’t say I am.” Aida smiled that awful smile of hers, wider than ever this time and Rosey noticed her gums were shiny and silver. “Said I was.”

Rosey kicked her leg out boredly and hummed. “During the war?” she ventured.

“Mm..” Aida just shrugged. “He really not paying you anything?”

“I’m not acquainted with the colonel.” Rosey summarized, “I’m here at the Captain's disposal, he’s the one who pays my wages. And you knew that already.”

“Lord girl.” Aida rose to her knees and began repacking the half emptied trunks, “Whatever it is you’ve done back home, won’t be worth sticking round here to escape. Trust me, they’ll string you up alongside us all if not worse. The world out there’s got a particular distaste for whores, they’d look kinder on a murderer.”

Rosey didn’t protest either title. “Leave the stuff be,” she commanded “with the way you’re cramming it back in -he’ll know someone’s been going through it. Trash spy, you are.”

“Mm, alright.” Aida dropped the books she held back to the floor. “Weird feller he is, to keep this but no photograph apparatus. Colonel must have it.”

“What on earth is that?” Rosey asked her, pointing to that something on the floor that looked akin to an oversized musicbox and had as its extension a wand at the end.

“A hysteria treatment.”

“Hysteria?” Rosey savored the word carefully, only having heard of it from books.

“Yeah, real handy for the uptight ones,” Aida leared accusingly at Rosey’s prim pose, “the ones so proper they’re liable to get strangled with their own collars.”

“How does it work?” Rosey ignored the barb, soothed by red hot memories of indulging the captain in ways that could never be dismissed as prudish.

“It vibrates.” Aida picked the thing up by its box and plopped it in Rosey’s lap. “Crank it.” she goaded as Rosey fumbled with her new burden and carefully began to turn the lever. It was a steam mechanism of sorts, that was obvious from the hissing sound alone and the way the wand’s

outer skin began to pick up in rotational spins, powered by the cord tethering the two women to each other. When she was satisfied as to its pace, Aida took the wand and held it to Rosey’s exposed shin and the girl felt her whole leg rattle from it.

“Hellfire!” Rosey snatched her tingling limb up and away from the device after a moment's indulgence.

Aida laughed at her again. “Husbands pay him a lotta money to hold this to their wife's frigid cunts.” she explained, discarding the wand on the scattered heap of books and neck clothes as she rose to her feet, “And plenty of women risk divorce just to feel it again. Reckon it turns ‘em hysterical, ‘stead of the other way ‘round.”**

Rosey thought of the bathtub -their first tryst- and colored, a grimace forming as that sweet memory became tainted with the knowledge that everything the Captain did with her had been done by him to multitudes before her. As transactions, no less.

“Don’t pity him, girl.” Aida warned, “That money keeps him soft and happier than most, and it keeps you spoiled and fed.”

“I only pity those who do it without alternative.” she muttered. “Captain Presley’s put that behind him.”

“Ha, right behind him. So close behind him it’ll snag him by the britches before the year is out.” Aida shook her head, “You’re a foolish idiot talkin’ him into a rebellion.”

“It’s no rebellion when it’s between partners.” Rosey sneered.

“I keep forgettin’ the whole ‘equals’ part.” Aida admitted with mock regret before continuing, “Bit hard to do if you’d seen what I’ve seen. If you’d seen one of those equals let the other cane his bare backside like a green school boy over a tiny defiance. Equals my ass. How much trouble have you gotten him in that he’d risk this much?”

Aida had approached Rosey during this sickening divulgence and Rosey fast felt her power in the situation escaping her but was too rattled by it to wrestle back her rightful dominance.

“I suppose you’re real proud of yourself for standing by during such an event.” Rosey managed to spit while shrinking against the wall. Her hands began to sweat, she tossed the hysteria box off her lap and gripped the sheets beside her to dry them, feeling for her discarded pistol “And for a man who gave you so much. You’re not even mad for him.”

“An event? It was a weekly pastime some years, that cane saw more of him than it did the pavement.” Aida puzzled, “He’s really told ya nothin’, has he?” that revelation brought Aida more amusement than Rosey could ever imagine so hideous a face could express while Rosey felt sick at the idea of how much harm one stupid piece of wood could inflict, “Are you sorry for the dog that’s made to do a party trick before it gets a bone, Miss Beaumont? Do you give a dog a bone when he refuses? Mad for him, hmph.”

“Why’re you telling me all this.” Rosey asked, shame and anger battling inside her.

“Stop that.” Aida ordered and shortly after Rosey felt a sting to her cheek as she was slapped. Too stunned to respond in kind she sat there with a gaping mouth as Aida inspected her reaction.

“Stop what?” she hissed, palm to her her tingling cheek.

“Actin’ like you ain’t starved for details.” Aida smirked, “Clever girl like you, must’ve found Miss Etta most boring -so much talk, so much talk, so little history actually said. You’re downright panting to snoop yourself, don’t deny it.”

“I-I-I’m not!” Rosey defended, “I’m not denying.” she amended.

“Prove it.” Aida smirked.

Rosey knew this was a test that a normal child would have passed years ago, school bullies or debutante rivals would have buffeted her so that a manic, washed up prostitute’s goading would have little effect. But Rosey was no normal child, sheltered and so little buffeted in the gentler forms of cruelty, she knew only the hard scrabble, hard edged tests of life. With a sinking feel of doing wrong yet a pulse quickening excitement for daring it anyway, she looked about the room for a prompt. Her eyes fell to the bindings the Captain had used on her bosoms, and beneath it the masculine costume Aida herself had loaned her.

And she recalled his blush.

“When you loaned us that garb,” she began and no matter how hard she tried to be brazen she couldn’t manage more than a hushed whisper, “you mentioned…equipment. You asked if he wanted the ‘equipment’ with it.” She looked up to find that Aida was holding her peace, more restrained than Rosey had ever seen her and far from being comforting it made her feel like she was about to be sprung upon by prey. “I want to know what that was. What you meant. What you use it for.”

-‘Depraved things’ -the captain had called them sternly, but he’d stuttered and hardened all the same at the mere suggestion of them.

“How did he respond when he saw you in ‘em?” Aida pried and Rosey thought maybe she’d misjudged her, and she was merely a lonely gossip shut up in this dark hold for too long. Rosey caught a glimpse of herself in the future. “Did he find you arousing?”

Rosey wasn’t about to divulge that but the rosy blush that earned her his nickname was quick to answer for her. “What’s the equipment?”

“A wooden cock.” Aida replied with commendable bluntness.

Rosey hadn’t even contemplated the existence of such a thing. Her marveling face must’ve said so.

“Attached in the common place on the wearer with a harness.” Aida was eager to share and Rosey felt unsettled again at the knowledge that cruelty and degeneracy were the only two subjects that seemed to bring the woman joy. “Plenty a’men like bein’ with men that way but there’s those that like a woman to take ‘em thataways, too.”

“So they-“ Rosey couldn’t help herself, the curiosity too burning to be tamped down, “-they…suck on it?”

Much to her surprise, Aida looked a little puzzled herself for a brief moment before replying, “Well, no, not usually. They pay me to fuck ‘em.”

“In the mouth?“ Rosey persisted, annoyed at the splitting of hairs between taking and being taken orally.

“No, in the ass!” Aida was equally annoyed until she realized by watching Rosey’s bewildered expression that the girl wasn’t playing dumb.

“How does…how does anything fit up there?” she balked, certain Aida was having a laugh at her expense. From the stigma of sucking a man that she had learned from youth, she naturally assumed it was because it was associated with acts performed by sodomites and was the one way men could pleasure each other without a cunt. “How large is this wooden -object?”

“Girl,” Aida smirked, “we’re talkin’ cock, wooden and otherwise, goin’ up the back way. A throat ain’t got nothin’ on the squeeze of a tight ass.”

An array of emotions and wonderments hit Rosey all at once, converging in her mind to fill her with that tantalizing tingle of newly acquired knowledge mixed with a substantial amount of shock and concern over the likelihood of the Captain having engaged in this activity. Which further exacerbated her curiosity as to why he would find the mere suggestion of a renewal of that type of indulgence arousing. “Does that not hurt?” she asked.

“Like hell if you ain’t prepped right.” Aida’s graying tongue flicked at her lips and Rosey felt a pang of dread in her stomach.

“How does one prepare for that?”

“Stretchin’ the rim out.” she shrugged, “All my clients pay for that -after all, if they’ve got time and money to pay a woman to bugger them, you can count on it that they’re much too delicate to take it raw.”

“But if you’re just, out and-“ Rosey bit her lip to try to find a kinder word but it was ugly business no matter how one put it, “if one was out hawking oneself?”

“Beaumont,” Aida lifted a tattooed brow at her transparency, “you can count on it that the Captain done felt like his insides were getting scraped raw most times. Ain’t no oil in a back alley or bent over a barrel, but sometimes, sometimes it must’ve been good. He’s got a lingering taste for it, or maybe he just likes pain.”

“You’ve done this, for him?” Rosey asked dismally and wished she hadn’t even before it rolled off her tongue.

To her surprise Aida answered, “No. reckon he took enough real cock to keep him staggerin’ well into the weekday most times.”

“But not anymore.” Rosey noted once more while raising her chin, and as if noticing her shift in mood, Aida began to retreat towards the door.

“No, not anymore.” she agreed before spitting out, “Gone a whole year without sellin’ ass and he already misses it. Some folks are born whores.”

“Say that of him again and I’ll blow your brains out.” Rosey promised, and by then she had retrieved her pistol.

“Keep your eye out for those photographs.” Aida responded tersely, making as if to go.

“You’ve a claim to them?” Rosey leant forward in the cot, persisting in pressing the issue.

“Mm, yeah, I do.” Aida eyed the pistol warily.

“What- what kind of photographs am I to be looking for?” Rosey asked, exasperated and curious only for her own sake. And his. “If he had such an apparatus there could be all manner of prints! And I’ve heard with the mechanism that some may be undeveloped-“

“These are developed.” Aida laid her hand in the door knob, “Older, too, you’ll tell by the style.”

“I’ve never seen one in the flesh! How am I to discern style?” Rosey protested. “What kind am I looking for?”

Aida stared hard at her before her mouth twisted, “Oh, you’ll know what kind when you see them, Beaumont.”

Rosey’s hands had turned from clammy to frozen in her attempt to disguise her panicked breathing. “Beyond the photographs, what is it you want?”

Aida stood by the door of the small room and swayed, side to side like a considering crow and Rosey gave her all the time she needed.

“I know you wanted me to catch you.” She insisted gently.

“Hmph.” Aida grunted, contemplating a confession it seemed, or else another mode of attack. Rosey would never know.

A knock rang out from the other side of the door and Aida’s hand flew to her own mouth, signaling with a finger to the lips for Rosey to be silent. To play that the room was empty. Rosey wouldn’t be caught abetting a woman as displeasing to the Captain as Aida and chose to ignore her.

“Enter!” Rosey answered instead, clear and assertive.

Aida was forced to move back from the opening door as the formidable bulk of Sister Rosetta entered, looking first at Aida and then down to the spilled trunks, then up and across to Rosey on her rumpled cot.

“Miss Beaumont,” ever the stickler for etiquette, Rosetta ignored the intruder for the time being and addressed herself to the one she was seeking, who also happened to be the lady of the boat, “Dr. Nicholas informed me that yesterday you charged him with a meeting this afternoon to review…certain questions you had?”

“Oh, yes, yes I did.” Rosey recalled her fiery stipulations for allowing the doctor to stay aboard. She didn’t miss the way Aida watched this interaction with avid interest.

“He’s asking a time, ma’am.” Sister Rosetta prodded, she was being awfully respectful and Rosey wondered if the woman knew of her recent marriage or was merely setting an example for Aida. Either way, Rosey appreciated it.

“How about, a umm, an hour from now?” Rosey calculated, “We ought to be on our way by then, and the more nauseating swells should have subsided. Nothing like going over numbers when the boat’s rocking.”

“I’ll see to it he’s conscious by then.” Rosetta replied with deferential irony and Rosey filed that remark away for later. “Exactly what are you doing in here, Overton?” she asked the old prostitute next.

“I was returning her clothes to her.” Rosey spoke up and Rosetta, in line with her newly found deference for Rosey Presley, accepted this fib with narrowing eyes but tight lips. “And, as that’s done with,” Rosey went on after a burdened silence in which Rosetta’s judgmental stare impressed upon her the need to do…something, “you may go, Aida.”

Aida did not exit in haste, she slipped behind Sister Rosetta’s considerable bulk and gave a searing, lasting, parting look of what Rosey feared bordered on conspiratorial camaraderie before shutting the door behind her.

Rosey sat on her cot and fought the urge to fidget on the cot, to kick her leg and scuff her boots under Rosetta’s unwavering observation. That hideous, vibrating apparatus was still lying sideways on the floor.

“Child?” Rosetta broke the silence at last and Rosey ground her teeth at the sudden absence of all respect and deference, merely parental concern remained and no small rebuke in it. It had been a show for that whore, then, and nothing changed. Nothing ever changed, Rosey would always be stuck as that cloistered little girl who grew up to be a stunted young woman.

“I’m glad you came by Sister, I’ve a complaint against you.” Rosey spoke up, daring this due to the sting of repeated losses of authority, first to Aida and now to her.

“With me?” Rosetta repeated, seemingly astounded.

“Yes.” Rosey smoothed her hands out on her lap, “It would seem a confidence I trusted you with a few nights gone, a confidence I would have kept to myself if not so shaken, was repeated to the Captain in its most gruesome and twisted manner.”

“By me?” Rosetta repeated, eyebrows raised nearly to the band of her exquisite turban.

“There was no one else to insinuate what he now believes as gospel truth.” Rosey pointed out icily, “He is under the impression, Sister, that he forced himself on me the other night.”

“Unsuccessfully!” Rosetta protested, “He knows he was unsuccessful. There’s no harm done.”

“The harm is in the intent!” Rosey cried out, “And in the fact he believes himself capable of it! He won’t even-“ with effort Rosey reined in her narrative to the details proper to be shared, “he would barely trust himself alone in his own room with me. And while that has been surmounted by vows and begging on my part -he is…tentative.”

“Not a bad thing.” Rosetta pointed out, chin lifted, “A man that -hungry, a man like that oughta be tentative. And that night should have proved it to you.”

“What occurred that night was not unwanted.” Rosey enunciated, near to a rage, “And I would not have him think otherwise. I did not tell you otherwise. I confided my wants to you and admitted my sins, that I wanted his babe! His love! And you took that, took that temperance of mine and told him he was a brute?”

Rosetta swiped her hand over her brow a half a dozen times as if battling something quite heavy before deciding on a course of action and hauling up the rickety chair to sit in front of Rosey, amidst the wreckage of the trunks. “You think well of him.” she noted and before Rosey could more adamantly rephrase this moderate sentiment, she held her hand up for silence, “And it’s well that you do. And it is well for him, too. But with such a man, it is well for him to know what he is capable of, and to not think too highly of his own restraint. Not when we are speaking of something as heavy as this.”

Rosey did her best to listen and give such a statement it’s due weight and consideration, but peeved at continued insinuation of her own naïveté felt compelled to retort, “Ma’am, I’ve seen a woman forced, my own sister in fact, I don’t need to be told about heaviness. I’m telling you now, I object to saddling a man, however volatile and, and, and hungry as you call it, with the taint of such cruelty. He would never.”

“You think I care about the act?” Rosetta scoffed but gently added, “Child, there’s sins and then there’s harm. And then there’s bringing a child into a world not fit to care for it. And that’s what I object to. That’s what he objects to. And that’s what deserves heaviness and fear from such a man, and you should fear it too.”

Rosey swallowed hard, the shift in Rosetta’s tone becoming softer than she’d ever seen and it took her unawares. In vain did she summon back her old ire, instead like a helpless student, she waited for more.

“Don’t be so eager for a babe, girl.” Rosetta murmured sadly, “Not in times such as these. Even good men betray you, and even the ones who don’t -they’re not promised tomorrow to provide for you. And in your case, without him, there’d be no Captain Presley to buy your child and bring him up as his own.”

Rosey tapped her boot on the floor rhythmically as an assorted pattern of clues formed in her mind and suddenly it was quite plain, all those hours teaching him math in her presence and watching her watch him frolic with the captain and her so very angry at the colonel for threatening him- “Cal is yours.” Rosey realized, “He’s your son.”

Rosetta pursed her lips and nodded, more vulnerable looking than Rosey had ever seen her stoic face, “And it would do him no good to know.” he mourned, “For I had a man, and he was a good man with ivory skin, blue eyes and a wife, and he told me he’d come back for me. That was a whole war ago.” she noted, “And the only man who came was Elvis, bought us both out of our debt. Freedom ain’t sweet when ya can’t eat and when the color of your skin affects your child’s chances. If you were to have a bastard, you’d be nearly in the same case as me.”

Rosey leant forward and tentatively laid a comforting hand on the stalwart lady’s knee, “I’d no idea. Not when I was teaching him -and you, right there, holding your tongue. I cannot fathom it.”

“One day,” she murmured, “you’ll love someone enough to hold your tongue, even if you want to claim them. And what kind of parents would you be? A man of pleasure and a murderess? This isn’t a just world and it’s certainly not a kind one, you’d never get to keep your child. Promise me, never a child, if I could spare either of you that, I would, that’s why I’m sayin’ what I am saying.”

“I can’t make that promise.” Rosey gasped, heartsick and persuaded, “I-I can’t, it’s not for me to make. Not alone.”

Sister Rosetta received this with grudging admiration for Rosey’s loyalty to his headship over her.

“There was a woman aboard, little over a year ago,” Rosetta’s tone turned dreadfully measured after her brief vulnerability and Rosey braced herself, knowing the tale was worth heeding if so circumspect a woman took to divulging secrets, “she was wealthy as was her husband. And the Captain had a fear that she had begotten a child off him.” Rosetta paused as if weighing her narrative once more, “He was most careful about that, you see, with his work, such as it was, most careful. It was paramount to him. But with this woman it was feared. Some couples are harmless, some women are needy, and some are depraved. They all pay the same. But,” she folded her hands again and again before rising and speaking to the door, “but this particular couple, they were crueler than most. Thwarted his precautions knowingly. Seemed to delight in it, like it was a lark to taint themselves with him. It’s a common thing paid for, a sort of abetted cuckolding with the husband engaged. It wore on him, Miss Beaumont, years and years of seeing marriage so demeaned and him being the instrument for it but -never to such ends as this. I don’t know what Etta tried, and I don’t know what Aida planned, but when these helpers failed he came to me.”

“What -what did he want?” Rosey begged. “What did he intend?”

“I don’t know.” Rosetta sounded like a jaded witness, “But he told me of it, told me he was begging God to finish that woman, anything to prevent a child of his to be raised by such degenerates.” Rosetta turned back to her, looking over Rosey’s head, “He gave himself back to God that night. And stuck to it until you came along. The next port of call he sent me to their room to deliver a telegram that had come in. It read of an emergency, the couple demanded a ramp be lowered before the boat had fully docked, they were eager to be off. Considering his passenger's request paramount to an order, the Captain lowered them a ramp.” Rosetta locked eyes with Rosey as the girl guessed a million endings to this harmless tale, “That was the only time Captain Presley has ever lost passengers while unloading. Crushed them between the hull and dock.”

Rosey found her mouth had gone dry when she tried to swallow her shock, choking on her own emotion, Rosetta went to the wash basin and brought her the pitcher, encouraging her to drink.

“Don’t you ever think that man takes the prospect of a child lightly.” Rosetta ended her caution quite simply and Rosey gave the pitcher back with nerveless hands.

“You think he-“ she could not say it the first try, which was ironic enough considering what unaccounted and horrible things she’d laid to his account when she first met him, “-killed them?” she whispered.

“Court ruled it was an accident, Me. Cash was an advocate.” Rosetta acted suddenly as if she was arguing against her own narrative, “And since then the Captain became a most revernat disciple of the gospel of his youth. There’s nothing more to be gained from guessing. Till you.” she added, “Now it bears some worth in repeating. Just, bear in mind when you’re fooling and he’s suggestible -he don’t take it lightly, child. He don’t take it lightly.”

Rosey repacked the trunks when Rosetta left her, unable in her rearranging to help herself from snooping in some small way. There was nothing very remarkable save a large assortment of knives that looked as motley as possible with different inscriptions and initials on them, suggesting other owners. There were strong ribbons of silk, too, 10 times longer than needed to tie up even Rosey’s long mane of hair, and clasps too, cosmetics of coal and rouge in tidy little containers. And a hairbrush that looked innocuous enough until one examined the phallic handle. Rosey nearly dropped the thing in startelement that she was holding something with veins and ridges so similar to the real thing while being pantomime.

It felt disloyal and she dropped it back into the trunk. It thudded dully on the wooden bottom and still no photographs were to be seen. A single cameo was wedged amongst books and when she cracked its decaying hinge open she found a picture of Captain Phillips looking ten years younger and without a lick of gray. Wartime portrait. She tucked it back in place and threaded the strange assortment of thin silk shifts and a large corset, as if for a big boned woman, around the more delicate things and stacked the books as best she could manage.

This done she went to her meeting with the doctor, such as it was with a table set up in a closet beside the Boilers that held pitchers and hoses in case of a fire in them, foggy and lost in early memories of the captain. Not the sunlit frolics of childhood that were dimly returning to her the longer she stayed with him but that dreadful first night they met. She wracked her brain for the little details she’s once worried to shreds in her fear of him but had since been smoothed out like so much jagged ivory in a near completed sculpture. She recalled the way he shoved through the New Orleans riff-raf with unblinking authority and the way he’d snapped his fingers and bought her with only mild protest from other bidders. She thought of his playful refrain to her these day “No murder, Rosey!” and realized with an ache that he may not have meant it so lightly. He was begging her off a path he had been down. The more she thought of him in those early days and the fear he elicited in her, the more she realized him capable of the tale she had just heard.

“Just once I wanna hear Old Beaumont’s daughter say ‘cock’ while grinding back on mine.” he had been so mean with his words that first time, goading and venomous at her for her lofty origins. Or was he just used to speaking like that to highborn ladies who got a thrill from a working class man soiling them?

It was more of a wonder that he was capable of love now, and hated himself as faintly as he did, with such a history. Each new little discovery of it that she made was like pricking her fingers on hidden pins in a seemingly complete cross stitch. If she could run above deck now and hug him and have him lave her pricked fingers with his tongue and promises -she would.

Instead, “Good afternoon, docter.” She greeted and closed the door of the closet behind them.

She took the seat on the far wall, which was only about three feet apart from himself with a rickety board serving as a desk. Rosey laced her hands around her ink pot atop her accounting books with admirable poise and gave him a smile. Dr. Nick’s smile wavered but he returned it all the same.

“To be perfectly honest, Miss Beaumont, I am confused by this, uh, interview, shall we say?” he admitted as she laid out her papers and asked for a list of drugs and medicines used in the captain's care. “I am not beholden to you or owe you any information, the art I practice is guarded by oath and the law of this land states no boat of this size can traverse without a doctor, i am thus immune to any threat you may make or change you may attempt. You are a purser, ma’am, and I am a physician. I suggest we keep to our respective callings, the better to pass this trip in a harmonious manner.”

“I am indeed a purser,” Rosey dipped her pin in the ink with methodical precision, “and as such I am to make an account of what comes and goes in our revenues. I am not here to play chemist sir, I am merely here to ascertain to what purpose we spend nearly 40 dollars monthly on Mercury. salts?”

“Pah.”

“The boat pays for that, sir.” She reminded, “Another ten for opiates, another thirteen for -“

“You are new to book keeping, yes?” Dr. Nick interrupted.

“No, I am not at all new to it.” Rosey answered truthfully.

“Book-keeping in a brothel, then?” he guessed, “Just as you would pay for lye or salt marsh to seed your fields, this vocation requires a vast array of…fertilizers. Stimulants and relaxants and numbing drugs -the human body can only sustain so much on its own power, Madame. I shall spare you the details but there are illnesses to treat as well. Rife amongst such work.”

“Spare me no details, which illness is which drug curing, Doctor?”

“The Mercury -Aida ingests that morning moon and nightly on my orders.”

“That’s why the entire woman is turning silver, I suppose?” Rosey shuddered and noted it down.

“An unfortunate side effect.” he conceded, “Along with vomiting and wasting, the disease can be attributed for the rest of her symptoms, the mind and vision. The rotting of brain matter and soft tissue that you have no doubt smelled. She is not alone, half the boat relies on Mercury to keep the rot at bay.”

“How long?” Rosey asked, “How long must they be on it for a cure?”

“Girl, there is no cure for such filth.” he grunted, “We are talking of back alley, degenerate diseases, lowborn blood and the judgment of God on all such products of lust combining to waste them away.”

“And what are you treating the malaria with?” Rosey moved onto another Devine pestilence that she was certain the captain suffered from.

“I don’t recognize anyone with it.” he objected, “No swollen tongues or yellow eyes.”

“It can be chronic-“

“-no, not in my study of it, it can’t.” he shook his head with surety, “Syphilis, that’s what we’re fighting aboard, and the Clap. I suppose we should think of getting you on a regimen if you’ve been having -relations.” he muttered with what Rosey truly thought might be blunt concern for her welfare. “There’s no cure, but these medicinals they are -essential for any quality of life to be maintained and for comfort to be found at the end. Essential. Syphilis, It’s a spirochete you see, not at all like a bacteria, under a microscope it looks rather like a corkscrew drilling its way into each cell, siphoning off the life from it.”

Rosey swallowed thickly at that image and jotted down another column, “What symptoms was the captain experiencing that such a disease was suspected?” the difference between himself and Aida’s derangement were obvious, but perhaps that was just a matter of time.

“He runs fevers, he has sweats, he is fatigued,” the doctor rattled a mundane list of ailments boredly, “he engaged in sodomy. It’s clear.”

Rosey bit her lip at the recent revelation as to the details of that act and retorted softly, “He vomits, almost every morning, he vomits. Does that not sound more of cholera, at least?”

“Where would he have gotten cholera?” The doctor scoffed.

“He was abroad for years during the war!” she retorted heatedly, “And was held prisoner in Elmira of all places -do you not think that sufficient to contract an illness without contracting the wrath of God, too?”

“Was he kept there?” Dr. Nick showed grave surprise, “I didn’t know him then.“ He explained as if that were an end to it, nothing remarkable about having judged a patient’s case without any history given. “I was hired by Colonel Parker to help ease him in his vocation, and for the occasional assist when sleeplessness took hold. You’ve nothing against sleep drafts do you?” he suddenly asked in horror at her ignorance.

“I’m here to account, sir.” she managed in a horse whisper and marked the Mercury salts for two, all the rest having been discharged from service. She started another column for unaccounted drugs which she figured she could assume with some surety that the Doctor himself indulged in.

“We really ought to get you on something, it spreads you know.” he insisted not unkindly.

Rosey shifted in her seat and thought of her innocence still so resolutely intact. “I think you’ll find that won't be necessary, sir.”

Come evening they were still at it, tallying figures and dosages that ran like Greek in Rosey’s head to the lulling of the familiar boilers clang, making white noise beside them.

A grating scrape silenced them both as the jarring sensation of the boat catching on some unknown barrier below them cast the fear of God on them both. Not in all her time aboard had Rosey heard something remotely similar. Not even when the Captain sidled the great monstrosity up the docks. He parked his boat smooth as a dance master, a little bump and sway and they’d settle as the ropes tethered them.

Not so this screech, it reminded Rosey and the doctor both that they were in a floating cask. Following was a disorienting little tip where the ink pot began to slide towards her and she caught it, unnerved by the small but unmistakable turn the boat was taking.

“Have you ever-?” she broke the silence as they still stayed unbalanced like a buggy relying on a single wheel for a reckless curve.

“No.” Dr. Nick had his eyes searching the ceiling as the lamp above them stayed slanted to the side like their balance. “He’s makin’ the turn,” he surmised sounding a little awed, “we’re headed into the Missouri.”

Rosey wondered if she’d feel it when the water changed, beyond the boat righting itself after the turn. She wondered if the Captain would at least, with those keen hands and attuned senses. Would the current change? Would the depths affect his grip on the wheel? Was the strain of the boilers her imagination or was it like they were truly fighting for access into the giant tributary. Would the river gods let him in? Hand braced on the wall as her chair went slightly askew beneath her weight, Rosey let up her first little prayer in ages and it sounded strangely directed towards the captain’s talent instead of God.

Up above decks the Captain’s eyes smarted from kerosene fumes and hours of squinting into the pale lamp-illuminated river mists, they gathered like shrouds on the old Mississippi’s surface as the inky waves danced into the edge of the black sky. Elvis felt like it was a funeral procession of sorts, all black robes and white smoke like he’d seen in New Orleans

‘Don’t count me out yet, ole Miss,’ he thought fondly, ‘watch me come back to you old girl’.

Jerry was to take the evening watch and still refused to go down below to catch his nap, too anxious for the damn turn into the tributary like the rest of them who knew anything about anything. Elvis tried to comfort himself that if he ran them into a sandbank and drowned them all, first day of the job, he’d at least be responsible for killing General Sherman.

As it was Elvis sniffed away the smarting fumes and gritted his teeth at the gnarly scrape that wailed into the night as he toggled the massive wheel to his left, a little too much, too soon? Or was he too late to thread the damn needle? The current felt like a damn whirlpool keeping him at bay and he had to stick out a foot off his high stool to force the wheel straight on his course. It was unnerving the way it would have spun and spun them to oblivion if he’d let go the slightest bit.

“Ya got it, ya got it.” Cash’s rumble sounded steadying in his ear and once again Captain Presley gave thanks for the Divine intervention and kind suspicions of Mr. Binder who didn’t trust his investment that far westward without the Waterway Committee’s watchdog tagging along to guard it. The fact it was ole Johnny Cash from dear dead days gone by and more recent redemptive ones, only made it kinder. Between Rosey’s pardon and Cash’s presence, Elvis was ready not only to repay Mr. Binder generously but even to like the man. “Ya got it, don’t spook, man.”

Johnny kept the damn unhelpfully small print map up in the right half of Elvis’ view, thumb tacking it to the top of the wheel for the past half hour as Elvis’ glued his eyes to each treacherous little bend of the entry way he’d never probbed before.

“Which one is it, damnnit?” he hissed to himself as every little juncture was running together on the map and maybe he shoulda brought his glasses if he knew this was going to be more about reading for hours straight and far less about seamanship.

Cash reached over him and wiped the off the compass with his jacket cuff and that was all the rebuke Elvis needed for his small tantrum. “Instruments ain’t lyin.” Cash grunted.

“Either of you bastards wanna ease us into this whirlpool, be my guest.” Elvis had to get his anger out or else tip them and he felt better right away at the guffaws it inspired.

“Fuck no.” Jerry chuckled nervously in back and Elvis hated him for the way he was just shy of talented enough to do this and thus could warm his hands around a hot canteen of coffee while Elvis’ numb and braised hands cramped on the wheel.

“Ease is the right word.” Johnny chuckled, “don’t let Lamar spook and gun us in.”

“I know, I know.” Elvis grunted as he felt himself get in a groove, the current finally splitting at the bow on either side like a welcomer instead of a barrier, “I-I think I’m in, I’m -I’m in somethin.” he added unsure, “Lemme me in sweet Missouri, lemme in Big Muddy.”

If one of the soldiers beneath them had been atop he might have laughed at the language or thought it pantomime but it wasn’t, none of the rivermen laughed, they just bit their lips at the necessary double entendrés and prayed the fickle water would listen.

“Mhmm, nice n’ easy you’re in, I feel what ya mean -tell Lamar not to spook.” Cash urged Elvis again as the boat began to tug into the bend as it ought, causing the deck and the whole dark horizon to tip to their right as they turned west.

“He knows!” Elvis bit back, knuckles white as the wheel tried to tug him fully to the side, his thigh working harder to pull him upright again.

“Does he? If it were me I wouldn’t trust a single fella who ain’t a professional lover not to gun it in, full steam ahead, right about now.” Cash admitted.

“Lamar don’t ya Fuckin’ do it!” Elvis grabbed the horn and hollered down to his boilers, “Make her swallow us whole if ya do!” and it was just in time too, the boat began to rattle and hum as if a few more scoops had been added and the bellows worked a few pumps beyond direction. “Quit pumpin’ so hard, damn you.” Elvis hollered again and his amplified voice rattled around the boilerdeck like Hades sending out a decree into the underworld, it made Rosey perk up across from Dr. Nick. “I tell ya when to add coal, fucks sake -no intuition for feelin’ it give, some folks…” Elvis trailed off in a grumble and let the horn fall with a clatter back in place.

The current of the Missouri runs southernly from its source in the great northwest and where it meets the Mississippi just north of Saint Louis, it forms a churning caldron of wrecks, tide pools and sediment. Enough steam is required to make the turn and keep one’s progress against a current that flows over eight miles an hour, yet too much steam and it will tip you right into the swirl of the conjoining streams.

“Sweet Jesus I feel like I’ve been turnin’ for hours.” he groaned, his shoulders burning from the strain, “Gonna run into the opposite bank this way.”

“How she feelin?” Was all Cash replied.

“Looser.”

“Looser bad or looser good?”

“When is looser bad?” Jerry asked with a snort.

“Looser’s bad when your fuckin’ wheel spins like a roulette wheel, ya idiot.” Elvis helpfully supplied.

“Yeah, never seen that yet.” Jerry conceded that he was a very good first mate and hadn’t allowed such a thing to even happen.

“I-I dunno man she’s loose but- but I feel her tug-“ Elvis bit his lip and tried to process both the instruments and the leading of the wheel. “-left.” he decided, “She’s tuggin’ left.”

“Then show her who’s boss.” Cash grinned and thumbed at the droplets on the map, squinting himself at the small type. “You plan to tuck us in before Kansas City for the night? Nice lil cove right about there.” He pointed at the map with his big blunt finger but Elvis had his tongue between his teeth and he leaned on the wheel spokes to pull the boat right.

“Just trying to get past this bend then I’ll think about goddamn coves.” Elvis grunted, “She won’t stop sucking m’bow to portside.”

“Want a hand?” Cash asked mildly.

“Fuck me it’s like asking the wife to fuck this mistress.” the captain muttured instead, switching from pleading with the river to begging his boat to go where it wasn’t built for, its high top decks -so spacious and regal for entertainment or speed- precariously teetering in the rough n’tumble of the backwoods river. “Ooooh hell she's tuggin’,” he exclaimed finally, “Lamar, Lamar! Gimme more now!” he yanked at his own controls, a stick that precariously opened the steam valves at whim so long as enough coal was supplied below, and the Proud Marie lurched into the turn with all the rage of an offended deity. “Cash? Wanna help?” he barked, wild haired and sweating in the gas light and looking more in his element than Johnny had seen him in ages.

“Bless me no, you juggle your own women.” he smiled instead. “Pay attention to that tuggin’, now. Don’t wanna die now we’ve threaded the damn thing.”

“Oh I’m payin’ attention, alright.” Elvis laughed. “But now she’s tuggun’ like the current’s suckin me ‘stead of pushin’, Cash.”

“How fickle is woman.” Cash mused while lighting up a cigar.

“Just think,” Jerry piped up encouragingly, “couple more hours of this then you can go lay on soft bosoms and catch some shut eye.”

Seeing as how it was already past ten in the evening, the thought of more hours was more tortuous than conciliatory. “Jerrah, how about you fuck off and make yourself useful. Light my cigar f’me again, damn mists keep puttin’ it out.”

“You can’t just breathe tobacco up here.” Jerry pointed out even as he struck a match and cupped it to the Captain's face.

The captain glanced at him, all sooty lashes and water speckled cheeks in the warm glow of the kerosene wick, “Watch me.” he puffed, as he felt the river give him a lane and he slotted in, pulling his wheel straight again. “This got me sweatin’ like a whore in church.” he whistled, no longer jealous of Jerry and his coffee.

“Works every time.” Cash agreed with a knowing smile and Elvis grinned back.

“We’re in boys, we’ve well and truly entered her.” he announced a mile in and half in, and had there been daylight, the mouth leading to the Mississippi would have been seen slowly shrinking behind them like a portal to the known world.

“Done so gentle, I'd bet she didn’t even bleed.” Cash patted Elvis' shoulder and he smiled back, fighting the urge to slump over the wheel and fall asleep now the day’s worst was over.

A few hours passed and the Captain did tuck them into a cove for the night, running the ropes out the hawser holes to secure them to the beached wreck of a more unfortunate predecessor on its banks. He woke Jerry where he’d slumped in his chair for his watch.

“Say hi to Rosey for me, EP.” he mumbled and Elvis didn’t begrudge him after having slapped him around a bit to thoroughly wake him.

“So you kept her aboard?” Cash asked him as they tromped down the multiple flights of ladders to the lowest deck, handrails and boot grips slick with mist and the single lantern Elvis held doing little to light the way.

“Cash, she killed for me.” the captain reminded in a dazed murmur.

“She’s really somethin’ then?” Cash made conversation as they creaked open the side door, an absolute racket of a sound in the otherwise sleeping boat, and stepped into the starboard side of the stables.

“Whadda you think?” Elvis sassed with smug awareness that Rosey really was something else.

“And ya love her?” Cash rumbled on in that easy way of his that would have you declaring shit you didn’t have figured out yet.

“Whadda ya think?” Elvis answered again and started weaving through the horses instead of going to his little closet and its cot and warm bosoms, “Hellfire, it’s a sea of horses down here.” he muttered as he walked down an aisle of where the tethered yet majestic creatures nipped at him with eager muzzles or else swished him with elegant tales, “Poor Beans, s’like berthing on a transport. Bullshit steerage accommodations for m’boy.” he bemoaned when he found him and Cash assumed Beans forgave all with the nearly amorous way the horse flung his head neck around Elvis’ and the two swayed in a cheek smashed embrace.

Removing himself from the equine reunion, Cash busied himself with going to the far side where the racks of loose hay puffed out between wooden slats and grabbed himself a bundle to replace Bean’s trodden supply. When he returned he found Elvis in discussion with someone, and after initially assuming it to be his tetched horse, Cash realized there was another fella down here with him, not one of the crew, just a sleepless soldier come to keep his horse company, or the other way around.

“Best cure for it.” Elvis was agreeing pleasantly to something the man had said and Cash assumed it was insomnia, “M’boy here’s always my first choice. Is your berth comfortable, got everythin’ ya need?”

“Yeah, it’ll do.” The man replied a few horses deep into the row and Cash squinted trying to make out a discernible facial feature in the gloom and all he succeeded at was recognizing yellow colored hair. “Sleep a whole lot better of they’d kept the female comfort aboard.” the man added with a joke.

“Ain’t fittin’ on a government boat, they says.” The Captain maintained a neutral tone and took to unsnarling one of the braids in Beans withers.

“I bet the rich bastard who ran this kept a few, ya know?” The man disagreed with a grin, “The guys have pooled together, we’ve got a decent amount of cash for anyone who wants to give us a tip to where we can find the maids. Can’t run a boat without maids.”

“You can.” Elvis replied a little harshly, “Leastwise they’re all men.” he added.

“Well, if we get desperate enough...” The fellow joked.

“If ya get desperate enough you’ll find yourself sucking lead outta my pistol ‘fore I let you mess around with my folks, that clear?” The captain crouched and yanked up the lantern he’d set on the floor and pushed it into the crowd of horses to make out the man’s face for future reference and illuminating his own. The man was nearly middle aged and was unremarkable really, in every way, except for the glinting brass uniform buttons running down the front of his navy blue jacket.

“Wh- shit me, you the captain?” the man asked in surprise, putting his hands up in a pacifying way, “Sorry sir, just kidding is all. It’s gonna be a long trip.”

It was indeed, nobody knew that better than Elvis and he decided the fellow was jovial enough, hell- if it weren’t for Rosey’s presence the captain would have taken such a joke in stride and he knew he was being irrational about it. He’d let rip with such humor himself at times and it didn’t mean anything, it didn’t and there was no use antagonizing his human cargo on the first day over a joke. The scuff of Cash’s boots behind him reminded him he didn’t need to be bowing up at everyone, mildness was the order of the day.

“Yeah, gonna be real long.” Elvis agreed and they exchanged tired smiles at each other, the fellow was missing a front tooth on his lower set and had a shock of golden hair that had turned a little straw-like from hard living. “You got a wife or kids?” he asked, stepping aside so Beans could munch on the hay Johnny brought.

“No, no I’m unattached.” the fellow replied, “It’s better that way I figure.”

“Whores don’t miss ya.” Elvis deducted with a conciliatory grin and the man took the offered olive branch with a knowing smile.

“I suppose they don’t.” the man laughed back. “You seem awfully familiar,” the man went on, “have we met? Did you used to work transport during the war?”

Elvis didn’t quite have the heart to tell the guy that even if they had met he was about as remarkable as a piece of straw and thus not memorable, a nice person didn’t deserve the insult so Elvis said instead, “Judging by your accent, I highly doubt I’d have been carryin’ you down river.”

“You an old Rebel then?”

“You’re a New Yorker?”

“I am.”

“Yeah, then, seems not.” Elvis shrugged, “Unless,” an awful thought struck him, “-you always been in the Calvary?” he inquired, his own interest peaked, knowing without a shred of vanity that his own face was not particularly forgettable and so when folks told him they’d met before he tended to believe them.

“No, used to be infantry.” the man was puzzled by this line of questioning, “Bought my own commission five years ago.”

“Shieet!” Elvis exclaimed, thinking he’d cracked it, “You ever guard at Elmira?”

“You were held in Elmira?” the guy repeated in disbelief.

“Uhuh, you ever guard there?”

“Hell no, a shit detail that.” the man was offended, “I was down chasing General Hood in Alabama.”

Elvis squinted at this dead end and stippled his fingers on Beans’ back, trying to think of an alternative meeting. “Hood was doing the chasin’, if I recall.” he snarked.

“And we were doing the killing.” the guy smiled back and Elvis let it be.

“Don’t leave the damn candle goin’ till it burns down,” Elvis warned as he and Cash turned to go, “the hay would be happy to catch and keep us from ever makin’ it to the Dakotas.”

“I won’t!” the man replied and as they walked down the cramped hallway that led to Hodge’s room and then Rosey’s, Elvis felt with the keen discernment of too much time spent in dark alleys that there were eyes pinned to his back in the dark hold, watching where he and his lantern went for the night. Elvis could curse the builder of this ship for all its lonely little cubbies, but he knew how to make use of them. Those eyes burned him all the way to his turn and he felt like scratching his shoulder blades, the itch was so strong.

Natural curiosity was a reasonable reason to give the man, but Rosey made the captain unreasonable, and before he turned he doused his wick and Cash stumbled straight into his back.

Instead of grumbling, his friend muttered, “lead on.” in a quiet tone that suggested he got the Captain’s ploy.

“You’re in here with Lamar,” Elvis opened the door to one tiny berth with double hammocks, “Charlie and Cal are across and I’m in through there to a storage closet.”

“Your girl got a gun?” Cash asked instead as he stood on his threshold, “I don’t like that sonuvabitch.”

“What do you take me for?” Elvis smacked his shoulder, “Course she does and not just any, I got her Stan Whatie’s lil ivory project.”

“No, hell, the Cherokee’s?”

“Mhmm, won it over cards.” Elvis said.

“I’ll be damned, you romantic bastard.” Cash marveled, “Don’t tell my June, it’ll heighten her standards and I don’t trust her standards on a game of cards.”

“I won’t.” Elvis snickered and bid him goodnight, creeping through the dark into the next room and fumbling between the cots till he thought he’d found Cal and placed a soft kiss on his forehead.

“You’re precious, ya know that?” Charlie’s voice murmured back instead and Elvis’ head reared back with a shocked snort before he turned to the other bunk and its far smaller and utterly unconscious snoozer and repeated the kiss on the forehead originally intended.

He then felt along the wall until he felt the small latch and he pushed it open to find Rosey in nothing but her nightgown, still burning the midnight oil with her nose in a Pharmakea encyclopedia.

“Baby.” he whispered in greeting, tip-toeing past the chair and the trunks to their cot and being pleased as punch by the happy little cry she gave as she flung herself up in the bed to receive his kisses.

“Elvis!” she acted as if it had been years and her love had grown in the meantime and the small kiss he meant to give turned into a full embrace and his intentions for keeping away until he could strip from his work coat and keep her nightclothes unsoiled were irreparably thwarted by her vigor. “Today was a year long, I’ve waited and waited.” she moaned into his mouth and he grinned pleased against her cheek and peppered it with kisses that smelled of tobacco, “You smell of kerosene.” she laughed once she finally released him and he grinned down at her happily.

“You alright, darlin’?” he asked as he began to unbutton his coat, “How’re them bruises.”

He nodded to her chest and she rolled her eyes before assuring, “They’re fine.”

“I wanna see.” he insisted, but made no motion to make her, just kept popping buttons on his leather coat and she rather shyly tugged the wide scoop of her neckline down to show the tops of her breasts, unsure if this was routine or if she was meant to be seductive.

“Aww poor bubbies,” he mourned at the still present marks of the bindings, “Hoist ‘em up a little, I wanna see the undersides.”

With burning cheeks, Rosey scooped a breast in each hand and pushed them above the covering of her linen gown. The flash of hunger that seared though Elvis’ compassion made her shift in want on the cot.

“You been puttin’ the oil on ‘em like I told ya?” he asked.

“Yes I have.”

“S’very important, don’t be lazy about it.” he insisted. “Poor pretty babies, can’t believe I hurt ‘em like that. Gotta put oil on ‘em.”

“I know Elvis.” she agreed, “And what about you? How was it? We felt when you made the turn!”

“Did ya?”

“Yes, and I heard you yelling at Lamar.” she smiled shyly and he didn’t know why she looked so pleased about it.

“Oh.” he exclaimed, “Sorry ‘bout that, didn’t mean to be so angry. He's just such a bull about these things and ya gotta just ease it in, insistent but not forceful, ya know?”

“Don’t be sorry.” she simpered breathily and licked her lips, “You sounded like you were-“

“Like what?” He asked, genuinely confused, as he tried to find a place to hang his coat, “We really need more pegs in here.”

“You sounded like -a lover.” she hissed the last part, knees drawn up to her chin on the cot and he could pinch her cheeks, she looked so cute in her bashfulness.

“Did I?” he hummed, turning towards her as he emptied his various pockets of knives and timepieces and the like. “And did that excite my lil girl?”

“Maybe.” she whispered.

Oddly, he sniffed the air at her answer and squinted as if the findings puzzled him, “You ain’t played with yourself though, have ya?”

“Why- no. No I haven’t.” she gaped in some surprise.

“See, I’d know.” He told her with surety, “When I’ve been above deck all day I get my senses cleared, ya see? And when I come back down I can sense anything.”

“Oh.” her cheeks still flamed.

“Who else has been in here?” He asked after another sniff and his face darkened.

“Oh,” Rosey startled, “Sister Rosetta, she stopped by to remind me of my meeting, and Cal too, for a bit.”

“An-who else?” he asked with the look and tone of a man who already knew.

“Uh, well then there was Aida” Rosey kept her voice light, “she came so I could return her clothes to her.”

“Why’d you return them?”

“We’re done with them.” she replied, puzzled, “Aren’t we?”

“No, no, not necessarily.” he frowned, “And what’s the rush to return ‘em? She ain’t goin’ nowhere?”

“I just- I didn’t think. Sorry.”

“I don’t want you near her, you hear me, Rosey?”

“I-I do. But it wasn’t…she just came by.”

“I bet she did.” he seethed and he undid his vest with savage jerks and Rosey swallowed hard.

“I understand. But -no harm done this time.” she tried to pacify.

“You don’t need to seek out whores for friends, alright?” he went on, “And you don’t need to listen to whores for nothin’ regarding us. If I wanted a whore I’d go get me one. Some things are left better untouched, lil girl’s brains bein’ one.”

“Is she dangerous?” Rosey asked.

“Oh she done a thing or two in her time.” He agreed mirthlessly, “And been done a thing or two back, I suppose.”

“The doctor says her brain is rotting from the illness.” Rosey crossed her arms uncomfortably at the recollection and the rather obvious proofs of the same that being around the woman gave. Even the stench of flesh rotting that lasted hours after she’d gone. No amount of perfume or douched lemons could contain it.

“Why was he tellin’ you ‘bout her case?” Elvis demanded again. “He don’t need to be tellin’ a lady like you ‘bout syphillis’n’shit.”

“Is that what’s killing her?” Rosey asked.

“Most likely.” he shrugged, “They injected the mercury salts into her eyes for it a couple years ago, didn't do shit to slow it. I take ‘em orally and they burn. A- a-a-and I ‘member thinkin’ while I was holdin’ her down for it: nobody ever paid us more for a bit a pain as I paid for that fuckery.”

“You paid for that procedure?” she shuddered.

“She begged me, they said it would help. I-I-I hate her but -I couldn't just let her…rot.” he shook himself, “I'd rather someone shoot me ‘fore I get to that point. Why was he tellin’ you all this?” he argued again, brows knit and a hurt expression on his face, “Why you diggin’ into all this?”

“Elvis,” Rosey sighed and he took a breath too, as if aware he was tired and cranky, “the meeting was to discuss medications, you recall? We -our boat- spends an inordinate amount on medicines and opiates for our…so-called employees.”

“Yeah, cause this way a’livin makes you sick, Rosey.” His hands smacked his sides listlessly. “S’why Aida’s so doped up. Fuckin’ terrifies the shit outta me, and if I didn’t think God wouldn’t like, it I’d toss her overboard as bad luck. But no way around it”

“But you couldn’t have always felt that way,” Rosey reminded, “you were lovers once.”

The captain stopped what he was doing and spun round to face her with some alarm on his face, “That what she told you? That we was lovers once?”

“Well,” now that Rosey thought on it, Aida hadn’t explicitly said so, she’d just listed herself in a line of the Colonel’s erstwhile spies and remarked how seduction was integral to such a role, “no, she’s didn’t say so exactly-“

“-Well we weren’t!” he declared adamantly, as if for his own benefit as much as hers, “Doin’ shit to another body so folks pay ya don’t make ya lovers. It jus’ don’t, Rosey. No more’n me shoveling coal with Lamar makes us married.”

“Alright.” she replied just as adamantly in order to calm him and held up her hands while she was at it. “So y’all did…work…together?”

“I reckon you already knew that.” he muttered, yanking off a boot rather clumsily, “Why’re you so nosy tonight, anyways, hmm?”

“I-I just wanna know you.” she sighed.

“You do!”

“Know *of* you.” she clarified what bit of self recognition she’d come to realize this morning.

“Know Of? Wh- what’ve you been drinkin’ down here girl?” The captain laughed, “Gettin’ all philosophical on me. Ya know me, historically, biblically and a lil too well. I ain’t got any notion ‘bout takin’ you into sordid lil avenues of my life that don’t make no difference now.”

“But I think they do!” Rosey protested a little vehemently and he stopped midway through easing off with his workboot, hand cupping the scuffed heel as he stared her down. “I think it’s pertinent! All this stuff we don’t speak of! Why -you don’t sleep some nights and I dream terribly and -you haven’t even showed your interest to me since you learned who I was!” she managed to insert the most pressing aspect there at the end and felt proud of herself for carrying on through his stare.

“Lil girl, you gone tetched?” He asked mildly, stumbling over to the cot, one clunky boot on and his other a sock foot, laying his beautifully fashioned and wheel calloused palm against her forehead, “Why, I ain’t barely drank anything all day for fear of washin’ away the taste of you this mornin’. Not shown interest? -huh.”

“I mean -your own.” she pointedly stared down at his belt buckle, or rather, the prominent seam below.

“Rosey!” he laughed at her, “I’m dog tired a-and I -my interest has been shown. Sweet Jesus I ain’t got the brains for this. Not tonight.”

“So you can manage it dog tired with Aida but not with me!” she shot back and they both seemed to be equally surprised that she was harboring such expired jealousy.

“I can manage it fucked outta my mind with a gal who didn’t use to look the way she does now.” he growled and then went on in a mocking voice, “And it’ll cost ya only three silver dollars to watch, ma’am.”

Rosey sniffed and shrugged off the barb, figuring she deserved it, “Etta gave me a remedy for this.” she whispered hopefully instead.

“Oh I bet she did.” He eased off himself and stood straight again to work on his remaining boot, “And I’d rather eat fire ants, thank ya.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Oh it’s great!” He assured with a laugh, “For the first five hours. Then ya start thinkin’ bout amputation. If I catch you slippin Horny Goatweed in my tonics’n’shit I’ll take you over my knee girl, I ain’t teasin.”

“I won’t.” she swore, disturbed at the mere notion of slipping anything into anything he took.

He patted her cheek in acknowledgment before sitting down heavily beside her and setting to yanking off his grimy shirt, the pit stains dark and visible as he raised his arms and struggled with the garment.

“What’s this really about?” he asked softly as the fabric cleared his flushed face, his hair soft and mussed, grease defining each half-hearted curl at the nape of his neck.

“I’m bein’ silly.” she acknowledged with a shy smile.

“Ain’t no crime that.” he smiled back, “Not on my boat. Hell, there ever been a time you ain’t silly, girl?”

“Maybe not.”

“Didn’t think so.” he teased, leaning back against the wall in a slump on the cot’s sagging bedding. “Can’t I jus’ be tired, Rosey?” he asked again, “And I’ll let you be silly.”

“Fair enough.” she sighed.

“Well go on now, be silly. I done told ya you could.” he prodded with a finger to her rib and she jerked from the tickle.

“I know you don’t wanna talk about it.” she shook her head, “And you're tired so- so I won’t make you.”

“I don’t wanna.” he agreed but added sweetly, “I don’t wanna talk about mine but I’ll listen to yours, long as you need. What’s goin’ on up in that noggin? Too many figures, hmm?”

“Secrets more like.” Rosey mumbled petulantly.

“Lord, you got more?” he sighed and didn’t seem angry but she let out a scoff that he’d think she meant her own, she thought of the photographs.

“No,” she chose to leave it be, “no, I’m talking about more curatives.” she teased.

“Girl, just cool it.” he laughed, “I’ll lick ya again.” he offered hopefully and with a little twinkle in his eye that could almost pass for energy.

“What about turtle soup?” Rosey dodged, hopeful that a teasing reference to the first night they met and her naivete and his flustered concern for her eating the aphrodisiac back would rouse a smile.

It did. Predictably his mouth quirked and those pillowy lips looked twice as lush and full now set in a heavy thatch of two day old stubble. He let out a groan of playful aggravation with her preoccupation.

He gently grabbed her listless hand from her own lap and placed it on the rough denim covering his crotch. “You do what ya like.” he sighed, “Can’t promise nothin’.”

The seam was rough but not stiff, as if he’d worn those trousers into softness even at that most vulnerable juncture. As always with his package there was something to pet, even as she ascertained he was not fibbing, he was as soft and tired as he ever got and remained so despite her touches. Even in sleep he was stiffer. She let her hand cup the soft stones spilling on either side of the thick seam, far down between his legs, rubbing at their full undersides and wondering if they ached like her breasts when confined. He shifted on the cot, not in a restless movement at all, but rather as if to settle in for whatever she wished, his legs spreading wider. He even bent his knee and raised his leg to plant one bare foot on the cot, spreading himself as wide as a girl for her attentions, his tall frame cramped and folded by sitting sideways on their little bed.

His soft state inspired soft touches and Rosey found some stupid contentment stroking his sack through the worn denim, running the back of her knuckles up to his shaft that he had tucked nearly to his belt. She realized that despite her boredom with today she was tired too, tired of thinking and tired of mental exertions and ever since he’d taught her, she found this physical outlet far more relaxing than a sleeping tonic.

“I kneed a man here, between the legs, once.” she whispered like a child telling stories at a sleepover and squeezed his sack just the smallest bit. His eyes that had drifted shut while savoring her touches opened up in flutter.

He didn’t seem perturbed by that, by her need for violence, just drowsy from being petted. She should make him sleep. “You can smack me there…if ya like.” he whispered back, entirely serious and not even slightly hesitant. “If ya like -or, or pinch?” he added again as if he’d missed the mark oniy by sheer variety of options as she remained frozen in concern by the offer.

“I don’t.” she got out at last and he shrugged and let his eyes close again. “I-I don’t want anything but gentleness for you.” she expounded and he bit his lip and held his peace for a moment as Rosey mentally smacked herself at the realization he did tell her things, they did talk about…things. He just didn’t do it like a girl unburdening herself or a sinner in the confessional. He offered little insights freely like this one and she was too busy being horrified to notice them for what they were: confidences.

“Jus’ tonight, right?” he asked and meant for it to be teasing but it felt burdened.

‘Maybe he likes pain’ -Aida had said.

“I’d-“ Rosey weighed her options with this newfound awareness in mind, perhaps he would tell her more often what he wanted -like the first few weeks- if she remained a blank enough canvas for him to create on, “I’ll be whatever you want.” she settled for that and began palming him again, enjoying the way the fabric between his legs was still a little damp, either from mist or else his sweat from sitting at the wheel, legs unable to spread or air out. The way his shoulders were dry but the pits of his shirt could be wrung out suggested the same and some strange, torrid appreciation for his toil made Rosey’s mouth water.

There was an oil stain down at his inner thigh and she thumbed it thoughtfully and felt how the fabric was stiff from the stain compared to the rest. He made a soft little noise of contentment under her touches, his one hand busy in the most lazy way with petting her hair that fell all the way to her hip.

Touching. Being touched. God! she’d had so little of it in her life, and so much fear of it for so long and now she was leaning beside a man petting the damp seam of his trousers like a cat's neck. She wedged her hand under his thigh for leverage and bent herself to kiss at him there.

She could hear the staccato of his gasp even from there. “Rosey I-I ain’t even washed, sweet cheeks.” he warned softly.

“I know.” she answered and her voice was a moan, inhaling his pungent sweat, nothing clean about him and she rubbed her face in the pure distillation of his daily exertions like a cat in heat. “I want to smell you.” she told him and it made him swallow hard as she laid her hand on his thigh, the one spread out with his foot up in the covers, and spread him even further, that damned inherent flexibility of his being tested by the strain. His outer knee hit the mattress and it was Rosey that moaned at his ability and Elvis felt like he might shatter into fragments at the erotic pride that rushed through him at the thought of having impressed her.

“Sometimes it’s better, feeling rather than…being felt?” she tried to explain against the damp denim.

“I know!” he sounded more awake and enthused than he had all day, more than even this morning. “I-I know it’s -it’s glorious ain’t it?” and he pet her hair again with happy fervor until she rose up and knelt in front of him, beginning to undo his belt determinedly.

“You’ll wash in the morning.” Rosey decreed as she unfastened the buckle and tugged at the button holding in his warm belly.

“Yes lil’mama.” he agreed with hoarse meekness and drew up his other leg to make her efforts easier.

She opened the fly and tugged it apart, being hit by a wall of musk as he’d predictably poured himself straight into the denim this morning, sans underpants to collect the sweat. He was nearly steaming in that denim hammock. She envied the wash maids and their tasks.

She told him as much and laughed incredulously. “You’ve gone silly.” Elvis swore again.

“No, they treasure your sweat-soiled clothes, I’m sure of it.” she shook her head and reached out with the tips of her fingers to touch the dank appendage and its hammock of swollen stones, the dark curls of his wiry hair almost shiny from the sweat. “Those girls find your trousers -they fight over them i wager- and the winner holds them up and presses them to their faces like this-“ and she put her face to him like a girl kissing at the reflection of a still pond, her hands winding around his waist and digging into the damp back of his trousers, kneading sticky, plush flesh there, too. “-and then she licks at your trouser seams,” and Rosey underscored her point by doing the same to the imprint of his seam on tender pink flesh, “and she moans over the tartness she tastes and the rest of them hate her for what they can’t have. And if she’s really brave-“ Rosey couldn’t believe her own mind at this rate but face pressed to the Captain’s musky balls, she wasn’t truly in possession of any rationale beyond him, him and him, “-she’ll take them to the little closet with the feed sacks and she’ll prop herself up and she’ll touch herself to the smell of you. Wishing she could thank you for your hard work.”

“I haven’t any washer maids.” he whispered while looking down at her eyes with wide, guileless blue ones that were somehow playing a part with their projected innocence while being more himself than anything else about him. “I got rid of them all.” he says.

“Then I’ll have to wash them myself.” she murmured back, raspy and coy, “And I’ll be the one to thank you accordingly.”

The Captain sucked in a breath so hard at this predictable reply that his bottom lip went with it, pinned between his teeth ‘till the vibrant pink turned white under his cruel bite. “Can I watch?” he asked, his voice hoarse with hope. “Watch you be my lil washermaid?”

“So long as you don’t let maid know.” Rosey cautioned with a smirk and dug her hands deeper into his backside, pulling him apart absentmindedly until she felt his cock wag beneath her chin with the first ounce of interest shown tonight. She reared back and stared at the docile thing, twitching pathetically when she dug her nails in a little harsher once more. He sucked in a breath and turned his head to the side and Rosey took her hands out of his trousers to tug the front of his pants further down those sturdy thighs.

She’d no real intention of exciting him after all, only missed him and wanted to taste him before sleep. Tomorrow or next month or eternity was ahead of her to sort out why he responded the way he did. For now her duty was to put him to sleep where he belonged ages ago.

“A big man like you has got to be discreet,” she plotted with him and his face eased as they returned to their play, “the little washermaid wouldn’t know how to face the captain if he found her in such a degradi-“

“-uninhibited position, yes, God, yes!” he interrupted her with an appreciative rush and turned the subject sweet.

“You'll wash in the morning, I want to smell you all night.” she murmured again as she stood up and fully tugged his trousers off over his long feet, making him close his legs from their previous bend.

“Yes’m.” He murmured a little dazed and he looked like he was answering while asleep, the poor man was so visibly tired and she tenderly pushed his naked form to lay down the proper way, all the way flat, on their bedding.

She was not sure what it was about skipping a bath that made him seem more manly, more than he even usually was, but seeing his figure laying there naked on the ratty sheets, hairy and greasy from sweat and the stubble coming in thick -she palmed a breast at the sight of it, distracted from her debate as to keep her nightgown on.

“Strip.” his eyes fluttered in an effort to stay open but they flicked up and down her cotton gown and his eyebrow moved in a motion that was as eloquent as a hand waving it off. “You’ll be warm enough w’me.” he assured her of what she was already sure of.

Rosey drew the gown over her head and tossed it beside the Captain’s denims, only her long hair a covering over her shoulders as she stared down at him once more, savoring the beauty she was about to embrace before reaching high above her and turning the gas lamp out.

Plunged into darkness, she shuffled the couple feet left before her shins hit the cot’s edge and a large, warm hand cupped the back of her thigh and tugged her in. She fell atop him and wiggled till she was tucked into his side, her hand petting at the light fur on his chest and her nose nearly buried in the swamp of his underarm.

He grunted disbelieving at her choice. “How’re you feelin?” she asked, touching his forehead in the dark with the back of her hand, finding it a little clammy but not fevered.

“M’tired.” he replied and none of that had anything to do with Dr. Nicholas and his ponderous list of life

-threatening diseases the man beside her was supposedly harboring.

“You’re not holding off…making love to me…for fear of getting me sick, are you?” she whispered the concern of the day, finally.

“I-I told ya why I’m holdin’ off, Rosey.” he sounded a bit pained but not angry.

“You promise? You’re not just putting it off to spare me -something?“ She begged.

“There’s been nothin’ I was ever less inclined to put off, my girl.” he murmured tiredly as he turned on his side, mashing his face into her breast, giving an accentuating hump of his pelvis against her hip.

“All my life, I ain’t ever been the first choice.” she muttered and his arm tightened around her, “I’ve killed for other women, for Maddy, the ones who were chosen. Wanted, when others-“ she trailed off before picking up in a thin voice reedy with confusion, “-I was talkin’ with Rosetta earlier and I realized I-I was there. I was there for it and not even they wanted me. A dozen men, one woman, and I-I was left alone. I know I should be glad of it.”

Elvis stared at the blackness that somewhere shielded a face he longed to read, but that poor little voice told him a world enough of hurt. He clutched her closer and was going to ask what on earth she meant, who and when and what sort of want she referred to when Rosey added as through in a sob:

“Poor Maddy.”

He startled and turned to grip her in a hug, processing what he was frightened she meant. “That -child, that ain’t no compliment.” he begged her to understand. “Even some of the worst don’t go for -you were a child.”

“Was I? I don’t recall.” she whispered.

“Yes you were.” he declared it, made it truth, “Jus’ ‘cause you only recall it now you’re grown, don’t mean you weren’t a child back then.”

“I’d forgotten.�� She repeated, numb in horror at the thought of what else was buried.

“You -you recall anythin’ more?” he asked what he was so very scared to know, hardly sure he could carry the weight of more but certain only a coward would make her carry it alone.

“It took ages.” she whispered, “My knees hurt somethin’ awful from kneeling behind the stove. Took forever for them all to stop.”

The captain crushed her to him and she gripped his back like a shield, “You can tell me, Little Cricket.” he soothed, “Can tell me anythin’ at all.”

“Can I?” she sniffled .

“Mhmm.”

“Then I will -if I recall.”

“Good girl.” He whispered into the damp of her forehead, placing an almost fatherly kiss there.

“So you planned on it, marryin’ me fully? Sickness and all, you swear?” she smiled at the pitch black hollow of his throat, grateful to have it out and trying to gauge with her hands whether a fever burned his life away even now.

“Rosey, I didn’t once plan on you.” Elvis admitted with an affectionate pat and promptly fell asleep.

Go ahead and scream and speculate and gush all you want, I love. Hope you enjoyed💋

**dialogue credit to Captain Smitty

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