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jaskierswolf · 3 years

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A Thirst Like Flames

Part 3/6 (1, 2 - 4)

Ship: Gerlion - Rated: E (for smut) - Also on AO3

CW specific for this chapter: voyeurism, exhibitionism, Dandelion/female OC, sex work. (Can you guess what happens?)

Summary: There was an itch prickling over Dandelion’s skin, a constant ache in the pit of his stomach and his mind felt hazy at all hours of the day. He watched the sun creep behind the horizon, quill in hand, the long feather brushing against his cheek, willing for some kind of inspiration, anything to distract him from the never ending lust. He couldn’t help it, he was a young man in his prime and he’d spent the last few months in the wilderness with a rather gorgeous witcher.

The arrangement, as Dandelion had begun to think of it, was working well. With his ballads gaining popularity over the continent, his coin purse was beginning to fill out. Not that it stopped them from sharing rooms at inns, but occasionally he or Geralt would actually manage to visit a brothel to sate their needs. Masturbation was wonderful but even that was a short term solution. Occasionally one just needed to good tumble in the sheets, and Dandelion always made sure he paid for the night. He enjoyed the afterglow of sex just as much as the act itself, and even though he was paying them, he enjoyed waking up in his lover’s arms, but mostly the pair of them got each other off in the mornings or just before bed, whenever the need arose, and if they had the coin they’d visit a brothel. It worked for them.

The life of a witcher and that of a travelling bard did share one thing in common.

It wasn’t easy to settle down.

And honestly, neither of them wanted to. Geralt kept bemoaning that witcher’s were not meant for love and family, whereas Dandelion’s wanderlust seemed to bleed through into matters of the heart. How anyone could be happy with just one lover, he would never understand. There were so many beautiful people out there just waiting to be adored, it would be a bloody shame to deny them the opportunity.

Dandelion tried not to think about how he always returned to Geralt, be it in the mornings or evenings. He tried not to think of how, despite his wishes for freedom, he had essentially tethered himself to the witcher.

He tried not to think of how easy it would be to fall in love with him.

It was easier not to think about it.

“Geralt?” he called to the witcher.

Geralt looked across from where he was riding Roach. Dandelion’s own gelding was shorter than the mare, a chestnut horse that had nothing on Roach but it was better than walking everywhere. Geralt had been good at not riding too fast, but Dandelion’s feet were constantly sore and blistered by the end of the day. At least this way he could switch between riding and walking.

Gods, by the end of the year his thighs would be like tree trunks. He’d never exercised so much in his life before. The life of a viscount in training had been cushy, and his life as a student hadn’t been much harder. It was all desks and fancy chairs, the occasional lecture room with firm wooden benches.

In fact, the most exercise he’d had before had probably been in the bedroom.

Oh, how things had changed.

“We should visit a brothel in the next town, my friend,” Dandelion suggested.

To his surprise, Geralt shook his head. Dandelion pouted, ready to launch into a sonnet about the carnal delights that could be found waiting for them in the bed of a whore… or even two, but Geralt cut him off. “I need to stock up on potion ingredients, and the last contract didn’t pay well thanks to a certain bard.”

Dandelion flushed, averting his gaze. It hadn’t been his fault. He didn’t know that the gorgeous lady he’d been flirting with had been the Alderman’s wife. Was he supposed to be psychic? Not everyone had Geralt’s keen witcher’s senses, he hadn’t exactly been able to smell the mingling of their scents, as Geralt had described it. Dandelion was half convinced the witcher was making that up. There was no way he’d been able to smell that.

Although….

Geralt had mentioned he could smell when someone had orgasmed.

“I’ll have you know, that I am not to blame, dear witcher! If she was happily taken then she should have refused my advances. How the bloody hell was I supposed to know that she was married? She kept looking at me with those eyes, the colour of forget-me-nots, and cheeks like roses. She was practically begging me to take her to bed.”

Geralt snorted. “You can go to a brothel, I won’t stop you, my friend, but I don’t have the coin. I’ll stay in the woods outside of town and you can meet me at dawn. Don’t be late.”

Dandelion rolled his eyes and sniffed haughtily as he adjusted his hat with one hand. “Nonsense! We’ll just have to share.”

“Share?”

“A whore, obviously Geralt, do try to keep up.”

Geralt pulled Roach to a halt and Dandelion had to circle round as he trotted ahead. He peered at the witcher, quirking his eyebrow. “What?”

“You want to share a whore?”

Dandelion sighed dramatically, holding the reins in one hand as he flicked out a wrist in a flourish. “It’s cheaper and that way neither of us will need to camp out. It’s a practical and pleasurable solution. Come on, Geralt, when was the last time you had the soft flesh of a woman’s thighs around your waist, the feel of her breasts in your hands.”

“Shut up, Dandelion,” Geralt growled and spurred Roach onwards.

Dandelion chimed a laugh, and followed after his witcher. “So is that a yes? Geralt! Geralt come back!”

____________

It was a yes, even though Geralt never said the word. He never enjoyed the way Dandelion waxed poetry about women, as if they were a rose to be viewed purely for their beauty. He never admired the male figure in quite the same way. Whilst the poet wasn’t ashamed of his love of men, he only openly spoke of women as his lovers, occasionally omitting the gender altogether if he deemed it necessary.

Geralt had never really understood the need to hide. He didn’t exactly advertise his attraction to men, it was easier, not to mention cheaper, to hire a female whore after all, but he didn’t make the same effort that Dandelion did to hide it. Although, the bard in all his flamboyant gestures and colourful silk clothes did portray the more stereotypical dandy type.

And arseholes were less likely to actually try and attack a witcher, unless they were drunk or downright idiotic. Some thought that besting a witcher would impress whatever girl they had their eyes on, but Geralt was fairly good at discreetly using Axii to convince them that it wasn’t worth the fight.

Although, he had to admit, he did enjoy a good brawl, and the fighting rings were a good source of extra income when they were running low.

He sighed, pressing his fingers to his forehead. Perhaps he should have sought out the local fighting ring instead of going along with Dandelion’s ridiculous plan of sharing a whore, but there was no denying that he could use a good fuck. He was half-tempted to push the poet up against the nearest tree and fuck the living daylights out of him, but they didn’t do that. Quick hand jobs in the forest were a far cry from getting fucked against a tree.

But Dandelion was growing ever more tempting with every day that passed. Geralt knew the way the poet’s breathing hitched in his throat just before he came. He knew the way he would bite his lips in a fruitless effort to keep quiet, the obscene sounds of his moans that rang out in the night. Geralt knew how those cornflower blue eyes looked when he was hungry with lust, the scent of his arousal permeating the air until it was all that Geralt could smell. He knew how the bard’s cock felt in his hands, as Dandelion cried out, Geralt’s name falling from his lips like a prayer.

But he didn’t know how his lips tasted. He didn’t know whether Dandelion’s swan-like neck was as sensitive as he imagined. He could only guess at how beautiful it would look with an array of bruises and bite-marks left behind by Geralt’s mouth. He didn’t know how Dandelion’s cock would feel in his mouth, a taste of his cum.

And he wanted to know.

Fuck, he wanted to know everything.

If he hadn’t been taught from such a young age that witchers didn’t feel, he might have begun to think that he was falling in love with the poet.

But that was off the cards. It was just sex, hell, it wasn’t even that. They were friends, companions on the road.

And it was cheaper to share a whore.

“Greetings!” Dandelion trilled, giving the madame his most charming smile. The poet winked as he slid some coin across the bar. “We’d like to share, if that’s acceptable?”

The madame glanced between Geralt and his poet, looking decidedly unimpressed. He supposed they made a strange sight. The two of them couldn’t be more different in looks. Geralt with his dull black armour, two swords, and harsh demeanour, versus the colourful bard with hair the colour of golden corn, shiny burgundy silk clothes, and a lute strapped to his back.

They were the moon and the sun.

But, as the saying went, opposites attract.

And fuck, Geralt was attracted to the bard, too attracted. Dandelion would only get hurt by his side but Geralt was too weak to let him go, not whilst he wanted to stay, and Geralt hoped he would stay for a long time yet. The path had been so cold before Dandelion. He steadfastly ignored Vesemir’s warnings about getting attached to humans. A witcher’s lifespan far exceeded that of a human, if they survived the monsters of course.

It was better to settle for whores and one night stands. Geralt had never had a problem before, but being the Butcher of Blaviken was enough to put most humans off. No one had even attempted to befriend him since Renfri.

His friends were dwarves, druids and sorceresses. Although, that last one was still to be determined. The graduates of Aretuza were as prickly as they were powerful, manipulating the world and its people more skilfully than any politician, spy or monarch.

“You want to share with the witcher?” the madame asked, doubt ringing clear in her voice.

“I want to share with my friend, but we’d be happy to take our business elsewhere. A town like this must have more than one brothel,” Dandelion snapped, putting both hands on his hips, his charming air vanishing in an instant.

“No need, I have just the girl for you.”

Dandelion’s shiny smile was back, brighter than before, blinding Geralt and making his stomach twist in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

“Excellent!” the poet cheered with a clap of his hands, “Show us the way!”

Dandelion’s hair shone in the candlelight, bouncing as he quickly turned around to wink at Geralt. There was a sparkle in his eyes that seemed to light up the entire room. The poet’s tongue flicked out between his lips, and, not for the first time, Geralt wondered what it would be like to kiss him.

“Isn’t this a lovely establishment, my dear friend?” Dandelion wittered on, and Geralt ignored the weird stab of pain in his heart at the word friend. They were friends, just friends.

Friends.

Maybe if he repeated it enough then he would begin to believe it.

“It’s a brothel,” he said, his voice sounding dull compared to the warm tenor of his friend.

“Yes, yes, and it’s a rather lovely brothel. If you ignore the smell of sweat. Oh, but that must be even worse for you!” Dandelion exclaimed, looking horrified. Geralt shrugged. It did stink, but he was used to focussing on the nicer smells in places like this. They tended to burn incense, and here was no exception. The floral scent of freesia masked the worst of the sweat and sex, but Geralt focused on the pretty poet next to him. Dandelion still preferred the scented lavender oil in his hair. Before Dandelion, for Geralt’s life now existed as before and after Dandelion, lavender had not been a scent that he enjoyed. It was too strong, and reminded him of the sleeping drafts they used at Kaer Morhen before the mutagens…

But now it was the scent of Dandelion.

Mixed with chamomile and the poet’s natural musk, Geralt had grown rather fond of lavender.

Instead of saying all of this, he just muttered “I manage.”

Dandelion just wrinkled his nose, seemingly disgusted with the whole idea. Geralt couldn’t help the faint smile. It warmed his heart to know how much his friend cared about him, about the whole world in which they lived. Dandelion loved the world and in turn the world loved him back.

It was how it should be.

They were led through to one of the rooms on the second floor. It was cramped but nicely decorated. A pretty young blonde was lying on the bed, her fingers in the middle of braiding her long hair. She glanced up when she saw them, dark blue eyes looking up through thick black lashes.

And all Geralt could think of was that the colour was wrong.

Too dark.

The colour of a stormy ocean instead of the cornflower blue he’d grown used to.

There were freckles dusting her cheeks, and scattering down her neck below the bodice of her dress. She was slender, like Dandelion, but she lacked the muscles his poet had gained over the year…

Geralt cursed.

Winter was fast approaching and he’d been heading north soon, towards Kaer Morhen… towards home. He wondered where the poet would go for winter, perhaps to Oxenfurt. He always spoke of the city fondly.

“Geralt?” a strong hand on his arm snapped him out of his thoughts.

He blinked, the girl was still on the bed, looking more than displeased. He mumbled an apology for his rudeness.

“Can’t say that’s the best welcome I’ve had,” she muttered “I can get another girl if you’d prefer.”

“Nonsense!” Dandelion exclaimed. “He’s just tired, isn’t that right, my dear?”

Geralt nodded.

“See, nothing to worry about!” the poet trilled. “Now, how do you want us?”

“You shared before?”

They both shook their heads.

“I thought so, you can always tell,” she said, swiftly untangling the braid in her hair until it fell loosely down her back. “Are you taking turns or sharing?”

Geralt looked at Dandelion, it had been the poet’s idea and so the decision fell to him. Dandelion hummed, his tongue sticking between his lips as he considered, then he turned back to look at Geralt, tilting his head, one hand on his hip. “What do you think, darling? Would you be happy to watch?”

Geralt swallowed, the thought of watching his bard fuck another person should have bothered him… but instead he found himself growing hard in his trousers. He could already imagine the sinful things that Dandelion would say, the dirty poems and rhymes he would wax as he bedded the beautiful whore in front of them.

The bard was rumoured to be an unparalleled lover, and Geralt wanted to know, wanted to see why.

He nodded, barely looking at the girl, unable to tear his gaze from his friend as the pair of them stripped out of their clothes. Travelling together meant that Geralt had seen Dandelion naked many a time, but never like this. When they touched each other, they never took off more than necessary.

Marie, as the girl told them, pulled Dandelion to the bed, running her hands down his chest as she straddled his hips. Dandelion gazed up at her like she was a gift from the gods. He looked at her like he’d seen the sun for the first time. It made Geralt feel sick. He knew what it felt like to be caught under the poet’s gaze, how it felt to bask under the warmth of his affection.

Geralt should have realised that it wasn’t meant for just him.

“Oh, you are just stunning, darling, radiant as spring,” Dandelion cooed, fingers trailing down Marie’s spine. Geralt saw her shiver. He knew that whore’s often pretended to enjoy the company of their clients but Geralt could smell her genuine arousal mixing with the bard’s. Dandelion’s long fingers danced across her skin as she rolled her hips forward, making the poet sigh happily. Geralt could hear the spike in Dandelion’s pulse, as his breath hitched in his throat. Marie gasped as Dandelion cupped her breast.

Geralt was growing achingly hard in his trousers. He knew his turn was next.. but… he was also a witcher. His stamina was… a lot and if he wanted to cum without exhausting Marie then he really should start.

“Do you want me to ride you, poet?” Marie purred, her hands splayed on Dandelion’s chest.

Geralt hoped his bard would say yes. The way he was lying back on the bed with his hair fanned out behind him was enticing. Geralt could easily imagine Dandelion pinned underneath him as he fucked the bard.

Or maybe even fucked himself on Dandelion’s cock.

He hadn’t bottomed very often, most men assumed the witcher would top and Geralt didn’t really care enough to correct them, but suddenly the idea of Dandelion fucking him became the only thing he could think about. The poet’s long, clever fingers opening him up, brushing against his prostate. He growled, palming himself through his trousers. The sound drew Dandelion’s attention, and the poet fucking winked at him.

“What would you prefer, darling?” Dandelion asked, his voice hoarse, losing its usual smooth musical timbre.

Geralt felt too hot under Dandelion’s burning gaze. It was everything he wanted and yet not enough. “Ride him,” he choked out.

Marie laughed, and then reached between her thighs to coat her fingers before stroking the poet’s cock. Dandelion’s wanton moan echoed in the room, the sound going straight to Geralt’s aching cock. He growled and rushed to unlace his trousers, a hiss escaping his lips as he took himself in hand. Dandelion swore as Marie lowered herself onto him, both whore and poet gasping at the feeling. The scent of their joined arousal was almost too much.

She rode Dandelion with the enthusiasm that only a whore could have, moaning and whining and gasping as she fucked herself. Dandelion’s fingers gripped into the soft muscles of her thighs, thrusting into her, a string of poetic nonsense falling from his lips.

Geralt couldn’t look away.

He fisted his cock in time to their movements, imagining it was him that made Dandelion moan so sinfully.

It had been before, but fuck… this was a whole new level.

The way their bodies moved as one, the sounds of flesh slapping together, sweat glistening on the poet’s skin. Geralt’s eyes caught a bead of sweat trickling down Dandelion’s neck and he was hypnotised. He wanted to lick the droplet from the poet’s skin, taste the salt on his tongue, bite down on the muscles of Dandelion’s neck as he keened, his orgasm shuddering through his body.

Marie must have noticed where Geralt was looking because she leaned forward to kiss Dandelion’s neck. The poet’s breath caught, and he cried out, thrusts losing their rhythm as he came.

“Fuck, Geralt…” he moaned, just as he would when they touched each other in the woods.

Marie gasped wordlessly, fingers gripping into the sheets, but Geralt was too focussed on his bard.

His bard.

His poet.

His Dandelion.

For Dandelion was his, there was no denying it now. It was one thing for the poet to say Geralt’s name when he was the cause of his orgasm, but that had not been the case.

Geralt almost pitied Marie.

She hadn’t deserved it.

“Oh fuck,” Dandelion whined as his head hit the pillow. He was breathing heavily, his fingers tracing patterns into Marie’s thighs, and Geralt was reminded of the way that Dandelion’s fingers would dance over the strings of his lute when he played in the taverns.

He closed his eyes, gripping his cock tighter in his hand. His pleasure was still building slowly, as it always did, but his mind was spiralling and he felt unable to relax. His muscles were tense and he gritted his teeth.

“Your turn, witcher,” Marie called from the bed, “unless you’d rather fuck the poet. He won’t mind.”

“I’m fine,” he growled.

“But Geralt,” Dandelion pouted as he turned to face Geralt, cheeks still flush and rosy.

“I’ve changed my mind,” Geralt muttered, doing up his trousers and stalking from the room. “Dawn, Dandelion.”

“Dawn, yes, of course. I’ll be there.”

Geralt sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, jealousy was raging through him like poison. He knew that Dandelion had thought of him, and yet suddenly he felt sick to his stomach. Why hadn’t Dandelion said something? Geralt had been right there, every damn day for months, and yet the poet, famous for his inability to shut up, never said a fucking word.

It had taken a whore to make the truth spill from his lips.

And Geralt wasn’t even sure whether Dandelion had meant to tell him. What did he expect from Geralt? Was Geralt supposed to forget it, pretend it never happened? Or maybe Dandelion had been expecting Geralt to take up Marie’s offer…

And he’d run away.

“Fuck!” he yelled, startling a nearby cat as it was washing itself. The creature hissed and spat at him, clawing at the air. Geralt paid it no attention and carried on walking towards the stables to fetch Roach. He would make camp in the woods, and hopefully Dandelion would be there in the morning.

Geralt wasn’t sure what he’d do if the poet decided not to show.

#the witcher #gerlion #geraskier #geraskier fanfiction #geralt of rivia #julian alfred pankratz #dandelion #wolfie's witcher writing

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jaalismyhusband · 4 years

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Roommates (part 5)

Title: Roommates

Pairings: Bucky x f!reader

Warnings: stalking, language, smut smut smut

Wordcount: 1.8k

Catch up: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Masterlist

Part 5

After the fight, Bucky had his breakfast in silence. Steve tried to talk to him, only to fall on deaf ears. After a half an hour of Bucky not responding to his attempts to make a conversation, he gave up.

Bucky knew he had to act quickly or he would lose the chance to get together with Y/N. And just when things were going so well for them! But no, he had to fuck up monumentally. Although, he wasn’t losing hope, yet. He just had to eliminate competition.

Determined to succeed, he left the kitchen and made his way to Y/N’s room, only to find her already gone. She must have snuck out.

“Two can play this game, doll,” He muttered under his nose and followed her to the café.

He parked his car two streets away, in order not to get recognized. Putting a black baseball cap on his head, he blended with pedestrians. Seven minutes later, he found himself just across the street from the café, with the perfect view through the glass windows. That’s when he spotted Y/N. She was about to finish ordering. Good, he wasn’t too late.

As he was watching them, he tried to figure out, if and how should he intervene. He couldn’t just show up at their table. Hey, uhm, so I have been stalking you for a while and I really don’t appreciate how close you are to my almost girlfriend - there was no way in hell he could come up to them, without compromising himself. He knew he had to stay calm and keep his distance.

However, the sight of Y/N holding hands with Jason had him fuming. In a way, he envied him. Jason had something, or someone, he wanted. And from the looks of it, Bucky won’t get his hands on her in a near future, if he doesn’t do something about it. But now, the only thing he could possibly do, was to continue to watch them. Mostly, they were talking and laughing, whilst holding hands.

After what seemed like unnecessary number of laughs to Bucky, Y/N finally stood up, as well as Jason. Bucky clenched his jaw, when he saw them hug. Although, what really hurt him, was a subtle kiss, that Y/N planted on Jason’s cheek. After they pulled apart, Jason looked lovestruck and Y/N gave him a heart-warming smile, that Bucky adored. The fact that he wasn’t on the receiving end of it, stirred something in him. He couldn’t stand watching them anymore. He got to get away. Looking around him frantically, he felt a rush of what he thought was an anger and fled the scene.

He decided to finally make her his.

Y/N felt good after the talk with Jason. Their closure brought her much needed relief. She was ready to come home, take a bath and munch on some snacks. She totally deserved it. As soon as she got to the Stark Tower, she filled her promises to herself. Warmed up after the bath, dressed in comfortable clothes and armed with a controller, she camped on the couch and took out her frustration shooting hostile aliens in her favourite video game.

There was only one piece missing of her serenity. Bucky. She hadn’t seen him throughout the whole day and was getting progressively worried and tad bit sad. Making peace with the fact that they will only stay friends, she sighed and made way to her bed. She succeeded in distracting herself from the drama, but nonetheless, her thoughts started wandering Bucky’s way anyway. No matter what happened between them, she couldn’t stop thinking about him.

She changed into her pyjamas and got under covers. Laying on her back, she zoned out, whilst looking at the ceiling. Ugh, why can’t I get over him, she huffed. Turning on her side, she fell asleep.

Bucky was miserable. He almost lost Y/N today, for good. He could always kidnap her and keep her with him, but he didn’t want to take such an unnecessary measure. If there was a chance to get her willingly, he would try. That didn’t mean, he wasn’t tempted to do so. As much as he wanted to give her space and time, he wasn’t cool with fucking around and not doing any progress in their relationship. They were stagnating during her whole fling with Jason and just when he thought, they took a step in a right direction, he made them take two back. He basically rushed her to Jason’s arms, again.

“Fuck,” he let out a frustrated sigh. He had to do something, right now.

And so here he was, standing over Y/N’s sleeping form. He learned, that she was a deep sleeper. For many nights, he tried to be as stealthy and quiet as possible, but as the time went on, he found out, that even his mumblings aren’t enough to wake her. So, he talked away the nights spent next to her. He told her about his day, then proceeded onto his dreams and plans for the future – many of them involving her. Oh, how he wished to tell her about those, while she was awake. He couldn’t help, but took her sleeping form in, admiring how her nose scrunched, when she dreamed. Sometimes he stole a cheeky kiss. Other times he tried his luck, touching himself right in front of her. Maybe he wanted to be caught in the act. He dared her to wake up. Although, she never did. But tonight, he was going to stay here long enough for her to wake.

Morning sun invaded her room, landing its rays on her face, stirring her from her slumber. Feeling refreshed, she moved to stretch her rested body, only to be restricted by handcuffs.

“What the hell?” she mumbled to herself, as she tugged on her wrists once more.

“You’re awake. Good.” A deep voice startled her. Bucky.

“What is this? Uncuff me, right now.” She wanted to sound confident, but her demand came out as a pathetic whimper once her eyes met Bucky’s dominant gaze. He was standing in front of her bed only in his underwear. Y/N zoned out, admiring his godly body and her mouth watered at the visible bulge. He was big.

“I think we both know, what will happen.” A cocky grin plastered over his face.

“Yes, you’ll untie me and then I’ll kick your ass.” Y/N said, trying to resist the wetness pooling in her underwear.

“Feisty. I like that.” Bucky smirked as he climbed on her bed. “We’ll see how long you can keep that attitude on for.” And with that, he kissed her. Y/N was in pure shock. She had to remind herself to move her lips and not only gawk at her beautiful best friend, who was finally kissing her.

So, it wasn’t one-sided after all! Or this is another dream. A very cruel dream. But Bucky’s warm calloused hands exploring her body were, for sure, real. They pulled away to catch their breaths, staring each other right in the eyes.

“I’ve wanted to do this ever since I first saw you.” Bucky cooed. Y/N replied by pulling him for another heated kiss. Bucky then descended down to her swan-like neck, marking her for everyone to see, who she belonged to from now on. She moaned desperately, as Bucky started grinding his hips against hers, while simultaneously playing with her nipples.

“Bucky, please, I need you.” She looked at him, with her eyes hooded. Hearing her beg made something in him snap. He lost control, turning feral. Tearing right through her clothes, he moaned at the sight of her bare body.

“My pretty little girl.” His words made Y/N blush.

“Please…” She squirmed under him, impatient for his touch.

“Tell me, what do you want, doll?” He wanted to make their first time slow, to devour her, to make her go crazy by the time he would finally enter her. All that was forgotten after her reply.

“I need you inside me, Bucky,” she said, her voice timid, just above a whisper. Although it was all the consent Bucky needed for wrecking her tight aching hole.

Quickly, he slipped out of his boxers, making his cock sprung free. Y/N gasped at his size, worried look in her eyes as he reassured her, that he’ll go slow.

He reached between her legs, only to find her dripping and needy for his stuffing. He plunged his two metal fingers in, making her gasp at the sudden cold sensation. Coating them in her wetness, he scissored her, while watching her face expression intently.

“Stop teasing me and fuck me already!” She huffed, clearly frustrated with him, while he only laughed and withdrew his fingers. He smeared her juices on his throbbing cock, mixing them with precum, that was leaking from his angry red tip.

Not wasting any more time, he lined himself up with her entrance. They moaned in unison as he slowly split her in half. She cried out at the impossible stretch, but soon accommodated to his girthy length. His hand wandered to her clit as to ease her pain. Soon enough, he started rocking his hips back and forth.

She struggled against the restrains, wanting to touch Bucky. She would scratch his back, rake through his hair and pull on it, make him know, how good he was making her feel.

“Tell me, who this tight pussy belongs to.” Bucky’s growl went straight to Y/N’s core.

“You, o-only you,” she stuttered, as he hit that special spot with a pronounced thrust.

He sped up, whispering filthy things to her. She could only lie there and take it. Her brain was fogged and the only thing she could think of was her nearing orgasm.

“Fuck, I know you’re close. Can feel you squeezing my cock, you little slut.” Bucky exclaimed, making Y/N moan at his dirty talk. He thrusted even deeper, getting her closer and closer with each jerk of his hips.

“Cum all over my cock, babygirl. I know you want to.” He wasn’t wrong. Not long after, Y/N came with almost a pornographic moan, as he kept fucking her through her orgasm. Her pussy throbbed from overstimulation.

“I want you to cum in me, daddy.” She whispered. Bucky lost control after hearing the title he was given and fucked her harder into the mattress. Tears started streaming down her cheeks. The overstimulation. The pain. The pleasure. It was all too much.

Bucky’s thrusts became sloppy as he shot his seed deep into her, pulling another orgasm from her, as well. Her walls tightened, milking every drop of his potent elixir. He threw his head back, as he stilled inside of her, vein on his neck bulging out. A bead of sweat rolled down from his temple, onto his jaw and neck, making way towards his muscled torso and Y/N thought, he never looked hotter.

Still sheathed deep inside of her, his lips met hers in a breathless kiss. After he uncuffed her, they both laid next to each other, basking in the post-orgasmic bliss.

“Why? Not that I’m complaining,” asked Y/N. Bucky pulled her close.

“I needed to claim you for myself.” He flashed her a toothy grin.

“Well, mission successful,” replied Y/N as she cuddled into him.

THE END

@vicmc624 @ok-but-loki��

#Bucky Barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky angst #dark bucky #dark bucky barnes #dark bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #Avengers #bucky x y/n #fanfiction #smut

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cheesy09 · 4 years

Note

What are your top 5 Kiro dates? No pressure, my dear friend😆😘

@keliosyfan You cannot send me something like this and expect me to keep quiet 😆 Thank you so much for this delicious, finger-licking ask, friend!! But do I really got to choose??? 🥺 I LOVE ALL HIS DATES!!

Keeping my thoughts/analysis under the cut because this one's going to be a long one. Also, am not ranking them because they're each special to me in their own way. Plus, am only going to concentrate on the dates in EN so far.

Anyway, without further ado, Kiro Date spoilers ahead!

✨Light Pursuit Date

There’s a simple reason why I love this date so so much. It literally contains EVERYTHING I love about their relationship, plus it’s in line with the main story.

“You’re the light I’ve spent my whole life chasing” is such a strong and powerful message to use for a couple, especially since it aligns perfectly with message that this game’s story is trying to deliver. The imagery of light pursuing being used to represent their relationship puts it on an almost spiritual/cosmic level which is just so powerful to me.

The mutual pining: Both MC and Kiro long for each other so strongly throughout this whole date and it’s so obvious to see. MC gets desperate enough to see him that she even starts dreaming about him. And no matter what Helios said on that date, we know why he really invited her to that party.

The undeniable chemistry: The attraction, the thick innuendo, the electricity that is just crackling between them; it’s so tangible, you can cut it with a knife. Talk about delectable... yum!

The angst: As heartbreaking as the angst is, the drama involved between Kiro and MC is juicy as heck, which is another reason why I love their relationship so much. It makes their relationship feel very very real. The angst is what gives birth to the high strung emotions and passion between them. Realities they’re trying to fight, and the feelings they can’t possibly deny.

TWIN-FLAME ENERGY EVERYWHERE: As I said before, Kiro and MC just cannot deny the way they are drawn to each other, and this plays big in the twin-flame theme they have going for them. This is especially obvious in MC’s case. She knows Helios is supposed to be close to a stranger to her, and yet her body can’t help but react to him the way it would react to Kiro despite the danger that radiates from him; like her very soul knows exactly who it is behind the silver hair and cold eyes. I mean we even get this scene:

MC: Aren’t you a member of Black Swan? Why did you approach me?

I closed my eyes and finally asked the question.

Helios quivered inconspicuously under my palm, and soon he spoke in a low and sneering voice.

Helios: Why are you under that misconception?

MC: Because...

Because I thought you were familiar, because my soul quivered involuntarily when being close to you, and because... of a ridiculous assumption.

These words are just so powerful in so many ways because what MC is saying is that she finds Helios familiar because her soul resonates with him, like it happened with someone else before...

In relation to the twin flame concept, this date is a huge representation of stage five and six in the relationship; “the test” and “the chase.” By this point, Kiro and MC’s relationship is being put the test and MC’s chase for Kiro finally begins.

✨Stardust Date

Another date that goes hand in hand with Light Pursuit Date, except with Kiro this time instead of Helios. Plus points that this too is in line with the main story.

MORE YEARNING. And what’s so great about this is that you can actually feel what MC feels. That’s how strongly Kiro can make you pine after him.

That steamy confession of love: It wasn’t just the passionate words that Kiro kept whispering to her, but also the tremendous amount of longing and desire in his voice that belied those very words.

Kiro’s sexiness: Please, you cannot tell me you didn’t find Kiro downright seductive in that outfit. I absolutely love his fashion sense and this one really showed off the lean yet firm build of his body, and that scorching blue-eyed gaze was just- pheeew!!

The danger he radiates: After MC catches him on that phone call, the feeling of oppression that Kiro gives off does intimidate you, but also excites and thrills you at the same time. The duality with this man is just so well-written.

The build up: From the fiery confession, to the obvious yearning and attraction, to the flirting and teasing, and the angst, I’d say this date had one of the best buildups to a kiss overall.

THE KISS: After all that glorious build-up, the execution of the kiss was absolutely brilliant, with Kiro’s statement of “the reward I want more right now... is you” being the breaking point. All the yearning and desire that had built up over the course of the date had been let loose in that one sexy kiss. I ABSOLUTELY LOVED, LOVED the way the desire went both ways. MC pulling him closer and demanding for more from him and him responding just as passionately, was HOT.

Extra thoughts: The necklace that he gives to her on this date is an item that hasn’t been brought up on other dates, which I find a bit weird since they mentioned how important it seemed to Kiro. Another reason why I need this date to be referenced in the future.

What I find interesting about him giving her a necklace is that even though it’s a symbol of love and affection, it’s not as powerful as a ring would be, showing that he wasn’t ready to take the next stage in the relationship. This is important foreshadowing because he knew what exactly could happen to them in the future.

✨Treasure Date

A personal favourite of mine because it shows just how stubborn, delicate and insecure Kiro can actually be.

MC’s unexpected confession of love: Kiro’s not the only whose been pouring out his heart to her. (I’m assuming) Before the events of Chapter 14, MC has done her own fair share of confessing to him on a number of dates; the one in Treasure Date being the most notable. I held my breath when she said “I will... always be crazily in love with you” to him, because it had been the first time I’d seen her outright declare her love to a love interest so earnestly.

The supportiveness: MC just being there for him and comforting him when he was at his weakest is just so heartwarming and satisfying to see.

THE TENDERNESS AND LOVE THEY RADIATE FOR EACH OTHER :’D

BLUSHY KIRO: (Can you tell why I chose to put in that CG?) I don’t know about you, but I feel my soul ascend to heaven every time I see Kiro blush. It’s the most adorable thing on the planet!

THE BIG BABY VIBES HE RADIATES ON THIS DATE MAKE ME WANT TO CUDDLE WITH HIM FOREVER UGH!!!

The pirate and treasure theme: This is a theme that is brought up often in Kiro and MC’s story. Dates as well as the main story. It also goes hand in hand with the light pursuit theme. MC’s determination to turn into a pirate in search of her treasure (Kiro) exactly mirrors the way Kiro referred to himself as a pirate in search of his hidden treasure (MC) before his reunion with her at the convenience store, in his 3rd Anniversary Interview. It really goes to show just how much they desire and treasure each other.

✨Prayer Date

Another hot, steamy date? Yes, ma’am! Kiro’s got a whole arsenal full of these kind of dates.

It is seriously cute how the two of them are always wishing for a “forever” with each other, and how they’re willing to go as far as to rely on superstitions for it HAHA.

Ahem. That visually appealing shower scene. Need I say more?

The date offered me another reason to label Kiro a hopeless romantic. Hello? A candlelit beach??? SWOON~!

The dash of angst: The foreshadowing. Over the course of the date, MC’s numerous failed attempts at doing something to ensure their “forever” had accumulated, and this was the first date we got to see her insecurity in regards to her relationship with Kiro. Again, these high strung emotions is what evoked some passionate desire for him in her.

This date was full of firsts. Not only was it the first time we got to see MC’s insecurity in regards to her relationship with Kiro, but it was also the first time we got to see just how... intense Kiro can be in showing his affection. Also, am I wrong in assuming that this was the first time they got so... physical with each other?

Another excellent date with excellent build-up to the end: From the pleasant start to the date, with MC being full of hope, to the unexpected encounter in the showers just to wet your appetite for this boy (pun intended haha), to the consecutive disappointments and emotional buildup made for a fabulous recipe for the delicious result we were served by the end of the date. Mmm, a spicy one at that.

✨Flowers Date

Honestly, this was the date that made me fall for him super-super hard. It was just full of innocence and the purest of love, no questions asked.

Kiro’s charm is on full blast in this date.

The symbolism brought out by flowers in showing how similar Kiro and MC are, is really strong on this date. They both decide to each get a gift for the other that is supposed to remind them of each other and then split up. When they came back to reveal what they each had gotten each other, they both ended up getting the same thing: a bouquet of daisies (a symbol of purity and innocence).

Kiro’s wholesome love for the simplest things in life (like flower fields) is once again brought out.

THIS DATE WAS SO ROMANTIC. He takes her to the flower field on a bicycle! And they even take off running down the hill together, hand-in-hand, and he spins her around like some kind of princess in the middle of it!

MC did daisy divination, and what was the result she got? *whispers loudly* HE LOVES ME.

Kiro being a parallel to sleeping beauty is ingenious as well as romantic in so many ways. (Plus MC being tempted enough by his sleeping appearance, that she kissed his eyelids had me grinning like a mad fool).

Kiro says some of the most romantic things on this date in the most affectionate and tender of voices:

Notable line 1:

Kiro: Well, MC, maybe you really are my “prince charming.” Because only you can awaken me from darkness, no matter when.

Notable line 2:

Kiro: There was only you in my eyes, wasn’t there?

Notable line 3:

Kiro: Because... You are the whole world in my eyes. Nothing else can compare. My spring... is you.

✨Honorable mention: Miracle Date

This is another fun and wholesome date that always seems to put a smile on my face, but also comes with some strong and sad foreshadowing.

Kiro and MC are just so uplifting of each other in this date and you just love to see it.

THE INTIMACY WHEN HE WRAPPED HER IN HIS ARMS FROM BEHIND AND LACED THEIR FINGERS TOGETHER!!!

Dude, they’re so in sync with each other, it’s not even funny!

I really loved how this date works in a bit of self-introspection for the both of them (actually, a lot of his dates do). We know that Kiro and MC both push each other to become better, and this date really showcased that.

Another date with another strong message.

I melted at the way he says that her very existence is a miracle to him. Like, just the fact that she exists in this world is enough of a blessing for him.

THE LONGING IN HIS VOICE: Kiro so fervently wishing that their time together would slow down because he knew what was to come, was just so heartachingly beautiful, it made me tear up a bit.

#mr love queen's choice #mr love queen's choice kiro #mr love #mr love kiro #mlqc #mlqc kiro #keliosyfan asks #cheesy replies

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eirian-houpe · 3 years

Text

Disparate Pathways - Chapter 18

Read previous chapters on AO3

Chapter 18 - Storybrooke

There was a distinct chill in the air as Gold stepped out of the sheriff’s office and he pulled up the collar of his overcoat before turning his steps in the direction of the diner. He hadn’t intended to call in, meaning instead to go straight to his shop, but what he’d read on Sheriff Swan’s computer - and had forwarded to his own Email before disconnecting - gave him cause to change his plans.

It was entirely possible that one or other of them was hurt, possibly both, and while he was tempted just to let Milnor fend for himself in that department, if the help he needed was for the governor’s daughter, he couldn’t allow lingering harm to come to the fairer sex. He never had, and he never would. Not so long as he had breath in his body. He sighed. In that respect he and the FBI agent were the same. Gallant, protective… paternal

Gold frowned, wondering where the last thought had come from. He was aware that Milnor had a child. A daughter if he recalled correctly, and that he had lost the girl’s mother not long after the child was born. As such, through all the time that the agent had been undercover he had been separated from his daughter, and that, he knew, was a pure and living hell. Add to that the nature of Duneach’s organization and he wondered at the man’s sanity. Not for nothing had he called Jefferson Milnor, ‘Hatter.’ He pulled out his phone, typed and sent a swift text message, and then called in to Granny’s Diner for a coffee to go.

‘To go’ wasn’t his style either, but as the saying went, needs must when the devil drives, and he had to get to the hospital before Whale got wind of his coming and made a quick escape through the back door. He and the doctor had a tumultuous relationship at best, and like many people in Storybrooke, Victor Whale was beholden to him. So it was that he decided not to enter the hospital by the front door, but via the ambulance bay. It was closer to Whales office.

Gold was well aware he had no business being in that part of the hospital, neither did he care. Storybrooke, for him, was pretty much an open door. Hard to lock doors against people that held the keys. Gold did. After many years, and much capital, there were few places, or people, he didn’t own in some way - either because of their rent, or because something of theirs graced one of the shelves of his pawn shop.

“A moment, Victor,” he said, holding up a gloved hand one finger raised, as the doctor was too slow to escape his notice. The other man stopped and turned slowly.

“Mister Gold, is everything all right?”

As an opening gambit, Gold had to admit that while it wasn’t terribly original, it was at least a logical one. He nodded to the doctor, not to answer his question, but to let the man know that he had ‘scored a point’ in their little mental tete-a-tete. There was no love lost.

“For the moment,” he answered, then, “but it may be that I will need to collect on that debt that you owe me, some time in the near future.”

“Oh?” Whale quirked an eyebrow in query.

Gold shrugged, “A house call. Perhaps a prescription, no questions asked.”

“Now look, Gold,” Whale began, but Gold raised a hand, palm out in a placatory gesture.

“The truth is, Doctor, I do not yet know if, nor the extent to which, I may require your assistance,” Gold looked around him, and then glanced in the direction he knew the parking lot to be. “I was simply giving you the courtesy of a ‘heads up.’”

“Gold…”

“After all, I’d hate anything to happen that might come between you and the,” Gold poured on the sarcasm, “lovely, little, red sports car of yours…”

“Now see here…!” Whale rose to the bait. “I’m paid up to date on that loan, there’s nothing you can do abo—”

“…say, the terms and conditions of the repayment of interest.”

“You’re a piece of work, Gold,” Whale spat.

“So I’m told,” he answered, unperturbed by the doctor’s outburst. “But you will be ready, should I call on you.”

Without another word, or waiting for the doctor’s acknowledgment of the inescapable fact he had just spoken, Gold turned, and left the hospital for his next port of call.

It was rather like retracing his steps, as the person he needed to speak to was the diner’s proprietress’ granddaughter, but he could think of no one else he could ask, and trust to their discretion. He and Miss Lucas had history, after all, as he had gotten her out of trouble on a number of occasions. Not out of the goodness of his heart, but because of his absolute insistence on seeing justice served. She hadn’t deserved the charges that had been brought against her, and he was well enough acquainted with the law to be able to defend her more than admirably. Besides, having done so meant that she, too, owed him a few favors, and he was ready to collect.

“What’s the matter, Gold,” Widow Lucas called out as he entered the diner. “Coffee not good enough for you this morning?”

Widow Lucas - Granny, as everyone in Storybrooke seemed to call her - had several bones of contention to pick with him, not the least of which was that she owed him a good deal of money for the rent on the Bed and Breakfast she ran in addition to the diner. He was inclined to be lenient with her in regards to her attitude, so long as she paid that rent on time. As such their relationship was very volatile.

“On the contrary, dearie,” he purred as he limped toward one of the booths toward the back of the diner. “It was so good that I felt I must come by for seconds.”

Widow Lucas snorted a huff, and turned up a white mug from the tray beside her and set about pouring steaming hot, black coffee into it, before setting it on the counter, and nodding at her granddaughter to bring it to him.

Ruby Lucas had a bright red extension tied into her hair, and judging from the amount of make-up that still lingered around her eyes, he ascertained that she had not gotten home from The Rabbit Hole with enough time to spare to change. He ignored the fact that her skirt was shorter than her apron, as this was quite usual for the rebellious young woman.

She managed to set his coffee down in front of him with only the faintest of thumps, and no spillage, for which he was grateful. He hated having to mop up the run before it spilled off of the uneven table and onto the pants of his suit.

“Anything to go with that?” Miss Lucas asked, folding her arms as she waited for his answer.

He offered a rare smile, rather akin to the kind a hyena gave before biting its prey’s throat. “Merely the pleasure of your company,” he said. “A moment of your time, if I may.”

“Can’t,” she snapped. “I’m working.”

“Oh, but I insist,” he said, just as smoothly, but with a slight edge to his voice, especially as he pointed at the bench opposite him and said, “Sit.”

She rolled her eyes in protest, but as instructed, slipped in to the booth’s other seat, and then once more crossed her arms over her chest.

“Well?” she asked, when Gold said nothing. He picked up his coffee cup and took a sip. “I haven’t got all day. I told you. I’m working.”

“So you did,” he said and sat back in his seat. “Forgive me, it’s a delicate matter, and I’m not sure how to approach the subject, to be honest.” He watched as Ruby frowned, giving her enough time to get lost in the intrigue of his words, before he said. “I need your assistance.”

She barked out a half laugh, until she evidently realized that he was serious, and then he saw her eyebrows shoot up toward her hair.

“Seriously?” she asked. “How can I possibly help you?”

“I’m expecting a visitor, a guest,” he began, adding with a dismissive wave of his hand, “a friend of a friend.”

“Okay?” she said slowly, and he could almost hear her wondering what that had to do with her.

“She’s coming here because she’s just walked out on a rather… difficult domestic situation,” he continued, watching the nuances of Ruby’s face as she put the pieces together. “Simply… walked away,” he finished.

It amused him, somewhat, to think of it in those terms, because he knew that there wasn’t so much ‘walking,’ in her get-away, as running and dodging bullets along the way. He knew the difference would irritate Jefferson immensely, and privately reveled in it.

“So, you’re saying she’s going to need stuff,” Ruby said.

“I’d rather like to have some things for her when she arrives, yes,” he said. “If you wouldn’t mind helping.”

“Well of course I don’t mind, but—”

Gold reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a thick envelope on the front of which he’d written all the information he’d managed to research about the governor’s daughter. It was bound not to be entirely accurate, but at least it would give Miss Lucas something to go on.

“I’ve taken the liberty of writing down her details, such as I have,” he interrupted, “And I think you’ll find there is sufficient money to cover whatever purchases you make.”

He slid the envelope across the table toward Ruby, and kept his face impassive as he watched her picked it up, her eyes widening slightly as she rifled through the contents with the flick of her thumb, before looking up at him.

“Whatever you don’t use,” he told her, “you may keep… to cover your expenses. In addition, I believe we can consider my fee for your last appearance in court… paid in full.” He left barely a beat before adding. “Do we have a deal?”

“Wha— Yes, yes of course,” Ruby finally looked up from studying the envelope and its contents to tell him, “I can take care of it when I get off work today.”

“Excellent,” he nodded, and began to slide along the seat toward the exit of the booth.

“Should I bring it by the shop later?” she asked.

“I won’t be opening the shop today,” he said. “If it isn’t too much trouble, could you drop it by the house this evening?” He stood, steadying himself with his cane and preparing to go as she answered him in the affirmative. Then, as he took the first step he stopped, and looked back over his shoulder to catch Ruby’s eye. “And Miss Lucas? I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that discretion is of the utmost importance.”

Leroy could wait.

Gold spent some moments weighing up how his time would be better spent, and since Jefferson and his rescued hostage had been on the run for a over twelve hours, there was a matter more pressing to which Gold felt obliged to attend. It wasn’t that long of a drive to the cabin and regardless of the time that he arrived, Gold was sure that MacCalmain would be there waiting for him; no doubt putting in some handy-work around the place.

Before he left town, he checked in the glove compartment of the Cadillac for an essential item that he would need to give to his tall, loyal associate in case the inevitable happened sooner, rather than later. It was there. The whole deck was there, although he only needed the one card. That done, he picked up his dinner order from Marco’s and made his way out of town and onto the country road that led to the single track driveway to the cabin.

As he’d suspected, MacCalmain was there, with his truck, engaged in cutting back one of the nearby holly bushes that was encroaching on the windows at the side of the single storey structure. The man straightened as Gold drew to a halt, and replaced the secateurs into the tool roll that was resting on the lid of the nearby wood-box.

Gold offered him a smile as he approached the man. “Good of you to come,” he said.

In answer, MacCalmain pulled the cell phone from his pocket and pointed at it, and then at Gold.

“Yes, I sent you a text,” Gold confirmed. “I have… a job for you. Very important. Extremely delicate.”

“I’ll help,” MacCalmain signed. “What do you need.”

“There’s a family just outside of Boston,” Gold handed over a piece of paper, on it was printed an address, and the candid pictures of the family that didn’t even know they were being photographed. “This address,” he said as he handed them over. “I’m not really interested in the family, though I trust you’ll keep them safe if you can.”

MacCalmain shrugged, and Gold’s face hardened. Not in anger, but because he knew the other man’s shrug was not indifference, but practicality. If Gold was sending him out to watch over someone in the family then it likely meant that there was trouble, and the kind of trouble that followed Gold around was the kind of trouble that got people killed. MacCalmain knew that.

“The girl though,” Gold went on, remembering the babe in arms that had squalled all the way from Chicago O’hare to the mid-Atlantic where she finally fell asleep on he father’s chest, and remained asleep all through the landing in Glasgow. More though, he had remembered the haunted look in that father’s eyes, the way he desperately tried to give his daughter his all; his full attention. He had no doubt the man would give her his soul if he had to - and that was why Gold acted as he did. That father had freed his son, though had not necessarily saved him; a youth for whom Gold would, and almost had, given his own.

Bae, though unresponsive, still lived, and where there was life, there was hope.

“I want you to watch her, watch out for her,” Gold continued, pulling himself back from his introspection. “If anyone comes sniffing around; police, other law enforcement agencies,” he voice darkened, “anyone not law enforcement, don’t wait. She’s in danger, and you bring her to me.”

MacCalmain nodded, and picked up the tool roll, evidently meaning to set out right away, but then he frowned as Gold held out a single playing card in the man’s direction. Hesitantly he took it.

“I don’t want the girl terrified, or to think you mean her ill, so when you can - as soon as you can, you give her that card, do you understand? She’ll know what it means.”

MacCalmain nodded again, though shifted his doubt filled gaze down onto the playing card in his hand: the joker - The White Rabbit.

#rumbelle #graphic violence #implied torture #implied drug use #implied noncon #angst #hurt/comfort #eventual smut #first time #major character death #disparate pathways #i will always write jefferson

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ikementally-deficient · 5 years

Text

Advanced Entomology - Chapter 7: Metamorphosis

Fandom: Mr. Love: Queen’s Choice/Love and Producer

Rating: Carolina Reaper (See Masterlist for rating descriptions)

Warnings: dubious/uninformed consent, see masterpost A/N

Due to the nature of the questionable consent in this fic, if you enjoy this story enough to reblog it, please reblog the masterpost rather than individual chapters.

Author’s Note: Holy shit it’s finished! This last chapter was like pulling teeth, and it got both more emotional and less smutty (though still pretty smutty) than I intended. Tangential spoilers for chapters 14-18, although this has departed from canon pretty heavily so you probably won’t get too spoiled if you haven’t read those yet.

Thank you to everyone who liked, reblogged, and spoke to me on discord and AO3, this never would have been completed without that encouragement.

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

He follows her up the stairs. It would almost be boring, if it weren’t for his knowledge of what awaits them at the top.

They climb in silence, Lucien watching the sway of her skirt ahead of him. He focuses on the pleats fluttering around her knees, her slender calves flexing as she climbs. He’s tempted to reach out and grasp her delicate ankle and pull her back, wrapping her limbs around him, ignoring his mission in favour of burying himself in her.

He’s pulled from his reverie by the sound of her shoes scraping to a halt.

“We’re here.” She places her hand on the bar of the door, preparing to step out on to the roof of the tower. He’s still amazed at how easy it was to lead her here, pretending to follow the trail of clues he’d littered for her to find. He smiles fondly as she looks back at him, amber eyes sparkling with excitement. “Are you ready, Lucien?”

“I’m ready,” he purrs, stifling his anxiety about what lies before them. He’s done his job well. The Queen will trust him, just as his butterfly does. There is nothing to fear. He places his hand over hers on the crash bar.

The roof of the tower is disappointingly prosaic: an open square covered in gravel, with a steel pylon supporting an antenna. The only sound is the faint rush of traffic many stories below them. It’s hardly a worthy setting for the portentous event about to take place.

She leads him across the roof to the pylon and stares up at it. “Is this it? Is this what’s causing everyone’s Evols to go out of control?”

“All evidence seems to point that way.” He stares up, squinting against the sun’s glare. “The antenna is centrally placed, and high enough to reach most of the city.”

“How do we shut it off?”

Lucien holds his breath as she circles the pylon slowly, homing in on the red switch box. He follows her, coming to stand behind her as her hand caresses the switch.

“Are you ready?” she asks. Her tone is faint, eyes absent. She might be talking to him, or herself, or the world. He casts one last glance up at the silent pylon.

Silly girl.

The switch clunks across its hinge. For a moment nothing happens, and Lucien begins to wonder if he’s miscalculated somehow. Then the pylon hums to life, and he feels the powerful amplification field spring up around them.

“What --?” She’s shocked, looking up in disbelief. “It was already off?” He places his hands on her shoulders and she whirls to face him. “Lucien, what’s going on?”

“It’s been waiting for you, butterfly. Can’t you feel it working?” He can feel his own Evols responding to the field, but he’s been exposing himself to it off and on for nearly a year. Maintaining control is easy. Not so for her; suddenly dropped into the center of the field, she’s overwhelmed. Her eyes are wide and staring. He knows she’s being assaulted by images, possibilities, quantum futures, and it’s too much for her. With a shuddering sigh, she collapses against him. He gathers her unconscious form into a bridal carry and sits against the waist-high wall, waiting to see who awakens.

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

A faint whimper alerts him before her eyes flick open. Her pupils are so dilated the irises are nearly invisible, just a thin amber border around black pupils. She stares up at him with lips parted, and he is struck by the memory of her pinned to his living room floor, pupils blown wide with wanting.

“Hello,” he breathes.

She blinks a few times, pupils slowly contracting against the afternoon light. “Lucien?” Her voice is faint. He waits, and is rewarded. “Ares.”

“Yes, my Queen.”

She pushes away from him, climbing out of his lap and standing on her own. He rises to stand beside her, ready to guide her back to the stairs, back to Black Swan. He touches her elbow, but suddenly his fragile butterfly is a steel cable under his hand, immoveable.

“You didn’t need to awaken me,” she states flatly. He stares at her. She stares back, inscrutable. “You’d already headed off Zeus and Hades’ foolishness with the virus. You don’t need me here.” She looks around, dismissing him as unimportant for the moment.

“I needed to complete my mission, my Queen.”

“Your mission was a waste of time. Black Swan will never have me.” He watches her stalk to the switch box and flip it back to the off position. The hum of electricity dies, and he can feel all his hopes die with it. Her body language is alien, strong and certain and unquestioning and nothing at all like the butterfly he’s tamed. His heart feels cold.

She glances back at him.

“She’s still here, Ares.” The Queen turns and walks to him, reaching up to cup his cheek. “She couldn’t leave.” He gapes down at her. “Idiot. Did you think neither of us would realise?”

“Realise what?”

“That you love her.”

It’s reflex that has him blurting out a denial of sorts. “I’m not allowed --”

She’s having none of it. “But you do. And so does she.”

“She shouldn’t.”

“Oh, I know. And so does she, now. We’ve seen everything.” Her hand slides down his neck to stroke his tie. “Every possibility. Every way this played out. Every betrayal,” she grabs his tie, nails scoring the silk, “And she still loves you, Ares.”

Lucien gapes down at her, at a complete loss. His mouth works for a moment before he can find words. “Why?”

The Queen smiles up at him, a self-assured Cheshire Cat curl. “Because even when you betray her, you protect her. As much as you can. It’s rather sweet, actually.” Her grip on his tie tightens as she begins to pull him down, a slow steady drag.

“I don’t -- I don’t understand,” he stammers desperately.

“Lucien.” It’s her voice again, the delicate butterfly’s sweet tone. “It’s alright.” She presses a gentle kiss to his lips and he’s back in the art gallery, so many months ago. He raises his hands to cup her face, losing himself in her soft mouth.

At last they part, and he stares down at her in wonder. “I still don’t understand.”

She gives him a tremulous smile, and he can still see the Queen lurking in her eyes, but the smile is all her. “None of it matters, Lucien. No matter how all of this ends, you always love me.” Her cheeks bloom with the same blush he remembers evoking as they stood in echo of Klimt’s kiss. “And I love you.” She reaches up to clasp her hands around the nape of his neck. “Please, Lucien, take me home,” she leans in, pressing against him with an assertiveness he’s never dared dream of, “And take me.”

The idea of descending the stairs and taking a bus or a taxi never occurs to him. He slides his arms around her waist and steps backwards into her bedroom. His heel hits the foot of the bed and he’s falling backwards onto the duvet, pulling her down on top of him. She lands clumsily, straddling his hips with her hands planted next to his ears.

“Are you sure?” Lucien’s voice is hoarse. It seems absurd to ask now, of all times, after months of practically forcing her to want him, but the mission is blown, the Queen autonomous, and he desperately wants something real to make up for everything he’s repressed in the name of Black Swan.

She giggles and his heart lightens when she dips her head to dust kisses across his forehead and down his nose. Her lips trace a sweet path across his mouth and along his jaw, coming to rest next to his ear. A puff of warm breath accompanies her answer.

“I’m positive, Lucien.” Her kisses continue down his neck and into the gap of his collar, before she pulls back to start undoing his tie with an adorably focused expression. At last she pulls the silk out of his collar and eyes him contemplatively.

“You know,” she says, and even in the dim light he can see both of them in her eyes. “You’ve worked so hard over the last few months to make me feel good.” She takes his wrists and tugs until he lets her lift his arms over his head, and starts to wind the tie around them. “I have the feeling you won’t believe any of this is real until I’ve had the chance to return the favour a little.” She leans over him, the fabric of her shirt brushing against his nose. He can feel the tug of the tie against his wrists until his hands are resting against the headboard. He twitches experimentally and realises she’s tied him to the bed.

“What are you doing?”

She crawls backwards down his torso until they’re nose to nose. “I’ve seen everything you’ve done to me, Lucien.” Her forehead gently bumps against his before she’s moving down again, undoing each button of his shirt and kissing the skin behind it before proceeding to the next one. “More importantly, I’ve seen everything you haven’t done, everything you could have done, everything you did somewhere else but not here.” Her lips brush his navel and Lucien can feel his abdominal muscles flinch when she trails her tongue across them.

“Do you know,” she continues conversationally as her fingers make short work of his belt buckle. “You’ve done this in other places -- other timelines?” She looks off in the distance for a moment before shrugging. “Taken me to bed. Conditioned me.” The belt falls open and the zipper of his trousers follows suit. “But you always hold yourself back.” She smirks a little and he flushes, remembering the afternoon in front of the mirror. “Well, nearly always. It’s never been about you.”

Her fingers slide under the waistband of his shorts, and slowly pull until his erection springs free, hard and hot. She leans in and he shivers as her hair tickles his skin. “I’ve been wanting this for a long time.” She rubs her cheek along the length of him. “This is about you.”

His heart nearly hammers out of his chest when she takes the head of his cock into her mouth. Her mouth is hot and wet and the slide of her tongue has him gritting his teeth. At the sound of his groan she sucks hard and the headboard creaks as his hands are stymied in their effort to grab her.

She slides off him with a quiet pop and grins. “Do you like that, Lucien?” Sucking him back in, she pulls his trousers and shorts down to his knees and nudges him to pull his legs free. He’s splayed in front of her, his only clothing the shirt hanging from his bound forearms. His hips flex, yearning to thrust into her mouth.

Lucien forces his arms to relax against the tie. “I do.” His body is aching to hold her. “But --” his voice falters.

“But what?” She waits patiently, crouched over him, breathing warmly against him as he tries to figure out how to just ask for something. Lucien represses everything for his mission. Ares takes what is necessary. But now, he has the opportunity to request his deepest desire and receive it, freely given, knowingly given.

“I want . . . “ He trails off, then sucks in a steadying breath and starts again. “I want to hold you.”

She blinks up at him.

“Everything I’ve done up to now has been for someone else’s goals.” He licks his lips, mesmerised by the gleam of her eyes. “I just want to hold you. For myself.”

The catch of her breath is audible. They stare at each other in silence for a moment, Lucien painfully aware that neither his blush nor his erection are fading. Then suddenly she is slithering back up his torso until her mouth meets his in a desperate, hungry kiss while her hands work at the knot in the tie. The instant his hands are free he sheds the shirt and wraps his arms around her, one hand clutching her waist and the other buried in her hair. They spend several minutes in this pose, drinking each other in, bodies grinding against each other. Lucien feels like the hormonal teenager he once disclaimed to Zeus as he moans into her.

Finally, the feeling of her clothing against his skin is too much. “Please,” he begs. “Let me undress you.”

She presses away from him, hands on his shoulders. “No, I don’t think so.” He can feel himself shrivel as she crawls off of him. Her hands move to the bow of her sash and his heart stops. “We’re done with you doing things to me, Lucien.” The sash falls loose and she slides the dress over her head and sits back on her knees, all pale pink flesh and white cotton underthings. She reaches up to touch the clasp of her bra and meets his eyes. “I’m doing this now.” She shrugs the bra away as the clasp slips open and shimmies out of her panties. A beautiful flush warms her breasts as she comes back to him and settles in his arms. “Do you understand?”

The emotional whiplash is wiped away by the feeling of her soft hair curling along his cock, recovered and straining against her. He holds her close again, waiting for her to make the first move. Patience is rewarded; she gathers herself to slide wetly over his cock, teasing him with her arousal. Long minutes of this and they’re both panting heavily. Each flex of her hips is slower, tantalizing him with the rub and gentle catch of her clitoris against the head of his erection. Finally, she raises her hips enough to angle him against her entrance and pauses, teasing.

“Are you ready?” she asks, that Cheshire cat smile on her swollen mouth. Lucien’s mouth is dry, but he forces the sound from his throat.

“Yes --” and she’s engulfing him, moist heat and delicious pressure and it’s so different from that day of the mirror because she’s in charge and letting him be inside her. All the muscles from his diaphragm to his thighs clench tight and spasm as she rides him, leaning back and dragging his hands up her torso. He follows and brings his mouth to her breasts, sucking desperately at her nipples as his hands clutch her hips hard enough to bruise.

She gasps as his teeth scrape across her and he can see her hand sliding down her own stomach in his peripheral vision. She tightens around him as her fingers rub desperately at her clit, and he loses all sense of control. His face is buried between her breasts as her orgasm shudders around him and he can no longer hold off his own, spilling into her and feeling all his discipline evaporate. They fall back into the sheets, still twitching around each other. Her mouth lands on his clavicle and she presses open kisses to it, each own mirrored by a shivering aftershock around his softening cock.

“This is how it is from now on, Lucien.” Her voice is a hoarse whisper, but still sweet. “Can you accept that?”

He considers, long enough for his cock to slide out of her and the sweat on his chest and forehead to cool and dry. He’s not in charge anymore, and she’s not quite the butterfly he tamed. Black Swan will still need to be dealt with; the Queen is a threat to them now, and a rogue Olympian can’t be left alone. But --

He looks down at her and smiles. It’s not one of his practiced smiles, trotted out for appropriate reactions to appropriate occasions, and he has no idea what it looks like.

“I can, and I will . . . my Monarch.”

All things considered, the situation could be much worse.

#mr love queen's choice #mlqc #mlqc fanfic #mlqc spoilers #mlqc lucien #writing #advanced entomology #rating: carolina reaper

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wistfulcynic · 5 years

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Happy Halloween!

The second chapter of my @csrolereversal and @cshalloweek based on @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713’s stunning art, which STILL gives me a little thrill each time I watch it. I can only hope I’ve done it justice.

Summary: “…for we all have stripes, and we all have horns, we all have scales, tails, manes, claws and thorns

and here in the dark is where new worlds are born…”

It’s Halloween, when all the weird and wondrous beasts of the world creep out of the shadows and throw themselves one hell of a party. For Emma Swan and Killian Jones, witch and shapeshifter respectively, it’s a chance to kick back, get high, and watch the mayhem unfold…

Chapter One on AO3 and Tumblr

come sit at our feast - 2/2

Moonlight slanted through misty trees as they slipped through the back door of her house and into a forest imperceptible to human eyes. He shifted back to dog form and walked beside her, pressing himself firmly against her leg, his every sense alert. He disliked this forest—or rather what the forest contained—and all her mocking laughter and quoting of Terry Pratchett made no difference. Even scary things are scared of things.

The forest was dark despite the moonlight, despite the eerie glow of the mist itself, the twisty trees hung with moss and creeping vines and inhabited by other creeping things of a different nature. The mist grew denser and its glow began to pulse as they neared their destination: an ancient, gnarled oak tree with a knothole in its trunk that oozed with a sickly light.

She gestured with her hand and the knothole began to split, widening, brightening, slashing reality as it grew and grew, the ragged edges of their world curling back in outraged horror, recoiling from the impossible gash in the fabric of everything that was. Her other hand rested on his neck, fingers curling into his thick fur as they stepped through this crack in the worlds and into nowhere.

“Emma, Killian! How good of you to join us!” said a haughty voice.

The blinding brightness of the portal dimmed as it closed behind them. As their eyes adjusted to the lower light the shadowy figure belonging to the voice resolved into an elegant, black-clad woman with a menacing glint in her eye and a wide smile revealing the most even teeth Emma had ever seen, framed by two very, very sharp fangs.

“Regina.” Emma’s lip curled and Killian shifted, draping an arm around his wife’s shoulders, his face fixed in a sneer. “Why do the vampires always act like they’re in charge of these shindigs?”

Regina patted her cheek condescendingly. “When you’re nine hundred years old, you can play host,” she said. “Until then mind your place, witch.”

Emma hissed and Killian’s arm tightened around her shoulders, urging her away before she could start a fight with Regina. Again. “Now, love, remember last year,” he soothed. “You can’t keep hexing the vampires, it just annoys them. Let’s go talk to the were-creatures, instead, shall we? I see Robin over by the punch bowl and I’ve just recalled he owes me money.”

He steered Emma towards a long table formed of slender, twisted tree trunks and loaded with platters of meats and cheeses and loaves of bread, cakes and cookies and odd-looking fruits, bowls full of steaming hot liquids and ones whose vapours came from ice instead. It sat in the middle of a clearing in a forest exactly like the one they had just left, and also most decidedly unlike it. The angle of the sky was not quite right, nor the way the light fell, nor the mountains that rose above the treetops in one distance while the sound of waves pounding on a rocky shore came from another. Music flowed throughout, as though the air itself were singing, and creatures of all shapes and sizes—horned and furred and scaled, some with limbs and others with wings and still others with no body at all—mixed and mingled in time to its tune.

Next to the table stood the were-fox with his sharp ears and cunning eyes, chatting to a man whose beard and hair were formed of lush green leaves, framing a face that appeared hewn from the trunk of a tree. Each held a flagon of beer that, though they both were drinking deeply, was never less than full. Wherever the Green Man went, things were endlessly renewed… whether you wished them to be or not.

“Well met Robin, August, how are things?” asked Killian, taking two empty flagons from the table. As he handed one to Emma both began to fill with beer. Emma’s stopped just as the liquid reached the edge of the rim, but Killian’s surged up in a wave, overflowing onto his arm and down the front of his jeans.

“Oi!” he cried, setting the flagon down and shaking droplets of beer from his hand. “Watch what you’re doing, mate!”

August gave him a look that was strangely stony for a man with a wooden face. “Payback for last Halloween,” he said coolly. “You know what you did.”

Killian brushed futilely at his drenched jeans. “You’re a tree, mate. I’m a dog. Drink was taken. It was all but inevitable.”

“I’m not a tree,” snapped August, “and it better not happen again.”

“You’ve got leaves growing out of your head,” interjected Robin, who was watching the scene unfold with unbridled glee. “You’re made of wood. How exactly are you not a tree?”

“That’s precisely my point—”

“That’s a fundamental misunderstanding of—”

Emma rolled her eyes and waved her hand over Killian’s jeans to dry them, kissing his cheek as she did. He turned to her with a grin and a nod of understanding, then dove back into the argument.

She slipped away, disappearing into the throng before Robin’s band of merry were-creatures could catch sight of her and rope her into another drinking game that would end, as they inevitably did, with arrows lodged in places where no arrow should ever be. Will Scarlet was a menace with his bow and this lesson at least Emma had managed to learn from Halloween parties past.

She avoided the vampires though her fingers itched with hexing magic, and made her way towards a mournful ghost she could just see through the milling crowd, hovering atop a tree stump, pale and translucent in her white gown, with long hair loose and flowing down her shoulders to frame the oozing stab wound in her heart. Tears flowed gently and unheeded down her cheeks as she attempted to show her book of poetry to another white-clad brunette, this one with a pretty face and a sweet smile just beginning to strain at the edges. Emma stopped short as she spotted the danger, wondering if there was still time to intervene. If Belle didn’t shut up soon, Aurora was going to… oh no… no, it was too late. Aurora’s smile crumbled away, caving into her face as her mouth fell open in a cavernous O, stretching her countenance, lengthening it, her eyes sinking deep into her skull and gaping wide and black and empty.

Emma quickly performed a sound-dampening spell around her head, fixing it in place just as the bloodcurdling shriek began. Aurora’s wail rent the night and the eardrums as she rose into the air, white gown flapping madly as she swooped through the clearing. Creatures ducked and leapt to avoid her, food and drink flying every which way as they clapped their hands over their aching ears. To no avail. The cry pierced their skulls and echoed in their bones and for a single terrifying moment tempted them to madness.

And then, with a final wrenching howl that shook the treetops, Aurora whirled off into the darkness.

The silence that fell in her wake was hollow and tremulous. Slowly, cautiously, everyone began to rise and dust themselves off, blinking and shaking their heads to quell the ringing in their ears. The music flowed again, cautiously at first, and Emma tapped her temple to dissolve her spell.

“I suppose there’s no way her invitation could be lost in the mail next year.” drawled a familiar voice behind her.

“That would be unnecessarily cruel, don’t you think?” she replied, turning to address a tall, sharply dressed woman. “Aurora looks forward to these things more than anyone. I suppose banshees don’t get much company.”

The woman smirked and her hair writhed, hissing. “She’d want to try living in a cave. The sad fact is that none of us gets much company, darling. Except perhaps you. Tell me, how is that delectable husband of yours?”

“Still delectable.” Emma’s eyes sharpened as the woman’s lips curled in a predatory smile. “Still under my protection,” she added.

“Darling, you surely don’t think that I—”

“There’s almost nothing I’d put past you, Zelena. And I prefer when only one part of Killian is rock hard, thank you very much.”

“Oh?” Zelena’s eyebrow rose over the frame of her mirrored sunglasses. Her hair slithered up, beady eyes focused on Emma, forked tongues flicking. “And which part would that be?”

Emma laughed and shook her head. She never could manage to out-brazen Zelena.

Just then they heard the drumming sound of hoofbeats in the distance, dozens of them, advancing on the gathering but from which direction it was impossible to tell.

“Bloody hell,” snapped Zelena, spinning about and peering into the shadowy depths of the forest beyond, her hair thickening, lengthening, hissing furiously as beside her Emma began to glow with magic. “Must they do this every ye—” She was cut off as the horsemen burst through the trees, careening through the clearing at a full gallop, small men on huge black horses with hooves like knives, waving spears and swords and howling fit to raise the dead.

Which was exactly the point.

This time the creatures were more or less prepared, the Wild Hunt unlike the banshee being an expected if irritating yearly occurrence. With her senses heightened by the magic flowing through her Emma was aware of all the forces gathering: Elsa brandishing her ice-shard sword and Tink’s demented giggle as she pulled razor-sharp throwing daggers from the empty air; Killian shifting and falling back on his haunches, coiled to spring with teeth bared and hackles raised; Robin notching a vicious looking arrow in his bow, his were-creatures similarly armed and primed for battle at his flank.

Emma herself raised a shield of shimmering magic just in time to deflect the enormous pickaxe that came flying straight at her head.

“Damn it, Leroy!” she shouted, whipping away the shield so she could shoot a burst of light at the manically grinning dwarf. He dodged it easily and spun about to make a second pass at her, axe raised high, eyes wide and bloodshot red, full of furious insanity. She strengthened her shield just in time as Leroy swung his axe down, striking it with such a force that sparks of magic went flying, sizzling into the night. Emma thrust a burst of energy through the shield that knocked him back into his saddle, and before he could rear up for another swing an arrow struck him in the shoulder and he nearly dropped his axe.

“What the—” His eyes narrowed in fury. “You!”

“Don’t even think about it, dwarf,” sneered a petite brunette with hair tangled and wild about her shoulders and an arrow trained at Leroy’s head. She sat atop a centaur, Emma was amused to note, a gorgeous palomino with a flowing blonde tail and a much better haircut than when she’d seen him last. It seemed things were really progressing between Snow and David.

Leroy howled in frustration, waving his axe wildly between Emma and Snow. “One of these days, sister!” he shouted. “And you— other sister! One of these days I’m gonna catch you both off your guard!”

“ENOUGH.” Regina’s voice boomed through the clearing and everyone fell silent, all eyes trained on the haughty vampire. “You’ve had your fun, dwarves, but you know the party rules,” she snapped. “No battle steeds, and try to keep the murdering to a minimum. Now get those damned horses out of here.”

With a snarl and a flourish of his axe, Leroy spun his horse around. “I’ll be back, sisters!” he cried, and galloped off.

“Don’t forget the ale!” Snow called after him.

Emma released her magic and rolled the tension from her shoulders. The Wild Hunt was decidedly not her favourite Halloween tradition. But the dwarves insisted, and the special ale they brought when they joined the party properly did make up for a lot.

She turned to her friends with a wide grin and a somewhat successful attempt to imitate Killian’s eyebrow waggle. “Well well,” she said, “Horseback riding, eh?”

David flushed red as Snow slid from his back and gave his flank an energetic pat. “It’s not what it looks like,” he mumbled, but Snow returned Emma’s wicked grin.

“I’m pretty sure it’s exactly what it looks like,” she said. “And I’m here to tell you that everything you’ve heard about horses is true. Everything.”

“I’m not a horse,” David protested weakly.

“Key parts of you are,” smirked Snow.

“Ugh, guys, please, keep it in the barn,” Emma protested.

“That’s inappropriate, Emma,” said Snow primly, as though she hadn’t just been making some seriously bawdy innuendoes. “And a bit species-ist. I don’t make jokes about Killian and doghouses.”

“Well, you do—”

David cleared his throat. “Speaking of Killian—” He looked pleadingly at Emma.

“Over by the table with Robin and August, last I saw him.”

David scanned the clearing. “Ah, yeah, there they are. Um, ladies if you’ll excuse me.” He cantered away, clearly trying not to gallop.

“So,” said Emma. “Really?”

Snow shrugged. “Love is love. The heart wants what the heart wants, Emma.”

“And your heart wants a centaur?”

“Says the woman married to a dog!”

“He’s not a dog all the time.”

“He still licks your face.” Snow’s eyes glinted with an odd light. “And other parts of you I’ll bet.”

Indeed he did. Emma smiled as a particularly fond memory sprang to her mind. “Yeah, well I might not mind that.”

A wave of heat surged around them, accompanied by a whiff of arcane magic. The smile fell from Emma’s face, replaced with a suspicious frown. She glanced at her friend. Snow’s cheeks were bright pink and her eyes looked feverish.

“And I,” she crowed, “might not mind David’s hu—”

“Shhh!” Emma put a hand on Snow’s arm. The odd heat had begun to prickle under her skin and insistent, lascivious urges were rising up in her. Urges to tell Snow everything about her sex life, all the intimate details of the passion that burned so hot between her and Killian, all the ways they liked to tease and pleasure each other. Then to find Killian himself and do all his favourite things to him until he was desperate and begging for her. No matter if everyone was watching.

Especially if everyone’s watching.

Emma sighed. The woman was not subtle. “I know you’re there,” she said, not bothering to disguise her exasperation. “You can come out now.”

A shadow shifted at the edge of the clearing and a woman sauntered into view. Tall and slender and dressed in skintight black, with fishnet stockings and impossible heels, her long dark hair streaked with crimson. “Aww,” she pouted, lips full and glossy red. “Just as it was getting good!”

“Ruby! Are you kidding me? Did you…” Snow waved her hand. “Influence us?”

“Well, naturally.”

“I can’t believe you would do that!”

“It is literally the purpose of my existence, Snow.”

“But we’re your friends!”

“Which just makes me more curious about what you’re up to! If you would call once in a while—”

“I live in the damn mountains!”

Ruby’s reply was drowned out by the music as it began to swell, right on schedule. The Wild Hunt had ridden and all formalities had been observed. Now the party could really start.

The music rose up loud and heavy, thrumming through the trees and into the earth, shimmering in the air. It was a wild and haunting melody with a frantic beat that made feet itch to dance. It was ancient and primal and it called to Emma, as it did to all of them. To the essence of them.

The dwarves reappeared, on foot this time and rolling barrels of ale which they hoisted onto the table—now cleared of food—and tapped with great ceremony as a roar of approval rose from the crowd. Emma accepted a brimming flagon and a gruff nod from Leroy and drank deeply. Its rich, bitter tang coated her tongue and flowed through her, sank into her, until she could feel the pulse of blood through her veins and the moonlight on her skin.

Ruby pulled Emma and Snow into the centre of the clearing where a dance pit was already forming. The hot tingle in her belly told Emma that Ruby was exerting her sinful influence over them again but this time she didn’t care. She let the music pound through her, let it lighten her, fill her with a loose, wild joy. All the other nights of the year she had to hide what she was, and what Killian was. She had to practice her magic in secret and hex nosy townspeople like Jefferson who tried to threaten her, to blackmail her with exposure. But tonight… tonight she was free.

The dance pit pulsed and grooved and heaved with bodies as lights flickered into existence and began to strobe in the sky. Emma swung between Elsa and Anna as they twirled and dipped each other, and she shimmied in a dirty grind with Tink and the other dark fairies. She laughed as Aurora swooped down and coaxed Belle into a dance, the two of them waving their arms, white gowns flowing, and she laughed harder at Zelena and Regina, determinedly trying to one-up each other with their moves.

Killian watched her, entranced. He loved seeing her like this, his cautious and self-controlled witch just letting herself go, her hair flying in chaos around her head and her hips shaking. She was luminous, breathtaking, and he needed to touch her. He tried to take a step but found that his body moved forward while his feet did not and he went tumbling to the ground, landing hard on his shoulder with his face in a pile of crisp autumn leaves. He groaned, pushing himself up on his elbow and glaring at his feet.

His shoelaces were tied together.

“Smee!” he roared.

A little man appeared, his round face all gormless innocence, his red hat pulled low over his ears. “Sir?” he said, politely attentive.

“What the bloody hell are you playing at?” Killian snarled.

“Nothing, sir,” said Smee. He pulled a pipe from his pocket and clamped it between his teeth, then offered Killian his hand. “Can I help you up?”

I wouldn’t hurt a fly, his expression said, but Killian knew better. From harsh experience. “You absolutely cannot,” he snapped. “And begone. Take your tricks elsewhere.”

Smee backed away from his vengeful glare, straight into a young woman with auburn hair and mournful eyes and water dripping from her every pore and orifice. She had a long, sharp spear in her hand and at her heels an empty man. Smee spun around and bowed to her, apologies tripping off his lips.

“Madam,” he said. “I beg your pardon. Do allow me to—”

“Don’t even think about it,” she replied, raising her spear menacingly. The man behind her stirred in a vaguely threatening way though his eyes remained blank and glassy.

Smee changed his trajectory a second time and headed for where August stood with David and two of the dwarves. Killian made no move to stop him. He untied his laces and retied them in the correct fashion, then accepted Ariel’s drenched hand to help him up.

“Not dancing?” he asked her.

She shrugged. “Not really feeling it.” She smiled her sad smile and Killian squeezed her hand. He said nothing, though. There wasn’t much you could say, really, to a woman who’d consumed her own true love’s soul.

“You should go dance with her,” said Ariel, nodding towards the dance pit, and Emma.

“Are you sure, lass? I can stay—”

“No. Thank you. It’s enough for me just to be here. Really, it is. And Eric likes it—” She broke off, glancing at the man. Killian carefully kept the pity from his face. “But please do come to visit me, the next time you’re wandering,” Ariel continued, with an attempt at her old brightness.

“I will.” He squeezed her hand again, then impulsively bent over it with a flourish and a gallant kiss. “Milady,” he said.

She smiled, as he’d hoped she would, and he turned away with a smile of his own, plunging into the dancing throng in search of his wife.

When he found her there was manic colour in her cheeks and her eyes were wide, the green a thin ring around the black pupils.

“Heeeyyy,” she said, pulling him close by his jacket collar and wrapping herself around him for a consuming kiss. She tasted of bitter dwarf ale and her own sweet essence, and something else he couldn’t identify. Something that made his tongue tingle and his head spin.

“What are you on?” he asked her breathlessly when the kiss ended.

“These.” She waved her hand and a pile of deep orange berries appeared on her palm. He frowned.

“What are they?”

“Rowan berries. I mean, sort of. But like, insanely strong ones.” She widened her eyes for emphasis then giggled, swaying on her feet. “Probably crossed with something else. Snow brought them from the mountains. I might use some in my winter tea. Here, try them.”

He took the berries from her hand and popped them in his mouth. They burst on his tongue with a bright, fresh flavour and the spinning sensation intensified. A tingling warmth spread across his skin and he could swear he felt Emma pressed against him with each individual cell of his body. He could taste the music. It was delicious.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered.

“Right?” Emma pulled his mouth to hers again kissed him hard, her fingers tight in his hair. “Reminds me of that night we spent in Norway. Those draligonberries.”

“Aye.”

He curled his arm around her waist and his hand over her ass as they began to sway in time with the pounding rhythm, moving to the music that they heard with their eyes and tasted in their skin, grinding heedlessly, shamelessly against each other, genuinely not caring who might be watching them because they knew no one was.

How long they danced he had no idea, time held no real meaning here and what little attention he was able to focus was all on Emma. They danced and they kissed and they laughed, drifting gradually towards the edge of the clearing until they were tucked against a tree, his hands roaming under her skirt, her mouth on his neck. Through the fading haze left by the berries he could see the others still writhing in a dance that now more closely resembled an orgy: Ruby with her mouth on Elsa’s breast, Anna’s legs wrapped tight around Will, Tink drawing her ragged fingernails roughly down Little John’s neck, Regina with her fangs sunk deep into Robin’s. She sensed Killian’s eyes on her and looked up, her own eyes wild and blood dripping from her crimson lips. She smirked at him and ran her tongue along them.

Robin grabbed her hair and pulled her back down to him, holding her still as he dragged his nose across her cheek and licked the rest of his blood from her lips before kissing her, and Killian realised he’d seen enough.

“Emma. Look at me, love.”

“Hmmmm?” She blinked rapidly, trying to focus. “What is it?”

He brushed a lock of hair back from her face. “Let’s go home.”

“Now? Why?”

“Fuck until sunrise, remember?”

“Mmm, goddess, yes, I want that,” she purred, twining her arms around his neck. “Want you.”

“And I you, but—” he broke off as she kissed him, rocking her hips against him until he could barely think. He pressed her hard against the tree and let himself get lost in her, let the berries still lingering on her tongue carry him away as they kissed, deep and wet and needy.

Fuck it, he thought, we’ll just fuck here. Everyone else is.

The sound of David’s hooves on the forest floor jolted him back to awareness of just where here actually was, and he pulled his mouth from Emma’s in time to see his friend galloping into the forest with Snow on his back.

He shook his head, trying to clear it. They needed to go home, to their own bed, and they needed to do it now before things got any further out of hand. “Emma, darling—” he began.

“Yeah.” Her eyes were sharper now, and she had also seen Snow and David. “Let’s go home.”

She waved her hand, slashing through reality once again and their portal opened. He shifted as they stepped through it, letting her lean against him, her fingers sunk deep into his fur as they walked home through the moonlit night. They slipped silently past the garden gate and through the door and up the stairs to their bedroom. Killian shifted again, half wishing he could shed his clothes as part of his transformation, but when he moved to unfasten his jeans Emma reached out and stilled his hand.

“Allow me,” she said softly, and removed both their clothes with a snap of her fingers. She smirked at him and he growled, grabbing her roughly around the waist and tumbling them both onto the bed.

“By the goddess how I love you, Emma Swan,” he breathed.

She cupped his face in her hands, tracing his cheekbone with her thumb. “I love you too. Happy Halloween, Killian.”

“Happy Halloween, my love.”

―

“A witch ought never to be frightened in the darkest forest… because she should be sure in her soul that the most terrifying thing in the forest was her.”

― Terry Pratchett

―

a/n for anyone wondering what exactly the OUAT characters were meant to be (and MASSIVE thanks to @thisonesatellite for helping me figure that out): Regina- vampire Robin- were-fox Will- were-ferret Little John- were-bear Anna- dark elf Elsa- valkyrie Aurora- banshee August- Green Man Smee- Klabautermann Dwarves- Wild Hunt Tink- dark fairy Ariel- ondine Snow-oread David- centaur Belle- ghost Zelena- gorgon Ruby- personification of sin

#csrolereversal #cs halloweek #captain swan #cs fic #cs ff #cs ff au #magic au #halloween #halloween party #monster mash #come to our feast #profdanglaisstuff #allons-y-to-hogwarts-713

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shapeshifting-wildcard · 4 years

Text

It was a lazy summer afternoon. Joker was helping out behind the counter today, but he had time to spare for a new friend. Especially one who was going to teach him a new skill he could use as a Phantom Thief. At first glance, learning how to divine through tarot cards didn't seem like a particularly useful skill. But the point was to hone his supernatural abilities through a known occult focus. Besides, Arisato was a more experienced Persona-user, and a fellow wildcard on top of it. She was bound to have some sort of useful experience to pass along to a young up-and-coming thief like him, right?

The deck she slid over to him looked rather pretty, he had to admit. The backs were a purple, starry field. In the center was a stylized sun, surrounded by a ring of heavily stylized animals. He could recognize a bird and a turtle, and the third looked vaguely like a dragon? Much more of a western-style dragon than an eastern one. Were they meant to represent the four heavenly beasts? Because the fourth one looked more like a fox than a tiger.

He picked up the deck and flipped it over, revealing the front of the cards. He thumbed through it, admiring the vibrant colors and the ethereal, watercolor-y feel of the images. Each image had this flow to it, drawing the eye exactly where it needed to go. Or, at least, that's how Joker felt.

A particular image caught his eye as he flipped through them. An individual in a pointed, birdlike mask, sporting black wings and a bestial lower half and carrying a sword. Crows circled around them, and a big white swan stood above, wings spread wide and its back facing the figure crouched on the ground.

"They're really pretty, aren't they?" the girl sitting at the counter commented. She leaned forward a bit to see which card he was lingering on, and let out a soft laugh. "Seven of Swords, huh? Well, the booklet does compare that one to a thief. So it'd make sense that you'd find it interesting."

She flashed him a cheeky grin as he huffed at her. The only reason you're getting away with that is because there's no one else around. He's supposed to be sneaky. It's hard to do that when everyone keeps outing your status as a Phantom Thief. He frowned as he kept flipping through the cards, mostly as an excuse to ignore her giggling. He stopped again on another card. Five of Pentacles. A figure sat hunched over in a corner, curled in on themself. Their face was hidden from view, their only companions a butterfly floating in front of them and a vaguely attentive lizard on another platform. The image gave off an uncomfortable feeling of loneliness, of isolation. Of losing something you can never truly get back.

He saw her lean forward to see what caught his attention this time. Before she could get a good look, he stacked the deck back together and slid it over to her, leaning over the counter and pulling up his phone. She couldn't speak sign, unfortunately, so he'd have to make due with note-passing.

"So, where do we start?" She glanced at the phone and smiled, picking up the deck and tapping it on the counter.

"Well, obviously, the first thing you do is shuffle all the cards." She slid the deck back towards him. "It's better if you have the person asking the question shuffle the cards. I guess it gives them a feel for the question-asker or something?"

Joker shrugged and picked up the deck again. He split the deck and tried to do that trick where you leaf the cards together. If you do it right, you should release the cards one at a time in turn, one from each side of the deck. Unfortunately for Joker, it did not turn out quite so neatly. It was more like a few chunks of cards came out at a time, smacking against the counter rather ungracefully. Arisato offered him a sympathetic smile.

"Yeah, I'm still not the greatest at shuffling them, either. But it's okay, just give it a couple tries to make sure it's shuffled enough for you."

His other attempts were not much more successful, but at least he was fairly sure the cards were properly mixed up at this point. He slid the deck back over to her. "Now what?"

"Now, there's a lot of different kinds of spreads you can use, depending on the question and what you want to know. Let's start with a really, really simple one: the single-card spread. You ask a question, then draw a card and see what turns up. It can be any question! Like... 'will I do well on the next exam,' or 'what should I do with my time today,' or 'what should I get my friend for their birthday?'"

Joker hummed thoughtfully, leaning his elbows against the counter as he stared at the deck. Any question, huh? Well... there were a million serious questions he could ask. The exam question was certainly very tempting, but he had a feeling that would be an obvious answer. "Study hard or perish."

A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth as a cheeky question flitted across his mind. He picked up his phone and typed it in. "Will I find love?"

Arisato smiled and gave him a nod. "Okay, that works! Now, since this one is easy enough, why don't you draw the card and set it down right here?"

She pointed next to the deck, so Joker dutifully drew a card from the top of the deck and laid it out on the counter in front of him.

And blinked.

It was the Lovers.

Arisato took one look at the card and burst out laughing. "Well, if that isn't the most succinct 'yes' I've ever seen!"

Joker's face felt hot as he sank against the counter. He wasn't expecting such a straightforward response. Honestly he'd been expecting something random, like that five of pentacles. Arisato continued to giggle at his expense for a moment. Once she regained some composure, she reached over and gently tapped the card.

"To be fair, the Lovers card represents more than just, well, lovers," she explained. "It represents a union—of hearts, minds, passions, stuff like that—but it also represents a choice. Pursuing a career versus pursuing love, something old versus something new, excitement versus routine, stuff like that." She flipped the card around towards herself, pursing her lips as she studied it. "It won't be an easy choice. You'll question your values and what you hold most dear. But in the end, you'll come to an understanding—of yourself or the other person, or maybe both. But it'll be an understanding nonetheless."

Joker watched her for a moment, noticing the distant, thoughtful look in her eye. For a moment, he forgot she was only a year older than him. He reached for his bangs and twirled a lock of hair between his fingers, pondering what to say next.

"You sound like you have some experience."

He slid the phone closer to her, sneaking it into her view to catch her attention. She jumped and blinked at the screen, before letting out a self-conscious chuckle.

"You could say that," she said. She glanced back at the card for a moment, sighed, and turned it back to face him. "Ann's the Lovers for you, isn't she? So you've probably already seen a little of it for yourself."

Joker grunted and played with his bangs again. True, he had spent some time getting to know Ann. And spending time with her did seem to involve her having to make some big choices. But... maybe it's just how Ann was, but the choices she made never really seemed too difficult for her. The decision to strengthen her heart never seemed to give her much trouble outside of practical concerns. It didn't seem like any sort of ethical dilemma, or something that made her question everything she thought she knew.

Then again, Ann never struck him as the type for long-winded introspection. Her intuition always seemed to serve as her guide, leading seamlessly from one idea to the next even as she jumped around between them. It was interesting to watch her thought process sometimes.

"So, what did you think of that?" Arisato's question brought him out of his thoughts. He tilted his head and gave her a curious look. "Of the reading, I mean. It was a really basic reading, but does how it works make sense?"

Joker nodded, leaning against the counter again and pulling the phone back towards him. "It seems straightforward enough."

"The larger spreads get more complicated and require a bit more thinking. The one and three card spreads are the easiest and most straightforward. Though most answers probably aren't going to be as blatant as that!"

Joker chuckled. "I wasn't expecting it to be, in all honesty. At least it wasn't something ominous, like Death."

Arisato hummed thoughtfully. "Well, Death in that context might be a little ominous, but not because it means someone is fated to die or something." Joker gave her another curious look and she continued. "Death isn't about dying, it's about transitions and change. While it signifies the end of one thing, it also signifies the beginning of something else. So, in the context of your question..." She trailed off as she thought, idly tapping the deck. "It might mean whatever relationship you're currently in is going to end, but it'll open you up to a new one. Or, you'll only find love after something else in your life ends. Like, maybe you'll have to wait until the end of the year, or until you graduate high school."

Joker sighed dramatically. "But I hate waiting!"

Arisato laughed. "So I've noticed." She shot a meaningful glance towards his bandaged neck. "I guess it's a good thing you didn't end up with the Death card then, huh?"

"Lovers sounds much more hopeful, anyway," Joker typed.

"It does." She gathered up her cards and shuffled the Lovers card back into the deck. "You can keep playing around with them if you want."

Joker shook his head. "I should get back to work. A customer could come in any moment, you know."

"That's true. I won't bother you, then. If you want another lesson, though, just give me a shout!"

Joker nodded, typing a quick thank you before he busied himself with cleaning out the coffee machines. That one lesson did give him a lot to think about, at the very least.

At the back of his mind, a voice whispered the formation of a new bond: an alternate Death arcana. Oh, this should prove to be very interesting indeed.

#!drabbles #💔 Confidant: Death-Rebirth (glass-half-fxxl)#!long post

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sprnklersplashes · 5 years

Text

dead swan walking

Cursed!CS smut (but not very detailed) set in an alternate season 7. Rogers refers to cursed OG Killian and Jenny refers to cursed Emma Swan.

AO3

“Swan!” Killian runs up beside her, his voice shaking and desperate, a far cry from the smooth talking, innuendo swinging man she met on the beanstalk. Back then she had raised eyebrows at him open arms and fought the urge to sigh when he slipped his hook around her arm and drew her close to check her cut hand.

She grabs that arm now and pulls it across her body, her eyes not once leaving the black clouds spreading across the still morning sky, taking over the red hue painted by the rising sun.

Red sky at morning, shepherd’s warning, isn’t that the expression?

Hope and Henry are deep in the forest, running to find the wardrobe to take them out of the curse. It’s only half-finished; Lady Tremaine’s curse came earlier than they could have anticipated and they’re working on an awful lot of hope, but it’s all they have. She wouldn’t have called her daughter Hope if she didn’t believe in it.

“You’re shaking,” she comments with an empty smirk. “Hope it’s not because of me.” He huffs a laugh and kisses the back of her head, pulling her tighter against his chest like he can ward the curse off her himself. Maybe he can, he’s done more for her in the past.

She turns around in his arms, harder than you’d think when he’s practically squeezing the air out of her, and tilts her chin up to look at him, green eyes meeting blue. She puts her hand on the side of his face, memorising the curve of his cheek, his long eyelashes and stupid elf ears she likes to make fun of.

“I love you.” It’s a formality at this point, but she says it anyway.

“I know,” he jokes weakly. He doesn’t even know what he’s quoting.

She wants to kiss him. She wants to pull those lips against hers and forget everything, but in about ninety seconds that’ll be her reality anyway. So instead she buries herself in his chest, familiarising herself with the beat of his heart and the curve of his chest and the way his hair feels between her fingers.

She crosses those fingers now, for luck. Everything relies on Henry and Hope getting to the wardrobe in time.

Sometimes she wishes she wasn’t such a damn realist.

“Buying over?” Jenny asks, her voice so high it’s a wonder it doesn’t shatter the glasses hanging overhead. Belfry raises a smug eyebrow at her, leaning back in her barstool and flicking her golden-brown hair back. Jenny clenches her fist and presses it into the counter in an attempt to expel her anger. “What do you mean… buying over.”

“I mean I’m buying your bar over,” she says, talking slowly as though she was a child. It takes every ounce of self-control Jenny has not to reach across the bar and smack the self-righteous smirk off her face. “I’ve liked this little spot you’ve bagged here and thought I could make something of it. More than you are.”

“You can’t do this,” she says in a low voice. “You can’t. I have the right to this business!”

“Yes, you do. What you don’t have the right to is the building. I do. Every building along this street is owned by me and I have the right to use them in any way I want. You rented this place from me, Miss Bird. And as of now I’m terminating your contract.” She takes another pristine page out of her bag and slides it over the bar. “Take a look.”

Jenny’s knees buckle as she reads it, black print standing out starkly and mocking her. Every word is the truth, no matter how unfair it is. Belfry goes on about how come Monday the place is hers and Jenny has the weekend to clear out all her things and find a new job, but its white noise to her. All she can hear is her thudding heart in her ears and the memories of past rejections and her parents’ sighs of disappointment.

“I’ll see you on Monday to exchange the keys,” Belfry tells her, boredom evident in her tone. She gets up but walks away slowly, savouring the moment, eyeing every corner of the little bar Jenny’s called her own since… she can’t even remember. “I think I’ll turn it into a take away place. A healthy one. All that falafel and salad malarkey my Anna’s been on really got me thinking.” She doesn’t turn back for a response. If she did, Jenny’s pretty sure it would have been ‘go to hell’. Instead she strides out, pushing the door open and leaving her alone. The overhead light flickers and the tap at the bar drips incessantly despite her best efforts. She guesses that’s not her problem any more.

The streets are deserted when she walks home. Of course they would be; it’s so early in the morning that even the Seattle club scene has died down. The only people insane enough to be up right now are the drunk and the hopeless. She’s the latter, despite the shots she did in the bar after Belfry left.

And she’s mad. Holy fuck is she mad. Mad at Belfry mostly, but also mad at the world. Belfry’s just a product of it. Doesn’t excuse her, of course it doesn’t, but she knows how the world works. They’re all built into the woodworks of the capitalist system and despite what they’re led to believe in grade school, her name is carved into the lower rung of the ladder and Belfry’s at the top. She’s not pleading poverty at least. But she’s not living like Belfry and her daughters are either. She sells bits to make ends meet and they buy shoes they’ll wear once. She decides which bills can wait; they decide which car to drive that morning. It’s not fair and she knows it, so she’s not crying over it, despite the droplets on her face.

She presses her fist into her hand, biting the inside of her cheek in a bid to dispel the anger inside of her. That bar is hers. Belfry owns the building but never cared once for it, not even after it fell into Jenny’s hands. She is the one who lay on her back, sweat on her skin and sawdust in her mouth, screwing countertops on and who broke her back carrying kegs and taps inside. She is the one whose eyes were burning at 2am because she was writing down what she needed and how much. She is the one whose shoulders were aching after she carried crates of drink into that building and whose arms trembled after she set them all out. She is the one who spent her budget on placards and drink menus and the stained glass window claiming the place as hers.

Belfry could break that in one movement. It’s legal after all.

She slams her fist into the wall, desperate to feel something and to blame the tears on something other than her own stupid problems. She cradles it in her hand, setting her options out in front of her. She can go home, chug a bottle of whiskey and sprawl out on her bed. She can keep wandering the streets for the next twelve hours as if something’s going to come out that’s going to turn her shitty situation around. She can go back to the bar and actually get a head start on clearing up-

A light above her catches her eye; standing outside an apartment block, she sees a light switched on in a window. And not just any window. The same window she was on the other side of a while back, answering questions for a certain detective, the silhouette of whom she can see now, pulling on a t-shirt, his hair no doubt dishevelled and unruly after him having to keep it neat all day.

Her tongue darts out to the corner of her mouth as she realises another option; spend these eight hours getting freaky.

In the blink of an eye she’s pulling herself up over the low wall that surrounds the apartment block and her feet land on the solid soil on the other side, scattered with short blades of grass. She crosses the garden in double quick time, partially to escape the cold Seattle air. She cranes her neck, frowning. He’s on the third floor. And it’s not as though she can walk in the front door and use the elevator.

She takes a step back, shaking out her cold hands. She’s probably a hair’s length away from insane, looking around to make sure no one can see her (as if anyone would be out this late) and takes a few steps back, shaking out her hands. Just like fifth grade gymnastics, right? She won the bronze for that.

His window is closed and locked, as any sane man’s would be. Behind the curtain, she sees his shadow freeze, the outline of his shoulders tense and in the midst of everything, she’s sorry for the scare she’s giving him. Almost sorry enough to stop. Not sorry enough not to snap off his window lock.

Normally she’d knock but she doesn’t have the time.

“Miss Bird?” he asks as she stumbles over his window frame and lands in an unladylike heap on his carpet. She’s never seen his room, or his flat before, and wasn’t quite sure what she was expecting. Maybe stark white walls and black carpet, matching the no-nonsense, dedicated detective the town knows. Not flower patterned wallpaper and green carpeting in any case.

The man himself is half-standing and clad in pyjamas caught between pushing her out the window himself or calling the cops. Which would be him, she guesses.

“Miss… Jenny?” he begins, his shaking voice betraying his authority. Jenny pulls herself to her feet, yanking on her shirt to straighten it and tossing her hair out of her eyes. “What are you doing in my room?”

“Shh, shh, shh, shut up!” she replies sharply, waving her hand wildly in front of him. It’s his face, his eyes wide and his mouth half-open, that makes her remember herself. She flips her hair over her shoulder and strolls towards him, the grace and poise remembered from her old days, just starting out as a bartender, sweet talking tips out of older gentlemen. “Had to see you. Thing is, I decided I must ride you ‘til I break you.”

“Oh,” he squeaks, his cheeks pink. “Any um… any particular reason?”

“Well,” she sighs. She bites her lip, his comfort far, far too tempting. She could collapse in his arms and sob her heart out and tell him everything if she were here for comfort. But she’s not. So she falls back on an old habit and closes that door in her mind, the one that makes her think she might matter to someone. “Belfry. She says me and my bar have to go which makes you-” She pokes his chest firmly. “My last meal on death row. Now shut your mouth and lose the pyjama pants.”

“Why me?”

“What?”

“You could have any guy in town,” he points out. “Any man you like. Why pick me out of all of them?”

Crap, she thinks. She could give any reason; he was awake, he was there, he was close. Instead, before she even knows what she’s doing, her hands are on his shoulders, her touch gentle, their foreheads a breath apart. She has no right to be as scared as she is. Her mouth has no right being as dry as it is.

“Because… because you’re beautiful,” she says after what feels like an eternity. “And I know you have that lone wolf cop type thing going on but I think it’s an act. And the world is stupid and unfair and you know that and I know that and I want to lock it out there and pretend it doesn’t exist. I want to pretend that it’s beautiful.” She shrugs off her jacket and tosses it to the side. Her next sentence is both a demand and a question. “Let’s make this beautiful.”

“That works for me.”

And that’s all she needs.

She throws him onto the bed and pounces on top of him, kissing him hard while tangling her fingers in his hair. She allows him to sit up just enough to take that t-shirt off so she can drag her nails down his back, hoping she leaves a mark. If that doesn’t manage it, the way she’s sucking on his neck most definitely will. She uses all of her old tricks, some she thought she’d forgotten, some she can’t even remember learning. She kisses his neck slowly and his lips fast, digs her nails into his hips and pinning his hands above his head, being sure to always hold a little back, leaving him smiling and panting and wanting and begging.

He’s not half-bad himself, despite what she believes is lack o experience. He’s more than happy to follow her lead and obey every instruction, slapping her when he’s told to and pulling her hair on command, but he’s not totally submissive to her. He kisses her breast, then her neck, then the underside of her jaw. Even when she guides his hand he surprises her, massaging the skin gently or trailing his fingers to make her shiver. She picked a good one.

“Think we can break your bed?” she whispers in his ear, feeling herself close to finishing. She’s a little disappointed if she’s honest. She wasn’t quite ready for this to end.

“Think you already did that to my mattress, love,” he says.

“Rock this girl, then,” she commands. “Hope you weren’t counting on sleeping tonight.” She grabs the headboard with one hand and him with the other, kissing him with everything she can, a jolt of heat flashing between their lips as he keeps his hips rolling beneath her. She gasps a little, something hot rolling down her cheek. Could be sweat and she tells herself it is, because she won’t be the woman who cries during sex. “Make this whole town disappear.”

“As you wish,” he says, gasping a little between the words. “Emma.”

A low moan she barely recognises escapes her lips, her body shuddering as the rolling of their bodies slows and nearly stops altogether. There’s a name on her lips that she can’t quite place, an image of wild dark hair and blue eyes.

She pushes herself off him and stares at the ceiling, breathless. Rogers lays beside her, his chest rising and falling rapidly. They sit in silence, or as much silence as they can allow, their bodies warm and sticky, her hair clinging to her shoulders. Common sense begins to come back to her, having taken its sweet time, and she flushes red, this time not from warmth or exertion.

“Wow,” he says after a while, his voice high. She doesn’t bother hiding her laugh as he coughs and tries to lower it. “That was….”

“Not bad,” she says.

“Is that my rating?” he teases. Even flat on her back, she can feel his smirk, normally hidden behind the mask of the strait laced detective with a too-big shirt.

“I don’t give ratings,” she tells him, daring to turn her head to look at him. “Whatever you might have heard.”

“I’ve heard nothing,” he replies. He swallows and bites his lip. A sarcastic remark enters her mind but he interrupts her before she can say it. “So Belfry…”

“I don’t want to talk about Belfry,” she says suddenly, looking back up at the ceiling. That’s what she came here for, to forget her, to forget everything.

“Indeed. Apologies.” She hums in acknowledgement, needing a change in conversation.

“Was that your first?”

“Jenny!” he squeaks. “Hardly an appropriate question.”

“What?” she laughs. “You’ll let a girl break into your house and ride you like a pony but you’ll draw the line at her asking about your sexual past.”

“Well it’s not a very sexual past,” he says. “Yes, Miss Bird, you were my first. Happy?”

“I’ll wear it like a badge of honour,” she promises. “But you know, for future reference most people don’t like being called a different name during sex.” She turns onto her side and finds him doing the same, frowning in puppy-like confusion. She raises an eyebrow. Not like she cares. Not like it meant anything. “Who’s Emma?”

“Emma?” he repeats. It’s a pretty name, and it sounds pretty with his voice. “I don’t know an Emma.”

“You clearly do,” she says. “I said ‘make this whole town disappear’. You said, ‘As you wish, Emma’.” She shrugs, her shoulder dragging against his mattress. “I’m not mad. Just curious. Who is she? An ex?”

“I have no idea,” he says softly. “I know I said it, but I’ve never met an Emma in my life.” She snorts and flips onto her back.

“You sound like my ex,” she says. “Exes. Never met an Emma, never met a Caroline, never met a Jennifer. You men are all the same.”

“I swear to you, love,” he says. “I have no idea who Emma is.”

He’s a good actor. Really good. His voice small and confused, his eyes moving around as he pretends to look through his mind, feigning innocence. It’s kind of cute, she guesses.

“I almost believe you,” she says. She presses her cheek further into the pillow, the adrenaline wearing off and the night catching up with her. “Now shut it, I’m tired and I need sleep.”

“As you wish.” She huffs a laughs as she closes her eyes, the weight of the blanket covering over her. “Jenny.”

#captain swan fic #emma swan #killian jones #ouat #captain swan #just so glad to have this fic DONE #its been in my wips for ages lol #also dead girl walking ayyyy

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sinsbymanka · 5 years

Text

The Viscount’s Muse (NSFW, Smut Ahoy)

Post DAI - Maria Cadash finds the Viscount’s smut and gets... inspired. This can also be found at AO3! Smut is under the cut. Thank you @tuffypelly for the inspiration!

“Sod it all.” Maria mumbled under her breath, collapsing in Varric’s desk chair. It groaned as if it too thought the situation hopeless.

“My lady?” The steward asked blandly, stopping his long recitation of matters needing her attention.

“Sorry, keep going.” She waved him on, glaring at her husband’s desk. “The Comte de Launcet wants what again?”

The steward continued his droning and Maria listened with only half an ear. Varric’s latest serial, The Murderous Magpie, had been more of a hit that anyone could have dreamed. His next Hard in Hightown, according to all the critics and a rabid fan base. Who couldn’t love a daring, rakish heroine from the streets framed for countless murders of mighty nobles by a shadowy faction with nefarious motives?

It was transparently based on Bea Cadash of course, but beyond their little circle, nobody else had made the connection. Bea herself actually picked up a copy, read the whole damn thing, then wrote a real honest-to-goodness letter critiquing it in detail. Maria herself usually got mere notes, laced with profanity, from Bea. A letter was nearly unheard of.

So, of course, both Varric’s editor and publisher were breathing down his damn neck for the next chapter. Because her husband, of course, didn’t have enough things spinning on his many plates. Ruling the city, managing both their affairs with the guild, raising their daughter, making sure the little operation trying to track Solas down at the Gallows didn’t collapse while Maria vanished into the crossroads for months…

She’d been gone too long the last time she left. Poor Varric must have been drowning in it all. She swallowed the thought guiltily and brushed aside the neat stacks of papers on his desk impatiently. She promised she’d read it before he sent it off but she couldn’t sodding find it. She was about ready to push it to tomorrow when she seized upon a neat stack of Varric’s handwritten notes in a drawer.

She lifted them triumphantly and let her eyes scan the page.

Mariele’s plump lips opened in greedy anticipation, silver eyes flashing dangerously beneath the black lace of her mask. Viktor already felt himself swelling to attention under her hungry, predatory gaze. She looked as if she’d swallow him whole. A lesser man would fall to her whims immediately…

Oh for the love of Andraste and all their bleeding ancestors, Varric must have finally given into Cassandra’s urging to write the next chapter of Swords and Shields. Set in Orlais, by the sound of it. Amused, Maria flipped to the next page.

Her nimble fingers undid his trousers before he could even protest and the bard dropped to her knees in a rustle of pale silk. The moonlight in the garden turned her skin to pearl and marble, turned her hair to flickering crimson flame. She released his heavy manhood into the night, wrapping slender fingers around it and letting her pink tongue dart out over those tempting, kiss swollen lips.

Viktor couldn’t help himself. He dropped his hand to the bare shoulders exposed by the wispy gown, traced his thumb up the pale, white scars accenting her silken skin.

“Mariele…” He shuddered under her expert fingers. “Sweet Andraste…”

“Oh,” The beautiful creature purred. “But I’m so much sweeter.”

Crimson hair. Silver eyes. Scars climbing up her shoulder. Mariele and Viktor. She wondered if she’d make it through the rest of the draft to find out Mariele only had one blighted arm after losing the other to freak elven magic shenanigans.

“My lady?” The steward asked, taking in her sudden, frozen posture. “Is everything quite alright?”

“Of course.” She answered mechanically. “Tell the Comte we can’t assist him at this time. Where is the Viscount at the moment?”

“Meeting with the shipbuilders guild, my lady. Then luncheon with some merchants from Antiva, contract negotiations with the city of Markham, and then you’ve both accepted an invitation to a dinner hosted by one of the Merchant Guild’s…”

Perfect. She’d been considering cheerfully murdering him, witnesses be damned, but a Merchant’s Guild dinner would be far, far worse than death. “We haven’t sent our regrets about not attending yet?”

“I believe your plan was to feign an emergency.” The steward remarked wryly. “Fire in the kitchens was next in your rotation of excuses.”

“We’ll save that for the next one. Please send a note to my husband stating we’ll be attending the guild dinner. I’ll meet him there.”

“Are… are you certain?” The steward asked, agog. Maria shuffled all the papers in the drawer into a neat stack and leaned back in Varric’s chair. She lifted her eyes to the steward and raised one eyebrow.

“Did I stutter?” She asked sweetly, the tone dripping honey and venom.

“No! No, ma’am.” He added, gulping nervously.

“And can you ask the Hawkes if they’ll keep my daughter for the evening? I think we’ll be returning late.” Maria lifted the first paper to her eyes in clear dismissal and watched with a rather large amount of amusement as the steward scuttled away.

Varric, Varric, Varric… she thought with no small degree of hidden fondness. If this had made it to his publisher, she’d shave his chest hair off herself, but deep down she knew it hadn’t. He’d been naughty, though. That wasn’t in doubt.

He’d missed her. So he’d written smutty literature starring them. She could already tell it was absolutely awful. And glorious. She couldn’t wait to tell Cass.

At first, Varric thought his wife had been kidnapped and the note sent under duress. After all, the only person who hated guild dinners as much as he did had to be Maria. After he’d managed to ascertain that, yes, she did indeed order the steward to send it, he’d assumed it was a joke.

Until he went searching for her and saw his finery laid out neatly on the bedspread, a command if he ever saw one. After that, he desperately tried to track her down, but as usual if Maria didn’t want to be found, nobody could find her. The only one who could, their precocious daughter, had already been shuffled to Hawke’s to spend the night. That, of course, meant Maria was indeed deadly serious about attending the guild dinner.

With absolutely no other explanation offered, of course, because she was the most maddening woman he’d ever met.

He took his time making it over to the quarter, showing up rather later than fashionable. Shocked, skeptical expressions latched onto him as soon as he entered the hall. Followed, immediately, by a bronto’s charge of dwarves in his direction. Complaints. Flattery. Threats. Varric reached for a glass of wine, immediately wished it was something stronger. He was going to absolutely murder Maria for putting him through this. Particularly since she was nowhere to be found. Clearly, she needed a distraction for something and decided this was the best one she could offer up.

“The price of parchment is outrageous!” A dwarf growled, spittle catching at his beard as he worked himself into a proper frothing rage. “The tariffs at the harbor are bleeding us all dry. If you can’t allow free trade, I’ll…”

“Surely the young mistress is getting a bit old to be unbetrothed.” A woman with elaborate, heavy braids sighed. “It isn’t good for a girl’s reputation to…”

Their Sunshine was barely five and not for sale regardless. For the love of…

“There you are.”

Oh thank fucking Andraste. Maria’s good arm slipped into the crook of his easily, her lips curved up in wicked, sinful amusement. “Having fun?” She asked, far too sweetly.

He shot her a pained glare even as her mere presence caused everyone to wisely take one step back. Despite the elegant gown and the pretty braids in her hair, Maria’s every move screamed lethal grace. No guild seat or crown could ever quite make her reputable in the eyes of the very worst of Kirkwall.

And tonight, apparently, Maria had no plans for appearing even slightly respectable. Her gown was nearly the same color as her hair, blazing ruby red among the dull, drab colors of the guild. It dipped scandalously low, displaying her cleavage with delicious perfection. The thin straps fell off her slender shoulders in wisps of chiffon. The silk bodice curved and clung to her wicked figure like a glove.

Varric’s mouth went dry as he took her in and he nearly forgot how annoyed he was. Nearly.

He dropped his lips to her ear and bit back the smug satsifaction at the nearly imperceptible shiver his breath sent through her. “This is not my idea of a good time, Princess.”

She laughed, low and soft, the ripples sending heat right into his belly. “Come dance with me then.” She challenged, tossing her head back proudly.

Anything to get away from this crowd of vultures, besides, he never could tell her no. “As my lady demands.” He smoothly slipped his other arm around her waist, admiring the way the silk warmed with the heat of her skin underneath it. The crowd around them parted with muttered, muted disappointment pierced with disapproving glares.

The ballroom floor itself was full of nothing but awkward, gawking teenagers. After all, dancing was for the young. And humans, of course. Certainly not for respected members of the guild and their stolid, unimpressed wives. The ones Maria outshone without any effort.

The youths scattered before them, ducklings before swans. Varric took Maria’s hand and stepped back, bowed over it, then placed a searing kiss on the back of her palm. Because he wanted to, (dammit he never could resist that red dress) he pressed another even more desperate one on her fingertips.

Her lips tipped up, amused in spite of herself, and then she slipped into the space between his arms like she was meant to be there, like it was made only for her. Her hand rested lightly within his and she pressed her delectable breasts against the silk of his tunic. “There’s a disappointing number of buttons done up on this shirt, Varric.” She whined quietly.

“Hey, you picked it. Thought you were trying to tell me to show some decorum.”

“Never.” She sighed happily. “How can I possibly flaunt you when you’re hiding your best assets?”

He chuckled, squeezed her fingers within his and dropped his voice low. “For fucks sake, Maria, why are we here?”

“We were invited.” She replied, gray eyes widening innocently in her face. “Ages ago, remember?”

“I tend to block out those invitations. Makes them easier to ignore.” Varric’s fingers traced the stiff boning of the gown at the flare of her waist. “You’re not going native on me, are you?”

“Dressed like this?” Maria asked, laughing as Varric spun her under his arm. He caught her securely and she pressed even more firmly against him, a predatory smile dancing on her lips. “The Guild wouldn’t even know what to do with me.”

They never did. Fools, every single one of them. “You were awfully late arriving. Suspiciously late.” He pointed out.

“I was on time, actually.” She purred, delighted with herself. “You were the late one, serah. I took advantage of your appearance to extricate myself from a rather lascivious Master Dace and explore all the hidden little nooks and crannies in the garden.”

He groaned and dropped his face into the coiled braids framing her face. She smelled like honey, cloves, cinnamon. A unique and beguiling scent that clung to her no matter what. “So you sacrificed me to snoop around for something.”

“In a manner of speaking.” She agreed, nuzzling into his neck, her breath warm against his jaw. “I read something very interesting today and this was the only way to get to the bottom of it while ensuring the guilty party squirmed a little.”

“Nobody’s listening, Princess.” He chuckled and jabbed his chin at the empty dance floor and the disapproving crowd miles away. “Don’t spare the salacious details. I demand to be entertained if I’ve got to be shoved into this bucket of rats.”

Maria hummed lightly under her breath, her smile wicked and sharp as diamonds out of the corner of his eye. The music stopped, but he tugged her more tightly to his form and waited for the next song to strum up. As soon as it, Maria lifted her lips to his ear. “I’ll try to remember what I read. You’ll have to make allowances if it’s not verbatim. It got me rather… hot under the collar.”

Was it his imagination, or was there a slight, breathy undertone to that statement? It of course could mean that she’d been furious by whatever she’d discovered, some nasty little guild secret. Maria’s temper meant there was a pretty good chance he’d be needing to have blood cleaned up off of some surface…

But when she purred the words, he pictured a rather different kind of heat. One well suited to the red dress she wore.

“I was in the study upstairs.” Maria recounted quietly, little puffs of air against his overheated skin. “Looking for that next chapter of your serial, the one that definitely isn’t based on my sister. I never did find it.”

“That’s because it’s on the desk in the library.” He supplied less than helpfully.

“Good to know.” She laughed. “Instead… well, I’ll just tell you what I found at your desk.”

He made a mental note that he needed to remind the messengers, again, that guild correspondence went right into the rubbish bin. “All ears, Princess.”

“Let me think…” Maria trailed off, her thumb lightly tracing his palm as they glided smoothly, thoughtlessly, together. Easily in tune with each other, just the way they always were. “It started…”

He waited, eager and amused at her drawing it out. It had to be damn good if she was taking such care to tell the story.

His amusement vanished almost instantly as the words began to pour from her lips, hot and filthy in her sultry, smoky voice.

“Mariele had many a man in her time as a bard, surely. A woman of her exquisite beauty didn’t lack for lovers on cold, lonely nights. But Viktor was no fumbling knight. It had been years since he left his sinful, boisterous exploits behind him, but his deft, practiced fingers remembered exactly how to turn a beautiful woman into a puddle of pure, uncomplicated need…”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

“Forget the steps, Varric?” His wife teased dangerously as Varric very nearly stumbled to a stop in the middle of their dance. She took over leading, eyes sparkling with danger. “Your sinful, boisterous exploits a thing of the past?”

He was a dead man walking. She’d brought him here to torture him before she shot him. Probably with his own crossbow. “I can explain.” He protested weakly.

“I’m not done.” Maria’s imperious voice brooked no argument. “I forget the next part. But I clearly remember this bit…”

He groaned, tried to beg her to stop, but she didn’t heed him at all. “Viktor nearly forgot what it felt like to have a nubile young lady on her knees, but Mariele could hardly be called a lady, particularly with his steel between her perfect, plump lips. ‘Is this what you wanted?’ Viktor asked, twisting his fingers in the crimson braids she wore. The only answer was Mariele’s pleased, throaty moan…”

Maria twitched her hips to the side threateningly and Varric pressed hard up against her to hide the effect her words were having on his own cock. His filth spilling from her lips was… sweet Maker, he hadn’t known he could want her more than he usually did. “Maria…”

“My favorite part went…” Maria paused and brought her lips closer to his ear until he could feel their feather light touch as she whispered. “Viktor ripped the delicate silk covering her glistening mound, too crazed by her teasing grin and wicked silver eyes to do anything but plunge his sword into her snug sheathe and…”

His breath whooshed out, leaving him dizzy. His hands dug into the silk covering her hips and he struggled to think past the liquid arousal running through his blood. “How dead am I?” He asked weakly. He could feel her wicked grin against his neck.

“What happened to no kissing and telling, Varric?” She asked lightly. “Does Cassandra really need to know about the birthmark on my…”

“Fuck, it wasn’t for…” Varric couldn’t think. Her perfume was too heady, her eyes sparking, mouth curled up dangerously just the way he loved best, and he couldn’t stop thinking about his cock in her mouth, her warm wet heat…

“It was just for you?” Maria’s words sent shivers up his spine and she untangled her hand from his to twist her fingers through his loose hair. “Your dirty little secret when I’m gone? Dreaming up what Mariele and Viktor get up to in elaborate Orlesian gardens…”

“Yes.” He confessed as she rolled shamelessly against him. He could barely hear the music over the pure, screeching need thrumming in his veins. He missed her, Maker he missed her when she was gone. All he could do was spill out the things he wanted to do to her while he waited for her to come back and warm his heart, share their bed, send his entire life into chaos and…

She pulled away and beamed into his face, flushing prettily pink under her freckles. She traced her fingers from his neck, over his jaw, down his chest and hummed thoughtfully under her breath while her eyes sparkled with mirth and…

Lust. An inferno of roaring lust.

Maybe she’d kill him, but it would be the best kind of death.

She twisted her fingers with his again and turned, hiding his bulging cock strategically with her skirts while she dragged him off the wooden dance floor. Varric chuckled breathlessly as he followed her right through the crowd. Several guild members attempted to approach, but thought better of it as the Viscount and his wife slipped into the evening air of the gardens. He couldn’t see her face, but he’d seen Maria march into enough battles to know exactly what it looked like.

He wouldn’t get in her damn way either when she was a woman with one thing on her mind.

Thank the damn Maker that one thing was him.

She shoved him into a dark nook, one she’d clearly scoped out for this purpose alone. It was hidden by a tall hedge and the soaring walls of the mansion behind them. As soon as the shadows enveloped them, Varric reached for her like a man starving, pressed her hard against the stones looming above them. “Minx.” He growled against her lips. “You’re a menace, Maria. You brought me here just to…”

She brought her one arm up to her generous bosom and pulled something from the bodice, something dark and…

Lace. A lace mask just like the one in his filthy smut. Varric’s cock doubled in size and he reached out with unsteady fingers to pluck it from hers. Her grin was as smug and self-satisfied as a cat who’d eaten a canary, but his imagination was already on fire. “Turn around, baby.” He directed softly.

“Is Viktor rather bossy, then?” She asked, but she turned and he gently fit the mask over her eyes, tying it with a simple knot over her braids. He dropped his hand to gently run his knuckles down the line of her neck, lower over the dip of her spine. He dropped his mouth to kiss down her right shoulder, tracing the scars that were left there, the remaining marks of the anchor that nearly…

Nearly, he reminded himself. But she survived, she was here, and she was warm, willing, pliant under his large hands when they settled over her waist. She tipped her head to the side to look over her shoulder at him, silver eyes shining in the moonlight, framed to the best effect by the black lace just like he knew they would be.

She fluttered her lashes, the perfect imitation of an Orlesian coquette, and smoothly turned, dropping to her knees in one sinuous motion. His stomach knotted itself as her fingers reached to undo his laces with one efficient tug.

“And what information am I trying to seduce out of you, my lord?” She asked in an almost flawless Orlesian accent, ruined only by the hint of her reckless laugh under the surface. “I couldn’t quite glean…”

“I’ve got to admit, Princess.” He saw stars, fought to keep his voice even, as her nimble fingers circled his cock. “The plot was secondary.”

“Oh really?” She stroked him with her one hand, nothing but a light, teasing touch. “You know, some people read for the plot and skip these steamy scenes.”

Those people must not have a damn pulse, but before he could retort, her lips opened and the sheer anticipation made him groan, thoughts fleeing as his mind was erased by warm, wet, sweet, sweet bliss and…

“Shit.” He swore, one hand steadying himself on the stone above her, the other twisting in her elaborate braids. He watched her mouth stretch around his girth obscenely, her eyes flicking from the task at hand to meet his and hold them as she worked to take his cock into her mouth inch by torturously slow inch.

The sight alone was almost enough to make him cum. He ran his thumb over her cheek, voice unsteady, praise falling from it effortlessly. “You’re so beautiful. I love my cock in your mouth, baby. Sweet Andraste, Maria…”

She laughed, a little bubble of it that brought something warm and bright to life in his chest. She pulled back, cock slipping from her swollen lips, eyes wicked and teasing. “She may be sweet.” She answered pertly. “But I’m sweeter.”

His cheesy line from his smutty story. He laughed as well, but it tapered off into another long moan as she resumed her work. She slid him almost to the hilt inside her mouth, fingers wrapping around the last inch or so she couldn’t quite fit, slicking him with her saliva as she began to bob her head.

“Maker I miss this when you’re away.” He continued, watching with worshipful zeal as she licked and sucked. His voice trembled with lust and awe. “It’s all I can think about at night. All I want. It isn’t enough to imagine your lips around me, isn’t enough to think of warm and wet your sweet cunt gets…”

She moaned around his length and the vibrations had him seeing stars. He curled his hand against the stone into a fist and watched her, the great rise and fall of her chest, her shining eyes on his framed by the sexy black lace. She sucked eagerly and his heart thumped unsteadily, liquid heat pooling in his groin. He tugged gently at her braids. “I want you. I want all of you, Maria baby please…”

The wicked glint in her eyes resurfaced and she hummed around his length. Varric’s hips bucked in spite of himself and he tried, valiantly, to fight the urge to do it again and again until he spilled down her throat. She was ruthlessly driving him insane, playing into his fantasies, his desires, and he couldn’t…

She squirmed, shifting on her knees, and Varric knew she had to be as affected as he was, knew she had to be as needy and desperate. Perhaps more, in fact, since she’d been planning this little encounter all damn day without his knowledge. If Varric thought this would happen every time they came to one of these dinners…

“Did you touch yourself?” He asked in a low growl. “Reading all that smut, knowing how bad I wanted you, what I wanted to do to you? How hot under the collar did it make you, Princess?”

He could just picture her on their bed, legs spread, ass in the air and fingers dancing between her legs while she brought herself off to his words.

She pulled off of him with an obscene plop, her lips shimmering with saliva, his cock shining the same way. She smirked up at him, that crooked little smile that belonged only to him. “Maybe a little.”

Too far gone to be gentle, he grabbed her by the upper arms and hauled her to her feet, shoving her roughly back against the hard stone. Her fingers grabbed for the fasteners of his tunic, undoing them, sending at least one of them snapping, a button falling to the ground as she whimpered, his mouth devouring hers. She nipped his lip in sweet revenge and he began to pull up her skirts, rucking them around her hips and lifting her by her spread thighs.

“Yes.” She keened, nails gouging his shoulder as she arched her back, pressing the creamy tops of her breasts to his greedy mouth. He wanted them out of the bodice, wanted her naked and in their bed begging for him as a fair turnabout for this little trick, but first…

First, he was going to fuck her thoroughly against this wall.

His fingers felt the sopping wet lace of her smalls and tore through them in a moment, the shredded fabric falling in pieces to the grass. She laughed again, but he captured it with his mouth and her arm twisted around his neck, holding him to her as he thrust smoothly inside her.

Her cunt clenched down on him, muscles rippling with his sudden entrance, but her thighs curved around his waist, scrabbling for purchase, the hard heels of her boots urging him on as they pressed against the small of his back.

“Tease.” He growled, moving from her lips to nip lightly at her exposed throat as he started a bruising pace, making sure to thrust right into the spot he knew she loved so much. “Wanton little…”

“You love it.” She bit the lobe of his ear. “And you deserve it. Writing that terrible, amazing smutty…”

One particularly brutal thrust made her words drop away into a pure, animal moan of need, one that changed into his name as he tightened his grip on her ass. “Strong criticism from someone who wanted to reenact it.”

She giggled, caught out, pressing an almost sugary kiss to his jaw. “I had a thing for Viktor.”

Be still his heart. This woman. This amazing, wonderful, insane woman of his. He captured her lips with his own again, tenderly this time, even as his furious pace continued and Maria shuddered in his arms, muscles tightening, body going rigid.

“Wait.” He muttered against her lips, liquid heat pooling in his spine. “Wait, baby. Wait for me, please Maria…”

“Varric…” She half sobbed his name in desperation, but that was all it took. His movements became stiff, wooden, his cock swelling inside her. This tipped her over the edge and she half wailed her approval, milking him of his seed and burying her head into his shoulders, trembling against him. He thrust deep one final time and pressed his lips against her temple, mind going hazy at the edges as he spent inside her welcoming body.

He lowered Maria back to the ground, both of them leaning against each other, too drained to stand. The garden was quiet. No sound but their ragged breathing. Varric wondered exactly how many of the Merchant’s Guild illustrious members had heard them. At least, he thought smugly, it had been a fine performance.

And since they’d made a brief appearance at an event, they were free and clear of the guild for months.

“Do you think they’ll finally kick us both out?” Maria asked quietly with a satisfied giggle.

Varric huffed weakly in return. “Doubtful. They’d never risk making us so damn happy. Poor Sunshine’s gonna inherit both those seats and spend the rest of her days cursing us both.”

Varric bent to retrieve the scraps of lace on the ground, but she stopped him. “Don’t.” She ordered, eyes shimmering with mischief. “Leave them. I want to hear about their reaction tomorrow.”

He laughed and settled on doing his trousers back up while she leaned against him, unsteady as a drunk. He kissed her forehead sweetly and wrapped his arm around her waist.

“I unlocked the gate back here.” Maria snuggled into his shoulder. “And I told the kitchen staff to leave the side entrance open.”

“You think of everything.” Varric murmured, smoothing her gown back over her hips.

“Not everything.” Maria smirked in the moonlight, rightfully smug. “This was, after all, your idea.”

Varric softened, pulling her tightly to his side as they wandered down the pristine garden paths in the darkness. “But you, as always, are my muse.”

#varric tethras #varric romance #inquisitor x varric #inquisitor cadash #cadash x varric #non-canon romance #shameless smut #fluffy as hell #dragon age inquisition #dragon age #post dai #post trespasser #cadash is a bit of an exhibitionist #varric digs it #varric and maria keep trying to get kicked out of the merchant's guild #the merchant's guild sucks

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forgotten-golden-curl-goddess · 5 years

Text

A Fowl Masquerade

"For the last time, you WILL be attending my charity event, even if it means I have to part from my guest in two to five minute introverts to see the whites of your eyes Artemis!" A frustrated Angeline told her son as she threw the suit on his bed. He picked up the blue and black incrested raven's mask hanging off the hanger, examining it.

"Mother, I cant even danc-" his words cut off by the slam of the large bedroom doors. Even as an adult, I am treated as a child. He thought. Of course, not attending would disappoint his mother and so the idea of skipping out was not an option. She had only been talking about her Winter Masquerade Ball for months now, tediously planning everyone's outfits down to the Butler's. If it makes her happy he continued to think as he put on the suit. It was a dashing suit of black and dark blue feathers and silk embellishments. He looked in the mirror and couldn't help but like the daring suit. He couldn't help but appreciate the concept on the masquerade party. At least the mask will hide his true expressions, as if he showed any. He straighten the feathers and headed to the ballroom, meeting Butler, whom had a plan black eye mask and a grey and black suit.

"A presume you to be a raccoon." Artemis began small talk with the bodyguard, eyeing his mother, the elegant dove, from the other side of the ballroom. Her and Artemis Sr. where greeting guest, Sr. Being an Heron.

"Do you like it?" asked Butler, pushing away the hands of a red squirrel's from the champagne table. Juliet, the peacock, came over and escorted Beckett away from the table followed by Myles whom was dressed as a grey squirrel. Even with his furry grey mask Artemis could tell his younger brother wanted no part of this event as well. He gave his brother a sympathetic smile as he watched the group disperse into the crowd of people.

"You look nice." Artemis stated to Butler. "You may be able to rummage threw the trash without being detected."

"Dont be so sour Artemis, you look nice as well. There might be a pretty bird for you to dance with." The bodyguard joked.

"Of all people, you know I do not dance." Artemis scowled, continuing to be sour.

"Have some champagne then. It's believed have properties of liquid confidence." Bulter chimed, handing his young charge a glass. "The least it will do is loosen you up." reluctantly, Artemis took the champagne, downing it like a frat boy at his first house party. He needed something to allow him to be social, as if he intended to socialize.

"That will be all, thank you old friend." Artemis stated to his bodyguard, still eyeing the ballroom. The people where dancing to the band of violins, harps and the grand piano. Of all the costumes, one in particular caught his eye. She was a cardinal. Her dress went to her knees in the front, in the back there was a train of red feathers with black tips that barely touched the floor. The cardinal had a sweetheart neckline and black stilettos, and to top it all a feathery black eye mask, her hair pinned up with red feathers. The remaining blonde curls framed her face, swaying as she walked to the champagne table.

"You should dance with the cardinal before the toad does." Butler whispered to Artemis, handing him another glass. Both men where watching a green dressed redhead whom had just been slapped by an swan, making his way to the majestic cardinal, whom was sipping her champagne. The raven downed another glass of liquid confidence and hurried to the cardinals side almost tempted to take another before bumping into the table, the two glasses he already had beginning to make his body warm. Before the toad could make a bigger fool of himself, the raven took the cardinal by her hand and brought her to the ballroom floor, awkwardly hovering one hand on her hip, the other clammy in her hand. He was appearing to look like the fool now as the toad laughed at his technique from the champagne table, only silencing himself after hearing the loud nuckle crack from the rather large raccoon. The cardinal herself giggled at the raven as she adjusted his stance and secretly guided him to the music. The raven picked up quickly her footwork of a simple 1, 2, 3 pattern and began to move with the cardinal to the rhythm of the band. It seemed as if no one was watching the two birds as they danced fiercely, the raven began go spin the cardinal around, bringing her close, dipping her to the floor and back up. His hand now firm on her back had the cardinal so close he could smell her perfume.

"Thank you for the help." He whispered into the cardinals ear, swaying her back and forth, the music dieing down for the next song. Suddenly, the raven felt a light tap on his shoulder. Frustrated about the interruption he turned quickly to comment only to be looking at the heron, smiling with glee.

"The dove has requested a dance, if I may take the cardinal from you." His father said, opening his hand for the cardinal to take. Artemis smiled as he allowed his father to steal away his partner and went looking for the dove. Turning back he caught the cardinal mouth to him. "Sauve-moi la dernière danse." which actually made him smile. After grabbing another glass of champagne, the raven met up with the dove, whom was in mid conversation with the toad. Catching the raven's eye she hurried to him in an embrace.

"Oh Arty, thank you for coming when you did. Come now, dance with your mum." She led Artemis to the center if the ballroom with delight as they began to dance.

"I am so proud of you Arty, you can dance! Considering you have been dancing with that cardinal all night. I'm beginning to believe you have been lying to me this whole time." Angeline said to her son as he spun her around.

"I'm simply pick up on the activity tonight mother. Dont worry, by morning I will have forgotten my dancing shoes and be back with my left feet." Artemis stated, keeping an eye on the cardinal as she moved from left to right with the heron.

"Ashame, I was hoping to host another event on the lines of a Mother and Son formal. She's a pretty bird isn't she?" Artemis smiled nervously, embarrassed he was caught admiring the cardinal dressed lady.

"Yes mother, she is." He replied simply

"The song is almost over anyways. I'm going to steal my husband away and since you stayed for the whole event, I'll take off my birds eye view so you can spend time with your cardinal again." The raven smiled, releasing the dove.

"Thank you mother." He murmured, giving her a hug before heading to the doorway that lead to the gardens. While waiting for the cardinal, he noticed the toad, sleeping in one of the chairs that lined the wall. Across the ballroom the cardinal was walking to him, overcoat in her arms with a shy smile on her face. She slipped on the red and black coat and took his arm as he lead her to the empty garden. Under the stars, he took is position, holding her similar to the way she showed him before, the cold air a welcoming excuse to hold her tighter.

"To continue with our conversation, you didn't need much help. You are a natural." She whispered in his ear sending chills down his spin.

"You are too modest." He whispered back, spinning her around and pressing her back to his front, holding and swaying with her. "You are indeed an excellent teacher." His fingers tracing up her body, grazing her neck and removing the mask from her face. He spun her around again to look into her eyes.

"Is that so, Artemis." Minerva replied back, gently taking off his mask, her fingers lingering on the side of his face.

"Absolutely." He said quietly, taking her hand and kissing it lightly. "I knew it was you the whole time. I'm just glad the toad didn't get to you first." She laughed

"I'm sure I would of reacted like the swan. How touching of you to think of his dignity by sweeping me away without even asking for a dance." She stared at him daring him to say something smart back. He brought her face to his and grinned.

"A raven doesn't ask, they protect what belongs to them." And before she could say another word his lips pressed her, the heat rushing to her face as she melted into him. Her kisses where long and sweet as he danced along the tip of her tongue, moving his mouth down her neck and back up behind her ear, meeting back at her soft lips and he moved both hands down her body. The fireworks sparked high in the air to end the party, not distracting the two love birds in there hot make-out under the stars. He finally pull from her lips, not ready for there sensation to end. She breathed deeply, inhaling and exhaling rapidly as he played with a stray curl.

"You could stay for an after party?" Artemis suggested to a speechless Minerva, whom had already untied his tie and was toying with the buttons by his neck. She nodded with a huge grin, allowing him to guide her to his quarters, there event, just now beginning.

@arrowsanonymous @fowlbyname45 A masquerade story, just as I promised. Thank you for your endless support.

#artemis fowl #minerva paradizo #masqueradeball #angeline fowl #juliet butler #domovoi butler #fowl twins #mintemis

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alias-b · 5 years

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Without The Lights~ Billy Hargrove x OC Camille Harper

Chapter 9: Running Up That Hill

A/N: The Party delves into the past. New adventure to pick up! New arcs to come :D It's fun to work on Billy's arc of doing better while still keeping that possessive bad boy edge. He can be soft tho ((Major explicit sexual content & dirty talk also starting here on))

“See you later tonight, Max,” Camille watched her race toward the Wheeler house. Usual meeting spot. Billy took Camille home and dropped his coat over a chair. Took his shoes off before she could wag her finger about it. “I’m starving. I think we have pancake mix. Taught myself to flip them like a pro.”

“Of course you did.” He watched her go around the island counter and leaned there. Camille dug into a cupboard and felt his eyes on her back. Goosebumps rose.

“You’ve been quiet.”

“Since last night or in general?”

“Both.” She pointed. “Grab a bowl for me, will you?” Billy helped her idly while she distracted herself. “You cook?”

“Mom left and dad checked out. Kind of had to learn.” He replied, eyes elsewhere. She gave a nod, measuring mix out for the bowl.

“Did we go too far last night?” Camille said then. Been awhile since she got into such heavy petting. He licked his lips and debated the correct answer. If there even was one.

“Trying to figure that out.” He shrugged, changed the subject because he knew he wanted to go farther deep down. “Are all these new copy cat skills… Don’t they hurt you?”

“Not as bad as the moving things. Not as bad as all the other hurt I've endured. Kind of like ripping a band-aid.” She beckoned for a spoon to stir with and Billy inhaled sharply as it moved on its own. “It varies. Big things. Little things. Since I got off that medication, it’s better. Sometimes I think I get the shakes from the withdrawals, I hope those fade. Dancing helps. Working out. Stimulation. I didn’t go out for gymnastics this year but I picked up ballet again and yoga. Cools me off. I think I'm just taking things as they come and they're...coming in fast.” Didn't he fucking know it. Billy bit his tongue, shrugging.

“I want to see it.” He decided.

“See what?”

“Haven’t seen you dance and I have to see to believe.” Billy was sly now. “After breakfast. I want a show. Help you cool off.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do, Hargrove.”

“We have time. More interesting than TV.”

“Gawk at the freak, huh.” She laughed, setting him at ease before pouring batter into a pan.

“Come on, Harpy, you need an audience. I consider myself a professional.”

“Fine. No tutu.”

“Oh, Camille, it’s a show. We do it right. You're putting a tutu on for me. A pink one.” His tone was deliberate, rousing sparks under her skin.

“You getting off on this, Billy?”

“Certainly debating it.” That instant reply stilled her. “Speaking of, you owe me a reading of Tommy H’s letter.”

“I’ll get you that sometime when you earn a reading. The dance is a big maybe.”

“I love maybe, it’s halfway to yes.” That cocky smile crossed his face. Made him twice as insufferable.

“That’s the most positive thing I’ve ever heard you say,” Camille turned to flip a pancake. Face bright and smug.

“Showoff.” Billy watched her wink at him. "Dance for me."

“Say please, beach boy.” She shrugged, turning to the stove. He was behind her in an instant, lips touched her ear.

“Please, Camille.” His mouth grazed her skin, body pressed flush into her own when hands came to her arms. That tone lowered, beckoning her down to his level. Beckoning each ticking second to make her just a little bit more his. “You did owe me a thousand favors, I’m collecting all at once. I said that I would. I want to see Camille Harper dance. Just for me.”

“Fine,” her eyes rolled, teeth sinking into her bottom lip. “Finish breakfast for me. Don’t burn them. I gotta dig some stuff out.”

Billy’s full grin was answer enough

** ** **

“I really let you talk me into this,” Camille droned, tying a pink wrap shirt over her outfit. She decided to leave her hair down.

“And the skirt also. Don't be shy now,” Billy was enjoying this too much. They shifted workout items aside in the room before she grasped a bar to stretch. Camille caught him watching in the mirror and gave an annoyed hum. A pale tulle skirt slipped up her hips so he was pleased. “Copycat, do you even need to warm up?”

“No, but it’s good practice and sportsmanship.” She turned, eyeing him. “Well, hit the music. No laughing.” Billy shook his head, pressed a button, and fell back into a cushioned chair.

“You know, I enjoy gymnastics more. Rougher.” Camille assumed the first position while a soft tune swelled, body already lost in that flawless muscle memory. Something from Swan Lake billowed out. “Always worry too much about my feet with this.” Billy watched her come to her toes, body swaying and hands graceful. Like something else took control. It overcame her utterly.

“Can’t watch it.” He winced, hand up to his eyes.

“Hey, no, you said…” Camille broke with amusement and came up again when he relaxed to see her. “Better. Eyes front.” Arms lifted. Neck craning back while her spine curved.

"Gladly." Billy mused. Toes came to a point in her ballet shoes and he was overcome with her. Leg lifted to spin with each floating note. Camille took up more space, made it belong to her alone. She commanded the attention with her body alone.

“Nancy and I met in ballet classes. God, we were so young.” Her remark drew silence. Swaying, she moved like a swan gliding against cool water. Body luring him somehow. Teasing. Charged. She'd smiled to herself, a free teen lost in the fun of it all. Her knack for collecting skills and hobbies. Stimulation. Billy decided then to find her. “How am I doing?”

“Fine.” He was barely audible. Transfixed on her body. Tempted. Blue eyes didn’t dare to blink. Camille turned her back to him, slipping and spinning along. Losing herself in full. Billy came to his feet then took a few silent steps when she closed her eyes. For a moment, he couldn’t bare to touch something so beautiful. Captivated, he lifted one hand to touch hers when it came down as she'd curved. Camille sighed into him this time. She swayed back into his chest, guiding his other hand up her hip. Billy came closer in response, lips nearing the back of her neck. Fingers grazed over her body, palms smoothing until a shiver ran her spine. She opened her eyes to watch him touch her in the mirror. Billy just explored heated flesh, eyes closed now with a peaceful expression. He felt her heart pick up, hand inching over her breast to press where it beat so hard.

“Billy?” She hushed and he hummed in response, enthralled. Took a beat to find his voice, breath touched her jaw.

“I want to try something.” Lips grazed her ear. It was easy now. The way he used Camille's own burning words against her to make her fall. And how she tumbled far with him. A smile ghosted her expression. Camille touched his hair, fingers sliding behind his neck to encourage him until he was kissing her skin. Her head tipped to meet him, turning around until arms slid over his shoulders. Billy opened his eyes at the same time she kissed him.

“Consume me,” Camille uttered, stealing what breath he still had. Billy swept her from the floor, shuddering while her mouth worked up his neck. Determined, he brought her up the stairs like it was nothing. Her bedroom door was kicked open and she fell against plush covers and pillows after he pushed her down there. Eyes bordered on the possessive. Billy watched her shift in her little outfit against the bed, splayed with beautiful locks framed around her head.

"Pretty as a picture, aren't you?" He touched his thumbs together, pointer fingers lifting like he a a director seeking the perfect shot of her. He found it. Billy crawled over her, hands taking her face to see her eyes. She gripped his wrists, gaze flickering to study his expression. Chest heaving, Camille came up when he didn’t move. Their lips barely touched but he pressed her down, hands sliding to touch her shoulders.

“What is it?”

“I don’t…” Brows came together. He traced light fingertips down her throat and chest, eyes lifted so she nodded and he untied her wrap. Camille shifted to get out of it. He worked the skirt down her hips next, tossing it aside. They remained steady. Fingers inched down to unbutton his shirt. He slipped one strap from her shoulder then the other. They just looked. Explored. The black leotard peeled down, inching over her breasts before he met her gaze and tugged it down rougher just to see her. His mouth found her skin again, feather soft kisses trailed a path until he could get the garment off her. Camille reached to undo her tied slippers. “Leave them on.”

“Knew you’d get off to it,” she joked and some tension fluttered. Billy came up again to see her face. “Billy, I don’t…” She felt that same stillness he was overcome with. “I’m not…”

“Yeah, I know.” He admitted. “I thought I was too but, I…can’t. Shit.” Relief swelled and he fell against the blankets next to her. “I just…want to be touched.” Not all sexually. His eyes watered and she felt it, clearing her throat.

“I do too.” Camille turned to face him, hand guiding his chin to see her. “I trust you.” As if she offered the magic words, he shifted on his side. Hands took her face and he kissed her until she was on her back once more. Heated again, Billy’s lips opened over her skin. He took his time to explore her neck and thumb her nipples to hard peaks. Camille moaned, eyes clouded over until he was kissing her full breasts. She was just too soft against him.

“We can still consume each other without going too far for your tastes.” He whispered, fingers inched into her tights. "I want to see the rest of you."

“Yes,” she encouraged. A whine hitched when he tore her tights open. Nylon fabric ripped and slick against her thighs. It drove him wild. “Billy, I-”

“Hey, let me make yesterday up to you. I’m not…usually like that.” He nestled atop her so her legs opened and feet remained at points still in those shoes. Camille dropped her arms to the bed when he cupped her face again. Thumb traced the swell of her bottom lip. She gave the lightest kiss along the pad. Experimentally, he slipped the digit into her mouth. Puff pink lips closed with a hum. He slid back again, tracing the slick pad over her mouth. God, she was perfect. An absolute. “You’re beautiful.” Usually a line he offered with a seductive pet name. But this…it was almost too sincere. Still in his jeans, Billy slid down her body again.

“So are you,” she seemed to realize it. All at once. Raw and unguarded, they tried so hard to cling to this. Whatever it was. Drawing it out so it could not end. So the glass could not shatter. Billy’s hand palmed her inner thigh, fingers delicate and dancing up until she couldn’t take it. But, it was Billy who broke first. Those deft fingers stilled right against the fabric edge to her panties. She felt the way he hesitated. A breath like a growl left his throat.

“Fucking-” Billy sounded irritated with himself. He ripped off her, hands clenching into fists on his thighs. Camille covered her breasts with one arm, lifting to see him. “I can’t fucking-”

“Billy, look at me.” She requested and shame flushed his expression. A new look on him. They still breathed heavily, on the cusp of vibrating. Blue eyes made the journey. “You don’t have to do this.” No girl in his life has ever uttered such words.

“No, it's... I just, I fucking know I want you. I don’t get it. I've wanted you since the day we met.” His back hunched and he covered his face, riled up and aroused and terrified. “I feel like I can’t fuck you. If I do it…” His head lifted. “I don’t want to feel about you after…the way I felt about everyone else. Just nothing. It’s nothing. I fuck people, that’s what I’ve always done but…I like you. I want to keep that.” Billy pressed his hands to the bed while she watched him. He’d emotionally mangled himself and that was finally bleeding out. Pooling over. Billy Hargrove was broken down last year and it all just flooded. Instead of lashing out like he used to, he just vibrated quietly. Waited to numb. But, it didn't happen so easily. Instead, Billy drowned in his own thoughts. Here a friend sat, watching him heal. Validating that he was still in existence. Healing in her own way with him. The least they could do together even when they wanted more. “Happy?”

“Yes.” She decided after a beat and he stilled, eyes lifting again to see her face.

“What?” Billy watched her search for syllables.

“I’m happy.” Camille admitted. Simple. "I'll keep that." His eyes watered. As if she’d placed a kiss upon his trembling heart. He felt her holding him while they just looked at each other. Now that was a feeling to chase.

“I still want to make it up to you.” He relaxed, crawling back over her. “Lie back.” Billy was intent on her again, hovering inches from her face. All flushed and heated. Blue eyes framed with thick lashes admired her body. His cheeks and lips were an obscene shade of pink. They kissed again to melt the tension. Between her legs, he found his pace when hands slid over his back. Into curls. Mouth on her breast, Billy’s fingers traced a path up the tender skin of her thighs. Over thin fabric, his thumb just barely brushed her clit. Stiff and wet. "Tell me." He coaxed. Camille heaved a cry when he finally touched her. Cherry lips sighed against her flesh, lowering until breath ghosted her thighs. "You want more, tell me." She gave a wanting little arch, hips raising to meet his fingers until he rubbed tiny circles into her.

“Billy,” she could have wept, hair splayed all over the pillows and down her shoulders. He felt too good. The slip of his name from her tongue sent him reeling. Fingers snatched fabric aside so he could look at her. Plush and pink. Shamelessly wet. All his.

"You let boys go down on you?" Eyes lifted when she came up on her elbows.

"Let the brave and clumsy ones try." She sucked on her bottom lip, intrigued. "What, are you going to brag about how good your mouth is, Billy?"

"Hm, so you've never gotten off during it. Got it." His hands cupped just under her thighs, thumbs rubbing near her opening. Taunting.

"So certain? Why?"

"Guys who are good don't need to brag about it." Billy's lip twitched up. Smug because he was about to eat her better than anyone who dared to try and he knew it. Frankly, so did she.

"And what do they do instead?" She dared him, resolve melting because he spread her open. Distracted, Billy just stared at her. Halfway between intimate and vulgar. "What are you going to do about it?" His voice lowered.

"Oh, Camille, I'm going to fuck you with my tongue. Probably, no-I'm definitely going to suck and torment that little pink bud until you're quivering harder than you are currently. This view already gave you away, you're fucking soaked and I'm going to eat you out until your prima ballerina body comes in a sloppy, writhing mess," he kissed her thigh like it was a sweet promise, "and you are going to beg for me to do it even when it's too much for you to take."

"Thought the good ones didn't need to brag." Camille Harper blushed and that alone made him rock hard. The tip of his dick dampened against his tight jeans.

"Brag? No, I'm stating facts." Kisses trailed on either thigh, teeth digging just enough to leave marks. He worked his fingers just along her folds so she fell into the mattress and whimpered. "What was that? Need you to speak up, Camille."

“Please.” It was her turn to beg. He massaged her thighs and delicately parted her folds open wider with two thumbs. Camille gave a twitch and tried to be still when his breath was against her. Fingers grasped for pillows, daring to tear fabric. He tugged to pull the ruined panties down, ripping them instead when they tangled into torn nylon.

“Wider." It sounded like a command. Camille obliged, hips wiggling. "I just want to taste you,” he rewarded the pleading, lips barely there against her. Hands curled and pressed down into her hips. His mouth opened, tongue flicking out to drag along her entrance. Back arching, Camille let him guide her legs around his shoulders. Silky ballet shoes pressed into his back. The sensation turned him on even more. Fingers massaged and spread her wider. Lips pecked all along sensitive skin, tongue dipping into her. He ignored her clit, striving to undo her completely. Mouth teasing around her folds.

Oh, yes, did he still have plans to ruin her for any other boy. It didn't take long to unravel her either. She'd begged for him to pluck her strings. Bodies sliding like the bow of a violin to elicit sweet sounds. His mouth instead traveled over her thigh and down her calf then back up. Blissfully unaware by force. Camille held to pillows and squirmed. Billy caught sight of pink ribbons wrapped around her ankle, holding those slippers on and longed for silky ribbons bound all around her flesh. He'd tease and watch her writhe against feather covers until she was begging to be filled.

"More," she'd squeaked when it was unbearable. He decided finally to soothe her. Billy moaned into pillowy folds, placing a lighter kiss into the wet bud until fingers were in his hair again. A curl fell into his face, eyes lifted.

“Oh? You want something, Camille?”

“Yes.” She managed, shaking. "Mouth." He felt himself tremble, eager to take care of her when pride sweltered. Lips closed to suckle. Obscene little sounds were felt in every nerve of her body. His attentive mouth played her, evoking moans and sighs. More silent pleas just for him. Billy was groaning and kissing her deeper. Making her his would not take long but drawing it out was too damn good. He ensured she'd remember how he felt and long for it. Cocky, that slice of possessiveness still edged his bones. Mine, he chanted in his brain until rougher lips tormented her.

The dusting of facial hair scratched sensitive skin, pink and red swatches would remind her of these moments later on. He longed to know if she'd play with herself at the thought. Work those dainty fingers over soft pubic hair to rub her still raw clit and recall his mouth suckling it. Fingers pumping and wishing it was his cock plunging inside instead. Billy debated pushing two fingers into her all the way to the knuckle but decided, mouth only today. The slow approach still. More to come later. Months of foreplay won't be lost. His tongue was licking with more rhythm until her hips began to rock. One thumb pulled the tiny hood back, spreading her open at his mercy. Writhing, Camille’s arch became tight and rigid. He kept pressure on her until she was crying out, tugging still at dirty blond locks.

“Yes! Yes! Billy! Don’t…Don’t stop.” The whines muffled into her palm. Tears sprang. She did lose her composure. Camille was on the verge of letting him do whatever the fuck he wanted with her. Just too good. He palmed himself and ate her. Hard and wet into his jeans. His cock twitched and a small orgasm rushed into his veins while he kept her in a state.

“Billy,” she warned. “I’m there.” He didn’t dare let up, playing and sucking until climax was forced. Unable to squirm away, she came off the bed, legs spreading wider. Hands gripping the headboard. She cursed and cried out until the incredible high subsided. Tender kisses and laps of his tongue eased her back into the mattress. Billy pushed himself up to watch her finish. Muscles tightening and relaxing. Lips trembling and eyes rolling back to close so her lungs could catch up. Breathtaking.

“Camille.” He curled himself into her side to hold her. Shaken hands cupped his face to kiss him, tongue slipping into his mouth. Aching and unbound, Camille pushed him onto his back to nestle into his chest. Billy lost his thought and she set him at ease.

“Let me hold you for a bit,” Camille pressed her body into his, arms slipping under him to grip his shoulders. Light fingertips grazed her cheek, he let her head nudge under his chin. The urge to cry again swept over him. Too many damn emotions over the past few months. But, being able to lie back while a girl held him was a sensation unlike any other. Something more beautiful than the sun on the California beaches he missed still. They shared a few perfect moments. She played with his hair and kissed his collarbone.

“I think I am too.” Came his utter at last.

“Are, what?” She closed her eyes.

“Here, I’m…” Billy swallowed the lump in his throat. Realized it. Happier. “I'm here.” He'd offered instead and that was felt by her even still. Syllables woke his every nerve and sent them sparking. Terrified to admit such a thing he could lose. Camille smiled and didn’t speak, a slight nod shifted. His free hand curled around her, pressing against her skull. They stayed like that. Enjoying this quiet company. Happy.

** ** **

“Billy, a car’s pulling up!” Camille called out, setting the TV remote aside. He appeared in a fresh set of clothing from his car. Shirt left open three buttons.

"Should I even be here?"

"I'd like you to be." She turned to eye him. "You're in this. Be in it." Billy struggled with himself and decided to follow her lead once more. Felt like it was the best he could do. "What time is it? It isn't six yet."

“They an hour early?”

“Strange,” Camille paced to the door as the bell rang and grew surprised. “Nancy?”

“Hey,” she peered behind her when Jonathan came up the steps.

“I didn’t think you guys would come.”

“Oh? I figured an extra set of hands would help out.” Nancy smiled and Camille narrowed her eyes. “I may…have told someone.”

“Oh, god,” Camille was laughing. Pressing her hand to her lips when another car pulled up. Steve Harrington toting all the kids with him. He honked and called out.

“Ah, yes, we’re here for the murder mystery party. Don't have a reservation.”

“Sorry.” Nancy flashed that guilty smile.

“Kids heard and basically kidnapped him,” Jonathan added. “Again.”

“No, I suppose we’re all invested.” Camille watched the rest of the Party race up.

“We also wanted to see your house,” Lucas pulled a magnifying glass from his bag.

“Every kid in our grade talks about the Harper house,” Will added and Dustin swiped the glass from Lucas.

“Consider The Party on the case.”

“Okay, Inspector Gadget. Pipe down.” Steve was laughing. “I told you guys to be cool in front of her.”

“They’re right about the wanting to see the house thing, kids in our grade talk about it also. You know this.” Jonathan added.

“Hopper might bring El. She should see the attic too.” Mike came to Nancy’s side with Max behind him.

“Can we come in, Camille?” Dustin mustered his sweetest big eyed expression and the rest of the younger kids followed.

“We hear you have a game room.” Will noted as well.

“Do it for Will, he needs it.” Lucas pressed his hands.

“I suppose,” she rolled her eyes. “Shoes off. All of you.” Kids raced in to obey her.

“Sorry,” Nancy was entertained and Camille laughed.

“No, they are apart of it.” She shrugged. “Might need to find snacks and order pizza though.”

“Brought my camera so we can document and put everything back without anyone suspecting.” Jonathan offered. “Give your memory a rest too.”

“Good idea. My mother hasn’t even looked at that room. I snuck in a bit ago to make sure everything was still there.” Camille paused when Billy came around the corner to see the entire Party in the living room.

“Jesus Christ.” He about hissed to himself.

“Hey! Keg king. Surprise surprise." Steve crossed his arms, jabbing. "You know, you staying on the other side of the field in gym has made it my favorite class. You should have gotten kicking my ass out of your system months ago."

"Who said I got it out of my system?" Billy inched into the broad doorway, looking annoyed as the tense party looked on.

"Hm. So, Camille and Billy. Huh. You never thanked me. I put that mistletoe up for your sister out of the goodness of my heart. Little holiday spirit to put some demons to rest.” Steve continued and Billy's head tilted at Max.

"For Max? She neglected that detail." A smirk twitched and she relaxed at his expression.

"Just cause you're quieter and distant, doesn't mean we trust you. You earn it. Help our friend and drop the puffer fish routine for two damn seconds." Steve was bold when he approached, hand out. Billy exhaled out his nose, grip tight to shake it.

"Your friend and I discovered this shit together in the first place."

“Okay, boys, you can lower the peacock feathers, we all have the same goal right now. And we all know too much.” Camille came to the center. "We have to be a unit. We give a shit and we have no choice."

"She's right," Mike offered. "We're in danger but she and El are in the most immediate trouble. They need us with them."

"We have to look out for each other." Dustin encouraged. "Even if the alliance is uneasy, the party has to do what's best for everyone. We find the common goals and stick there."

"Listen, I fucking hate these assholes and you guys hate these assholes," Billy crossed his arms, leaning into the doorway. "Done."

"Valid point," Dustin lifted a hand, mediating between the group and Billy. "We all hate these assholes. That's good. We also should...maybe think about the people we want to protect too. But, he's got the right spirit." Billy eyed Camille's back and dropped his arms.

"Billy wants to protect Camille," Max piped up, earning another glance. "He cares about her and she cares about us. Those lines cross. If you really cared, they'll have to." He wondered if Max thought he would protect her too. Not a chance he'd earned her trust yet.

“Considerate of you.” Steve smirked and made himself at home on the couch, turning the TV channel. “K-I-S-S-I-N-ah!” He was laughed at by the kids when Camille smacked his arm and snatched the remote.

“All of you, quit it. Your mission is to go order some pizzas. Money is stuck to the fridge. Beat it.” Camille pointed him out of the room.

“Billy, got a topping of choice? Amigo.” Steve passed him.

“Green peppers.” He resisted the urge to pound the smug teen again.

“I heard black olives,” Steve hurried off and Camille snickered.

“Right, who wants to see the game room?” She cocked her head so the younger kids hurried to follow her out to the basement. “Will, I think you’ll get a kick out of this.” Nancy set her bag aside and took off her coat.

“It’s good,” she offered when Billy awkwardly stepped out of the doorway, “you being here. Helping. Keeping the secrets. Maybe don't flirt with my mom ever again.” She nodded, lips lifting so he relaxed.

"Guess that isn't asking a lot."

“You know, I beat up Steve about a year before you did,” Jonathan spoke when he had nothing else to say. Amusement flash in Billy’s expression.

“Congratulations, we'll start a damn club.” He replied in the flattest tone he could. Nancy chilled his bones when she spoke next. Didn't think Wheeler had it in her.

“Do not betray my friend. We're protective of her. She's protective of us. As you learned the hard way. I get you and Camille are closer now, just…be decent, Billy.” Nancy was intent now. Vigilant beyond any boundary. Billy’s eyes turned from her and Camille came back in.

“Might have lost the kids to my basement.” She remarked so Nancy smiled at that.

“You have a mini arcade down there,” she came forward. “How many times have you explored this room upstairs?”

“Ah, just the once really. Haven’t quite been able to stomach it since that day. I only skimmed.”

“And you’re okay with us…you know?” Jonathan asked carefully and she nodded.

“Has to be done. Maybe it’ll help something.” Camille held herself when Steve returned.

“Food en route.” He turned and stopped, eyeing Camille before she rolled her eyes.

“Go ahead. We have plenty of time,” she watched him fist pump and race down to her game room next. “Really owning the babysitter role, huh.” Camille followed after so the teens behind her went as well. The Party grew perfectly at home downstairs. Steve fiddling with the stereo to start some music while the kids paired off to play different games.

“People weren’t kidding about your place,” Will was smiling bright. Too sweet after all he went through. Camille joined him and Mike in air hockey. Two on one. Billy reeled back slowly, awkward when Steve sighed and approached him.

“So, Hargrove…you any good at pool?” Steve shrugged and scratched his head, eyeing Billy until he was lax.

“Pick up a cue, Harrington, find out.” Billy turned toward the table, smirking. Here among possible friends. People who hated him once. People who grew less afraid of him by the second. Time healed. Little by little. Max turned to see him, lips lifting in a way that encouraging. The Party let themselves be kids for just a little while. Forgotten the feeling. Music played while they laughed. Relaxing until the pizza came. Boxes littered the tables. Billy destroyed Steve at pool. The second time the doorbell rang, the mood changed. Everyone looked up and Camille hurried to the steps first, waving them to stay put.

“Chief Hopper,” she opened the door and saw El come out from behind him.

“Snuck into my car.” He remarked, lip quirking so Camille hugged her.

“Glad you both are here. We have pizza.”

“We?” Jim sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Oh, no. All of them?”

“Oh, yes,” Dustin raced up first to take El’s hand and lead her back down to the group.

“Shoes. Both of you.” Camille ordered first. “Sorry, they found out and just showed up.”

“Of course they did,” Jim stepped in to remove his shoes.

“Party looks out for each other.” She shrugged.

“Your job is to be a kid. Their jobs are to be kids too.”

“We try when he can,” she rubbed her arms, exhaling. “We’re going upstairs first, guys! Give us a moment to look before you follow. Yeah?” Her echo was met with a chorus of agreement. “How’s fatherly life been? She okay?”

“Vocabulary is better. Talking more. We’re talking about school next year. Have more time for another student to tutor?”

“For El, always.” Camille was touched that he even asked. “This way, Chief.”

“You know, Camille, I think Jim is fine at this point.”

“Jim. Sorry for being a bit of a rich snob shit back in the day.” She climbed the stairs. “Had an asshole group of friends.”

“Not so much now.” Jim shrugged. "It’s not safe for you here.”

“I won’t debate that with you.” Camille wiggled the door open and sighed. “After you.” Jim eyed her for a moment.

“We don’t have to do this today. If it’s too much, we’ll stop.” His considerate words struck her.

“You’re a good father, you know? I want to do this.” Camille paused and came to hug him. A father figure was much needed in her life. Jim rubbed her back, tried to give her what was missing currently. They shut the door behind them and went up. “Well, here it is. We need to put it all back perfectly. Don’t know if anyone will come through when I’m not in the house.” She let Jim open cabinets to search while she hung back.

“That’s you, huh.” He held a photo up and tried not to look horrified, eyes barely flickered to her own before he set it aside. "Look like El used to."

“Yes.” Camille scratched at her scar briefly.

“From what El knows. Another one escaped. Number eight. Probably about your age. They met when she ran away.” Jim turned to see her.

“Then, there’s hope more might be out there. I know some didn’t make it. They were terminated. There was talk of terminating me.” She pulled a file out to show him. “I didn’t display abilities quick enough. Took time to find out.”

“So they really might not know the extent of what you can do.” He added while she nodded. They spent a few quiet moments shifting through papers. His presence was a comfort in truth.

“Can…” Camille turned toward the empty steps and sighed, “…I ask you a police question?”

“Yes.” Jim paused, file in hand to see her.

“If…If I knew that someone was being hurt at home. Could you stop it?” The way she asked it made her truly sound like a scared child. Jim's eyes drew more alert.

“That’s complicated, Camille.” He was honest. “Abused people and witnesses are usually too afraid to come forward. If they're young, there are rights that parents have working against them. There’s also a major matter of evidence and abusers are smarter than people think. They cover their tracks well. Can make it worse if they're not removed immediately. Authorities like a proper record of the abuse and witnesses. Sometimes even that isn’t enough… Abusers get out every single day and do worse harm."

"I'm sure."

"Who is being hurt, Camille?” He coaxed. "You can tell me."

“I just want to help my friend…but, they’re too scared and if I…cause more problems for them at home. Well, that could ruin it more. They’ll just get hurt worse. I'll lose them.” Camille sniffled and turned away, lips pressing. “Billy’s dad beats him. It's bad. I know I shouldn’t tell anyone that and maybe it's betraying his trust but, I feel like I'm just standing by and not stepping in. Maybe you can just watch over him and Max too. Please. You don’t have to say anything, just…can you watch over them? It's possible that one day, he'll be ready to talk and I'll be there with him. But, he can't protect himself, he's scared. People think boys can't be abused and that kills me. I just want him to be safe.” Jim put the file down and touched her face to wipe a tear aside.

“If you can get him to open up and to record the abuse, I might be able to do more. If Billy wants to start talking and if his stepmother and sister help, I can too. I wish just coming forward was enough for victims. It's only the start. But, I’ve seen this a lot. It’s a hard time, they’re scared into hiding and taking it. Do Max or Mrs. Hargrove get hit?”

“Not yet, as far as I know. But, I know they’re terrified of him.” Camille pressed her lips. “I want to help but, I might make it worse. Neil is just so terrible to them and for a while, Billy was lashing out too. This isn't something tragic in Billy's past that makes him this way, this is his current horrible reality. Max too. I know that Billy did some shit awful things. I know that. But, what happens to him is something I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. I've seen Billy drag into school with so many awful bruises and I just...let him go home knowing what's there waiting. I let my friend go home and get beaten.”

“I’ve gotten calls of shouting there. Hargrove covers it well. The best you can do is support him and Max.”

“Hard not to scream at this asshole. They’re the ones who have to deal with him at the end of the day though, not me. I don't want to lose him. Just…please.”

“I’ll keep an eye on it, Camille.” Jim swiped another tear from her. The door opened and Camille hurried to wipe her face. Hopper turned back to the files when El snuck up the steps. Behind her, the party waited until Camille nodded for them to come in.

“You okay?” Nancy was at her side.

“Yeah, just…a lot.” She sniffled and eyed Billy. He noted Hopper observing him and felt a flash of discomfort. Out of place around the party again.

“Kid, you want to start grabbing boxes down from the shelves?” He spoke and Billy’s gaze jumped up. “Yes, you, Swayze.”

“I was thinking more Purple Rain, you know?” Steve remarked and came forward to help with crates when Billy finally moved in silence. He felt them watching him idly. Hyper aware that he was here. It made him too aware for comfort as well. As they set out boxes, the kids began to gently go through them.

“Shit, she looks just like El did.” Mike lifted his eyes and El came to his right.

“Papa…” She traced Brenner in a photograph and froze up.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Mike comforted her before Hopper could come forward.

“I’m fine.” El’s tone scratched and she stood to come to Camille. The teen watched them all go through her life. Awed. It felt too personal. Like they were dissecting her on a metal table under a huge, burning lamp. Deciding which bones to pick flesh and muscle from. She was a butterfly under glass with pinned wings. Camille kneeled on the floor, going through photos to distract herself.

"Brenner," she touched her head, hissing. "I know his face. I know it, why?"

"Close your eyes. Try to remember." El coaxed and Camille inhaled when it was silent to try it. Memories flashes. Not enough. They shuttered in her brain. A broken movie reel. She sniffled on blood and then her eyes snapped open.

"Doctors." Camille braced herself against the floor. "When I was little and supposedly sickly...doctors made house calls. I remember him and this...blonde women. She was friends with Edna."

"Connie." El nodded and Camille agreed.

"That was her name. He was...gentle and still I was terrified of him. I saw him at...social events. Big time names. Dr. Martin Brenner." Camille exhaled. “You called him Papa. Why?”

“Bad man.” Was the only sentiment El could portray and Camille understood.

“He worked with Noah. My father. Or…the man they gave me to.” Camille closed a box. “Billy, I’m done with this one. Thank you.” Wordless, he took it and placed it back on the shelf above them. El blinked up at the teen, head cocking. Handsome boy with a striking face. Crystalline eyes. Rough and fashionable. One earring dangled when his head turned, curls shifting about.

“Pretty.” She peered at Camille who broke a smile. Billy’s head whipped back down, bright blue eyes fixed on Eleven now.

“Which kid is this again?”

“El.” The young girl replied with some confidence, her tattoo was clearly visible. The other kids stilled to watch, entertained before Billy jerked his head up to see them and they snapped back to focus on their findings. Eleven lifted a tiny hand so he reached to shake it. That same amusement flashed.

“El escaped them. This is Billy Hargrove, I guess I roped him into this too.” Camille explained. “Max’s big brother.” Billy didn’t immediately jump to say stepbrother.

“His dad married my mom,” Max shifted to help them with another box of photos and files.

“Still a brother?” El wondered and Max nodded, beaming.

“Yeah. Still my dumb brother.” Her words struck him deep. “Just not by blood.”

“Just like you. My sister. Not by blood.” The little girl peered to Camille.

“Yes, I guess you’re right.” She smiled this time. Comforted. “Sometimes, we’re lucky and we get to make our own families.” El seemed to like that. Billy turned his eyes to the wall and reached for another box. Plastic jostled.

“More of those damn tapes.” He sighed, setting it on the desk in front of Hopper. Harder to be up here a second time with Camille. He eyed the oculus. Still cracked up the middle.

“Hargrove,” the Chief remembered the name. “One of my guys gave you a ticket a ways back.”

“The one that looks like Gumby. Yeah.” Billy recalled. Something twitched painfully in his back. Neil beat him bloody with a belt over that one. Almost broke his wrist too.

“Callahan.” Jim snuffed out a smirk. “Wasn’t paid.” Billy shifted his feet, eyes elsewhere like he was bracing to be struck. His tone was barely audible when he disconnected himself.

“Can’t afford it…sir.” He'd spent the saved money on Camille's bracelet.

“Sir,” Jim scoffed. “Relax, kid. Don’t worry about it.” Billy’s eyes lifted and Jim was blasé about it, busying with files like it was nothing. “Just try to drive the speed limit. Not setting a good example for your little sister. I heard all about her at the wheel of that car. Camaro is nice, you should take care of that thing. I’ll let the ticket slide. Don't get anymore of them.” Billy didn’t thank him. He didn’t know how to. Camille pressed a smile and went back to her reading. “Camille, anything over there?”

“Barely anything about Edna. She was a handler here too but…ugh. Something’s not right. Why would they leave this here and leave me with Rosemary? Sounds like she’s not playing the game anymore or maybe she is. I wouldn't know.” Camille came to her feet. A few kids played tapes of her mimicking.

“It says here that they wiped you.” Mike added when Will pointed it out.

“Risked electroshock before they took you out and put you on the drugs.” Nancy frowned. “That’s awful.”

“Perfect memory aside, I don’t remember any of this. I remember being in the hospital often as a child. I remember doctors in the house. Might have just been last minute Hawkins lab tests.” Camille shrugged and Lucas stood.

“Maybe some stuff came up,” he showed her a page. “It says you remembered certain things still and lashed back.”

“Must of given them hell, Cam.” Will was kind. Camille needed to hear that. Needed to know she fought it once. Meant a lot coming from Will Byers. Another fighter.

“Wish I could unlock those memories.” Camille gave a huff. “You guys know I’ve barely left Hawkins. First time I left the state was…was when Billy and I found my mother.” Funny, the realization that her first road trip was with him.

“Judith King.” Jim was sympathetic. “Was she mentally gone?” When Camille nodded, El spoke.

“Mama…”

“Yes,” Jim agreed. “Hawkins Lab dealt with the bio parents in their own way.”

“First road trip. Messed up. That lab needed me close. Needed a big cage, a fancy place, that I could be observed in like a zoo animal. Where I was too vain, too distracted, to see it. They needed a place to study and stimulate me without question. Without me making too much noise. Sounds like I used to make lots of noise. They silenced it. They gave me everything thinking I’d want nothing beyond it. Their mistake. Right?” She held herself tighter, hands rubbed her arms. She thought of Noah and Rosemary. The lies they told so well. The lies they might have believed down the line.

“Do you want to stop?” Jim was careful. Eyes locked to her when she shook, face certain and dangerous.

“Never.” She’d uttered. “I need those memories back.”

“I…I can.” El paused when everyone looked at her. “I saw Mama. I did it once. We can try.”

“You don’t have to if it hurts you.” Camille shook her head.

“Want to.” El stood up. “We need blindfolds.” The Party looked around. Jim eyed Camille and sighed, nodding.

“Let’s take a break,” Mike came to El. “She’s right.” Their hands clasped.

“Downstairs. Ten minutes. Finish the pizza while you're down there. I'll be back.” Camille turned and went to her room to find two scarves. Tried to find some peace. A shaky breath left her mouth. She gasped when Billy was there alone in the doorway. He seemed unsure of why he'd followed after her. Instinct kicked him in the ass. She noted he shut the door behind him.

"You said something." Billy had gotten to know Camille's way of navigation in this world well. Her many ticks and twitches. Each little crack in her porcelain face. Not the compressed girl she was when they met. And they both were bad liars. "To the Chief. He was being way too fucking nice to me, it felt wrong."

"You're not beyond receiving kindness. But, yes." She wouldn't lie about this one. "They've gotten phone calls about your house. I just...asked how I could help you." Billy's intent eyes blazed. Not in a way of rage. But they were fixed and hard regardless. He crossed into her space. Resolute. One hand took her chin when her eyes fell instead to his chest.

"Look at me, Camille." It wasn't a request. Hazel eyes lifted to flicker and he didn't let her go. Fingers bunched up the two scarves to her chest. It wasn't often Camille felt so small. Especially not in front of a boy. But, today...she felt like she was suntanning under a damn microscope. Fox stuck in an exposed field. Watchful, hungry jackals and curious hyenas looked on. Either intrigued or licking their chops. Both of their eyes welled so he sniffled and told the hard truth of it. "You can't." Billy crushed her. "Not with my dad." Today weighed heavily and Camille let herself break in front of him. A friend. Arms latched under his, around the small of his back to pull him in so she could bury her face into his chest. If Billy wanted to fall back and be Neil, that was on him. But, this...she just wanted to protect her friend from their own monstrous jackal.

"I'm not going to stop trying for you still." It sounded like a promise. "As far as that's concerned." Billy hesitated and cupped the back of her head, arm tight around her back and shoulder.

"Yeah, I know." He relented, patting her spine so she could let a few emotions out. Finally. Billy let her tip over the edge. "I know you won't stop." Camille struggled to pull herself together. That nurturing, and equally possessive, instinct for shattered girls he held flicked on. Mine, he thought again. "There you go, just let it out for me now. Good." He was all positive reinforcement, voice slow and even. "Very good." Camille fully sunk into his whims for the first time. Let herself be prey. After months of fighting it. Billy saw himself holding her body in the mirror behind her. He closed his eyes and touched his lips to her hair, inhaling the scent. "Hey..." Hands tucked dark locks from her cheeks to cup her face as she calmed down enough. Thumbs wiped tears aside. Camille was crestfallen and drained. Ready to be further spent. Mine, those intent thoughts sprang even still. Billy would still follow her lead. Still chase her when she wished it. Still come and consume her. Only when she asked for it first. And she would. Billy gripped her sides to ease her back into the vanity so she'd half sit on it. Hazel eyes were numb.

"Camille. You here?" Fingers tipped her chin only for eyes to stay down on his chest. Few light taps against her cheeks with the back of his knuckles roused nothing. "It's alright, Harpy. I got you." He hitched a sharp exhale, plucking a tissue up from a nearby box. Hips pressed between her legs, deep into her space now so he held her jaw and wiped mascara from her cheeks. "Not a fan of waterproof, huh." Billy hummed, angling her face. "Earth to Camille. Stay with me here." Her lips opened when his thumb just barely traced the swell. "There you are. Hey. Eyes up." At last, she blinked like the spell was broken and panned to focus on him. "Hm, very good, you're back. Do me a favor and stick around. You here?" The hand on her chin twitched as if to shake her back into existence. "I'm going to need some words, Camille." It was just peculiar, how he always said her full name when he decided to use it. Smooth and serious in that alluring baritone. Like it was truly important.

"I'm here," Camille swallowed, scarves still bunched up into her hand in her lap. "Just exhausted...I have to keep going." Hawkins Lab didn't teach her the limitations her friends allowed and offered constantly. "Let's go. I'm...I'm ready."

"Are you?"

"I have to be. Just like ripping a band-aid." She met his glance. Still hard and trying to read her. The method she processed her pain with caught him as equally destructive as his way. Billy gave a quick inhale and shifted to let her step down, walking around him so he'd follow her to the stairs. The living room filled with her friends. “Will these do?” El nodded and sat in front of the couch. Dustin turned the TV to white noise. Droning. The Party found seats around the room. Billy took a chair near Camille when she sat next to El on the floor. “If you need to stop, get out. Okay?”

“I’ll be fine.” El tied cloth over her eyes and Camille followed. Lights flickered. They watched the two girls lace hands, legs crossing while they sat straight and focused. Camille felt herself plunge into a dream with El’s beckoning, falling upon a black world. Water splashed around her feet.

“El?” Her voice came from the television. El pushed her new sister’s mind to where it needed to be.

“I’m here. It’s okay.” El spoke, blood dropped from her nose. "I have to see it." Camille turned to spot the little girl here with her.

“Do it.” Camille urged, nodding. El pushed her backwards. Watched her fall and tumble. Down. Down. Down. She heard a harrowing tone echo. Her own voice.

“Sink.” It vibrated.

“I’m…here in the lab.” Camille came to her feet in the dream. They watched her cringe as if to cry in front of them.

“Camille.” Billy gripped the cushion under him. Eyes narrowed from the kids to see his obvious worry.

“I’m here. I’m okay.”

“Let me see what happened. Six.” El’s lips trembled. Their hands tightened. Camille peered down to see her there with her again. “You have to show me.”

“I don’t even know what I’m looking for.” Camille felt herself sink again, away from El into the memory. A hospital gown adorned her body. She was still a teen but they dragged her like she was that little girl. Barely five years old. El raced to find her finally amid the shouting. The cries from the memory echoed out the television. It was hard for them to just sit and listen to it.

“El, do you see her?” Nancy spoke when Camille said nothing more.

“Yes,” El sniffled. “They’re hurting her.” Blood was dripping down Camille’s nose now. She grew very straight and still. Unresponsive. Blank. She was in a sunken place. El came to them strapping her down. “Her papa. He has a big needle. He said…termination. He’s crying.” Camille was writhing and sobbing on the table.

“Six, I am so sorry. All you must do is show us something. One little ounce.” Noah was shaking. “We worked so hard. This won’t hurt, it’ll be just like going to sleep.”

“I’ll be good! I’ll be good!” She wailed. Speaking well for her age and limited education. And then she did something peculiar. Like a flip switched on. English changed to Latin. To French. To Russia. She begged in other languages as if another would break through. Noah stilled when the shock set in.

“Where…did you hear that?”

“A book! And...and the other scientists. Lots of books. I found them! I’m sorry, I won’t do it again.” She sniffled and shook. Noah dropped the needle and paged Brenner in a flash.

“Sir, we found it. Her memory. It’s the key.”

“Bring her out.” Brenner barked into the intercom. Cold. “Show us.” The scene swirled. Six rocked on her feet. Noah held her hand and brought her into a room full of scientists. They put her in sweatpants and a thin shirt. “Now, Six, do exactly as the movie.” She nodded and bent over, feet up to do a handstand like a perfect gymnast. Scientists gawked and made notes. She was their personal circus freak.

“They’re making her copy things.” El spoke to the room again. "She's too young."

“Copycat.” Dustin muttered and Lucas nudged him.

“Cartwheels. Dancing.” El went on. “Papa is talking to him. Dr. Harper. They want to take her away to a home. Mrs. Harper…she wants a little girl too. There’s a woman. Edna.”

“Housekeeper. The handler.” Hopper rubbed his chin. “El, stay on her.”

“She looks mean.” El whispered. “She thinks she should take Six instead. Wait, it’s changing. I can’t… We went back again. Six…she’s running. The alarms. There’s a scientist chasing her. She’s almost to the door. No!”

“El!” Mike jerked forward. Will stopped him from trying to touch her.

“He’s hitting her. He has a gun.” El screamed this time. The gun went off. Only it blasted back into the man the second Six wailed at him. Blood splattered Camille’s little face from the shot. “The gun…went backwards into him. That terrible woman is here. Connie is holding her. She’s screaming. Father. Father.”

“I’m going to make sure they put you away forever, Six.” Camille spoke for the first time, mirroring Edna’s words. They thought the gun was faulty. Memories flooded Camille’s brain and she screamed next. A familiar electric shock charged her to life. Lights blared and flickered in tune. The Party looked around, tension rose. Her arm burned and she remembered the sweltering heat of her numbers being erased.

“She’s had enough!” Billy jerked forward this time, coming to grab her but Steve got his arm around him.

“Don’t touch them yet.” He looked at Hopper so Jim hurried to stop the struggling teen.

“Let me go!”

“Billy…” Camille’s voice left the television. Calm. Echoing. Sensing his agony. Using the last of her strength to comfort him. “It’s going to be okay. We're here. You and I. And we're okay.” She slumped back into the couch when El tore her own blindfold off, weeping.

“Cam…ille.” She sputtered, pulling fabric away to shake her. “Please, wake up.”

“Back up, all of you.” Jim scooped up Camille and set her on the couch. Billy scrambled to lean over the armrest.

“Why isn’t she waking up?” Nancy found some towels in the bathroom, wet them, and came next to Hopper to clean her friend’s face. El took another to wipe her own nose.

“Drained.” El offered, standing with Mike’s help

“Harpy, I swear to god,” Billy muttered, fingers sunk into the sofa.

“Give her a moment,” Jim made them all calm down when everyone tried to speak. “Camille.” She hummed, eyes fluttered open when his hands smoothed hair aside. Gentle as he could. Relieved sighs filled the space. “Hey, don’t get up yet. Stay down for a second.”

“You remember?” Steve came behind the couch and she blinked, nodding.

“Ow, yeah,” she hissed and touched her forehead. “It’s coming back. Edna hated me. I bet she doesn’t even have a kid. She was all apple pie and smiles after they wiped me. Why didn’t they suspect I set the gun off? Got her father killed. Noah, he…” Camille tried to slow. “He covered for me. Experimented on me. Drugged me. There must have been outbursts. Things that broke through before they changed up my dose. He knew I developed more abilities and hid it with my mother.”

“What they did was awful but, maybe they grew feelings? Only natural. Can’t stay disconnected for that long.” Jim replied. He’d tried it himself. “Won’t make up for it.”

“No, but…it’s something.” She agreed, pushing up. “They took my life. Destroyed others. But, now I’m certain Edna is out there. Watching me. Waiting to take revenge because she's already waited this long for it.” Camille paused. “That Brenner guy. What ever happened to him?”

“Demogorgon.” El was quieter, reaching to take Camille’s hand. “I can try to find Edna. Watch her.”

“Don’t press yourself too much, it’s not safe and it drains you. This woman grew with all these experiments. She knows how we work.” Camille shook her head.

“We can protect you. The Party.”

“We have to look out for you too, you know?” Camille opened her arms to let the younger girl into them. “You did so well. Thank you.” She met Billy’s relieved eyes and pressed her lips at him. His hand inched but didn't dare to touch her. “I think I have more details. Let’s finish what we started, yeah?” Encouraging looks filled the room around her.

The Party came together again, readying for another adventure ahead of them.

#billy hargrove #Billy hargrove x oc #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove smut #billy hargrove fic #writing #Camille Harper #without the lights #mine

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madphantom · 5 years

Text

The Sound of Life - Chapter 12

And so it happened that Winslow and Phoenix were finally invited to the Music Industry Winter's Ball, along with every musician that was considered a living legend. Winslow was crazed. Phoenix was planning her outfit. They both arrived in black because they were just that Goth.

They had just gotten themselves something to eat when somebody new entered.

"The Sorrows, Ladies and Gentlemen!", the newcomers were announced. Winslow turned around in interesting to take a look at them.

Sidney August was a pale Irish Redhead. John Samuel Sobek was short, thin, Canadian and had platinum blonde hair. And Juan Miguel was a Mexican with Emo bangs and piercing grey eyes. They looked ridiculous. Phoenix suppressed a chuckle. "Alright, Imma head out and question our concurrents."

"Have fun." Winslow smirked.

She laughed. "Ooh darling, I will." And disappeared in the crowd.

Somebody tapped Winslow's shoulder and he turned around. Behind him was a petite young man with light brown skin and black curls. He was smiling shyly. Winslow recognized him immediately. "Michael Jackson, right?"

The young star nodded. "Hi. You're Winslow Leach, am I correct?"

"Yep. I have your first solo album. Really good. I loved She's out of my Life and Don't stop til you get enough so much."

"Haha, thanks." Jackson blushed a little. "I had a lot of help. I'm a huge fan of yours, by the way."

"Thank you."

"I was wondering whether maybe we could collaborate some day." Jackson looked increasingly nervous.

Winslow smiled. "That sounds like a wonderful idea! I'd love to."

Jackson handed him a little note. "My number," he explained shyly. "I know, I'm younger than you, but I've been in this business for a longer time. It can be quite rough at times. If you need help just call me."

"Thanks," Winslow replied and put the note in his pocket. "I will."

Jackson gave him a shy smile, then Paul McCartney popped up next to him. "Mike, c'mon, you gotta meet Prince!"

"I know him already...!"

"Publicity, kid." McCartney pat the young man's shoulder. He gave Winslow a nod. "Winslow Leach, am I correct? I heard your last single on the radio. Good stuff. If your next one is just as good you'll probably have a splendid career in front of you."

Winslow smiled. "Thank you, Mr McCartney. Big fan of yours, by the way."

"Thanks. Mike, don't run away!" He caught the young man by the sleeve and pulled him along. "It was nice to meet you, Leach."

"Same."

"Winslow Leach?"

He turned around to see a tall man with long red hair and reddish eyes. "Yes?"

The man bowed in an old-fashioned way. "What an honour to meet you. I am Loki Lilson. You may have heard of me."

"I may have."

Lilson smiled, revealing a row of perfect white teeth. Winslow felt slightly attacked. His tongue wandered over his own metal teeth. Well, at least they wouldn't break off if he got into a fistfight.

Lilson was taller than Winslow.

"I've heard your first single," he said. "The Hell of it. Interesting title. Any experience with hell?"

Winslow laughed. "Yeah, could be called that."

Lilson smirked. "Oh yes, I forgot. Your little adventure with Swan." He sighed. "Swan as a person may have been a genius, but his music...confidentially, it was horrible. The man had no taste."

Something in Lilson made Winslow want to run away and hide. There was a cold aura around the man, filling the air with frost.

Suddenly Phoenix appeared by Winslow's side. "Hey, Winsy, you wanna dance?"

She glared at Lilson.

"Sure," he said and gave Lilson a nod. Then he followed.

"Phoenix, it's a terrible confession but I can't dance," he whispered halfway to the dance floor.

"Me neither," she whispered back. "I just wanted to get you away from that guy. He was... creepy."

"You thought so too?!"

"Yeah. I don't know, I felt so cold around him."

"So did I."

"Let's go and get ourselves some food. Also... have you seen Harold's partner?"

"No. Who is it?"

"You won't believe it." Phoenix led him to the buffet where he spotted Harold with a short frail girl with black curls and a Gothic black dress. It was only when she turned around that he recognized her. "Ellie?"

She grinned. "Eyoo, bro."

Harold blushed a little. "I hope you don't mind, Winslow..."

"No, no, of course not! Where's Sandy then?"

"Having the slow dance with Archie."

"Oh my gosh."

Phoenix laughed. "You know what?", she finally said. "I need some fresh air. Let's get our asses outside."

Literally the second they were outside Phoenix realized she'd forgotten her coat and hurried back in, leaving Winslow alone outside. He was looking for Orion among the stars when he heard a familiar voice.

"Mr Leach."

Winslow turned around to find Lilson standing there, with a smile on his face. "Hi."

"I've been looking for you. Where's Mrs Leach?"

"She went back in to get her coat. Should be back any minute." Please hurry, Winslow thought.

Lilson smirked. "Ah, yes. The cold. It's quite a surprise how cold a Winter's night can be here in the city." He walked over to Winslow. "We didn't finish our talk twenty minutes ago."

"Right. The talk. Uhm...what was it about again?"

Lilson laughed a little. "Oh, right. Forgive me. I have a little offer. A deal."

"I'm listening."

"I know that our singles were both treated as hits." Lilson smirked again. "Most tabloids are already wondering whether we'd team up or become bitter enemies."

"So?"

"What I'm offering is: We leave each other in peace. No collaboration, we're way too different for that. But no rivalry either."

Winslow raised an eyebrow. "Scared a rivalry might be bad for your business?"

Lilson chuckled. "Oh, no no no. My business is in safe hands. No, I just want to save us some nerves. Think about it - no negative comments in interviews and everything's alright."

Winslow smirked. "I'm tempted, Mr Lilson, but I'm worried you won't keep your word."

Lilson raised his eyebrows. "Oh dear. I guess you know me too well then."

"No, actually I just have some experience with people not keeping their word."

Lilson smiled. "Oh, yes. Swan."

Phoenix appeared behind him.

"Why the fuck is he here?!", she signed.

"Help, get me out," Winslow signed back while saying: "You're absolutely right, Mr Lilson."

Phoenix hurried to his side and faked a laugh. "Oh dear, Winslow, I've been looking for you everywhere!" She was about to say something else when suddenly Winslow heard a ticking noise in the bushes.

"Get down!", he yelled and pushed Phoenix away.

The garden exploded.

Instinctively Winslow grabbed Phoenix and covered her. He felt the heat on his back. The light of the explosion illuminated everything for a terrifying second, then it was over.

"Oh my God, what was that?", Phoenix whispered.

"I don't know," Winslow replied shakily. "Are you okay?"

"Ye."

"Good." Winslow turned around. The garden was destroyed. A cloud of smoke was floating above the burned grass. A bomb, he realized.

"Oh my God!" Michael Jackson appeared next to them. "The explosion was right next to Loki Lilson! That must have killed him!" Jackson was pale and shocked. For a treehugger kind of person like him this had to be a horror.

Somebody appeared in the smoke. A person was walking towards them. They flinched.

And suddenly Lilson stepped out of the smoke, perfectly unharmed, not even a burn mark on his suit.

Phoenix' eyes widened. "But... I...I saw the explosion...Mr Lilson, you were right next to it!"

"Nonsense," he snarled. "I wasn't. What are you waiting for? Contact the police!"

As it turned out, the bomb had been laid by some anarchist who was protesting against the luxury of the ball. He was arrested and the cops drove off. Winslow and Phoenix left.

"He was right next to the bomb," Phoenix said in the car. "I saw it. He was standing in the middle of the flames and yet nothing happened to him. How is that possible?"

"I don't know," Winslow replied.

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bethhxrmon · 5 years

Text

Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again Pt. 3

“All that I know is that I don’t know a thing” - “Dust and Ashes” from Natasha, Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812

Pairing: Peter Parker x Female OC

Word Count: 3.5k

Summary: The time heist is upon us!

Warnings: Endgame spoilers, angst, character death

A/N: Okay, so this is my last update before I go on my big vacation. I won’t be posting anything while I’m gone but I will hopefully keep writing. You can find the masterlist for this fic in my bio!

At some point in the morning, Harper was woken up not by the sun or by an alarm, but by a phone call. The ringing wouldn’t stop even though Harper would have insisted they deserved at least another five minutes of sleep. So they let the ringing go until it stopped. Only for it to start up again another couple minutes later.

“Hello?” Harper grumbled.

There was a chuckle on the other end, “Making time heist suits?”

“Tony? I swear if you’re calling me while I’m sleeping to tell me I’m being stupid I swear I’ll-”

“No, not that. But are you making time heist suits?” he asked again.

Harper rubbed their eyes and groaned, “Yes, I’m making time heist suits. And they’re going great no thanks to you.”

“Hey, if you stop overworking yourself and you wait a few hours, I could help you with your designing. How many suits have you made?”

They sighed, looking to the fabrics and threads and materials strewn around their room, “One… out of… out of enough.”

“Yep, hold tight. And don’t let anyone do anything too stupid, got it?”

“Look, you gotta tell me what’s up otherwise I’m gonna not know what to do,” Harper pointed out.

He sighed, “I figured out how to make it work. But I wanna tell everyone myself, but I also don’t want you working yourself too hard because I know you would.”

“Alright, fine, your secret’s safe with me,” Harper said, “Now can I let you go so I can get some more sleep?”

“Go for it, see you in a bit,” Tony told them, hanging up with a click.

And try as Harper might to get a few minutes of extra sleep, they simply couldn’t. Not when they knew Tony was coming, it was impossible to relax. Was it because of what they said the day before? Or was it something else that convinced him? It didn’t matter, all that mattered was that this could possibly work.

If Tony was there, then they were doing something right. He wouldn’t change his mind like this unless he figured something out. Something way more important than a faster way to make suits.

A few hours later and Scott was getting into the new and improved suit Harper made. Maybe this was the stupid thing Tony wanted them to stop, but they weren’t the type to make up a killer excuse. Besides, how bad could it be really? If Tony were really worried about someone getting hurt, he would have told them to tell everyone that he was coming.

Looking at the new suit that was similar in design, but instead used red and black as the main colors, Harper was satisfied. For only having a whole night to get it done, it was arguably some of their best work. Even better if it successfully shrank and did everything it was meant to.

Within a few moments, Bruce was already starting to send Scott into the quantum realm. Harper didn’t say anything, figuring it would just be that nothing happened. Then they could sit around in defeat for a little while.

Instead, they all found themselves face-to-face with a young Scott. Then an old Scott. Then a baby Scott. Finally, Scott was back to his regular self. Harper laughed despite themself. There was no way this was going to go well, that much was obvious to them.

Scott sniffed and cringed, “I don’t know if that was baby me, old me, or just… me.”

Hopefully Tony got in there soon, because Harper was starting to doubt any of them had any faith in this plan. If they hadn't known what was to come, they likely would have felt fairly hopeless themself. Instead, they knew exactly what was going to happen, so they just remained calm.

"What's got you so relaxed?" Natasha asked, standing next to them.

They shrugged, "I don't really know... I guess I just feel really good about this."

"So far it's all gone to shit," she pointed out.

Harper nodded, "Perhaps, but maybe it's supposed to be hard at first. Come on, Nat, it's time travel. Not exactly the easiest thing ever. Hell, I think getting Clint to come over here would be easier than that... too soon?"

"No, I tried talking to him. But I'm starting to feel like I was just fooling myself with all of this, you know?"

"Yeah... I get what you mean, but it's not the end of the world. We tried this thing out once, and we'll have to try it multiple times, but... but I really think we'll get everyone back. Then I'll have my best friend back and things can get better. Not great, but better."

Harper was so unbelievably tempted to tell her just why there was no need to worry about whether or not they would be able to do this. Tony wouldn't have called unless he had a massive breakthrough. Now, what caused it was what Harper wondered, but did it matter? Everyone was one step closer to coming back and that was all that they truly wanted in the end. Just for everything to go back to the way it was before. To get back what they had lost.

Perhaps that was just the thoughts of a grieving person, but they truly couldn't care less in that moment. They wanted their best friend back. Hell, Harper almost wanted their parents back. Just so they could see the look on their faces when they realized that stupid lizard they owned for all those years walked away with all their fortune. It was almost funny to think about in that moment. Not that it made everything better.

They sighed a little bit, "But what do I know? I'm the youngest one here and arguably the most inexperienced and-"

"We both know only one of those things are true. You're the youngest, but you're clever, Harper. Working with you these last five years has taught me a lot. And you've taught me a good amount, your age has absolutely nothing to do with that. Just trust me on this. I can tell you're gonna end up doing some really great things someday. Maybe you won't be an Avenger. So what? You don't need to have a triple black belt in martial arts to make a difference. You've proved that just last night."

That was when Steve ran in, holding his shield, Tony trailing not too far behind him, "Tony's helping us!"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm here. You guys have been going at all of this time travel stuff the wrong way and I'm gonna show you how to do it the right way. Just watch and learn. Harper, I have a way faster for you to do what you do best, let’s get going," Tony said, leading them back to his car.

Harper gave a skeptical look, "I'm gonna make the rest of the team's suits in the back of your car?"

"Not unless you want to. I just need your help with getting this bad boy inside to where you design. I'm assuming that's your room?" Tony asked.

They nodded, "Yeah, yeah, that's where I do that. What did you make?"

"You see, I was thinking about how annoyingly difficult it can be to get your suits ready. Fiveish summers ago, you took over a month to make a new suit for Annie. If I can just give you some function options and design options to help that as well as full control over colors, you're good to go and make suits by just pressing some buttons," Tony explained as he opened up the backseat of the car.

Inside was a rather large tube-like structure. It took both of them walking it in to make sure that it didn't just fall and break. There was no way Harper was letting this go. If they could get a robot to do all the hard stuff for them in a matter of a few hours, they could save so much time. With a working time travelling device, Harper knew that this was all going to work perfectly. They couldn't wait to tell Annie all of the crazy things they had gone through just to get everything to work like this. She would go crazy. Especially over the new suit maker that could do virtually whatever they wanted.

Once it was installed in their room and Tony was gone, Harper decided to play around with the functions just for a few moments.

"Pull up everything you have on White Swan," they said, wondering just what Tony had been doing the last five years.

Unsurprisingly, there were a few different concepts and designs. They smirked a little bit, knowing that Tony had to have thought of her almost as often as they had.

Then, out of another spark of curiosity, Harper cleared their throat, "Show me everything you have on Spider-Man."

Once again, there were several designs for different suits. There were more for Peter, but Harper knew that they had known each other for longer. And then, there was one more thing that Harper just couldn't help wondering about.

"What do you have for Harper Higgins?"

This time, there was just one, slightly unfinished, suit. It made them genuinely smile. Over all this time Tony had something planned. Realistically, it was for if things got really dangerous, but Harper couldn't help feeling a sense of pride at that. They had their own suit. It didn't do much, they didn't have any powers, but if something got really bad, they weren't going to be useless.

But Harper had a different job to take care of and they knew it.

They sighed a little bit, "Okay... let's get this thing started. Transfer files from Harper's flash drive in the hero folder."

As all the suits were making themselves, they took the chance to go down to the large meeting happening lower in a common area. Suits could take all the time they wanted, but unless they knew exactly where they were going to get those stones, then they couldn't get anything done.

Needless to say, Harper had never experienced anything to do with the infinity stones. They only knew the extent of their power, nothing more and nothing less. No one ever heard about the stones being somewhere in the west coast at any point in time. Not in a time that they were aware of, at least. They didn't know what they were doing here, but Natasha insisted they at least try their hand at researching.

Researching was something Harper had a decent shot in succeeding at. It was something they did with Annie all the time. That was the number one way to make sure she wasn't getting herself into some kind of huge trouble. So they looked around as the different Avengers started to get situated.

Harper sat next to Nebula and couldn't help smiling, "The gold and bronze looks really great!"

"You say that every time I see you," she commented.

The ginger shrugged, "Well, they always look great every time you see me. Not my fault."

"Actually, you were the one who created them, so it is completely your fault... but thank you. I think they look nice too."

Harper wanted to catch up with Nebula for a little while longer, but they couldn't since Thor was starting to go up to explain the Reality Stone to everyone else. A stone which seemed to have a deeply personal attachment with Thor. They noticed that he seemed a little bit different from before. Not in physical appearance, though that was for certain, but through his personality. The way he seemed to react to having to talk about Jane was rough to watch. They sort of hoped someone would just have him wait it out. He clearly wasn't in a good position to be helping out with anything. Either way, Harper listened to them talk about how everything seemed to work together. It was nice to know that they were just so close to getting it all to work.

Once given a chance, Harper went ahead and checked on all of the suits being made. They smiled to themself, loving how they were coming out and how they were coming out so quickly at that. This was more than they could have ever hoped to imagine. Soon enough everyone would be back. They could talk to Annie. A part of them wondered if she would look the same way she did when she disappeared or if she would come back looking older. They weren't sure which they would prefer. Hell, did it even matter? Harper was just elated at the idea of their best friend coming back after so many years of not having her around.

After several years of wanting to call her and tell her about the craziest thing that happened and not being able to. Ned was great, he really was, but they knew that he would rather talk to Peter every day than them. Not that Harper could blame him.

It would all sort itself out soon enough. They could just feel that all of this was going to work out somehow.

It took a few hours. Actually, it took several hours for all thuits to be done, but it was worth the wait. Especially when Harper knew that they would have taken so much longer had they been working all on their own. They couldn't help grinning at their now finished product, seeing that all of them were fresh off the press and ready for everyone to wear them.

Harper bounced down to everyone researching, "The suits are all done! You guys are gonna love them!"

"Great, Harper, that's great because we just finished figuring out how to divide everyone up," Bruce told them.

Harper nodded eagerly, "Yeah? So... what am I doing?"

"I'm gonna actually have you be the failsafe to this whole mission. You're in charge of making sure we actually come back or that nothing insane happens to the machine," he explained.

They nodded slowly, "Okay, how long are you guys gonna be gone for?"

"Just a minute, no longer. You're in charge of making sure it's only a minute. If it's any longer, we could jeopardize everything."

Harper laughed nervously, "Right, because that would be really bad... we'll be fine though, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course we will be! It's nothing to worry about. I just felt I should give you a job so you could be occupied."

With that, Harper got to watch their creations in action. All of the heroes looked amazing and Harper couldn't help wishing they were going. Except, they didn't know the first thing about handling an infinity stone. There was no way they were even qualified to monitor the time contraption. Yet, if anything went wrong, they were the one who was going to have to fix it. How that would happen, they had no idea. It seemed like Bruce was riding more on the idea of nothing going wrong. That was a fait assumption given that it would only be a minute. A minute wasn't that long, was it? No, there was no way it would be that long.

Yet, something told Harper they were going to be in for the longest wait of their life.

"You're gonna do great, Harper," Natasha told them with a grin.

Harper hugged her, "Yeah, you're totally right. And you'll all be back and we can bring back everyone else. It's perfect, we'll fix everything."

Still, that didn't feel too likely when they looked at everyone standing around in the circle. Harper didn't want to mess this up for everyone, but Bruce was the one who put in the commands for the machine. Maybe he really didn't think anything would happen to the machine. That was a relief.

Everyone looked at each other, going over their plan one last time. Who was going with who as well as where and when they would be heading.

"See you in a minute," Natasha said before everyone disappeared.

It was just Harper. Now, they had been alone in the compound before. Not often and not for very long, but it did happen. Maybe it shouldn't have worried them so much, but they couldn't help being worried about what was going to happen. What if something went wrong and they couldn't fix it? What if someone didn't come back? What if they all came back too soon? What if they all came back as babies? What if they were the reason everything went wrong?

That was silly to think, though. They couldn't possibly ruin this one mission. This one not so simple mission that would only be a minute. How long was a minute again? It was one minute. But one minute was sixty seconds. And sixty seconds were more milliseconds than Harper could recall. There was plenty of time to think of all the ways this could go wrong. What if someone didn't get a stone? No, they were all responsible. They would know what to do if anything came up. It was silly to worry about whether or not the Avengers could do this.

But they hadn't stopped Thanos. Half the universe was gone and they couldn't prevent it.

Except, they were all divided at that time. Now everyone was together. They would win this time around.

Finally, after what felt like far longer than a minute, Harper jumped, seeing everyone suddenly appear in front of them. At first, Harper really thought everyone was there.

Until Bruce spoke up for them, "Where's Nat?"

Natasha hadn't come back. Was this supposed to be some kind of joke? No, this wasn't a time to joke around about everything. It was real. Natasha was dead, and it was evidenced by the pained look on Clint's face. Someone she hadn't even had a chance to talk to. The only thing they had in common was that they missed Natasha for more reasons than one.

Everyone knew what happened. Not the specifics, but enough to know Natasha wouldn’t be coming back. Was this really the price to get everyone back? Harper was starting to wonder if it was worth it.

The rest of the team left to go outside, and Harper decided not to follow. Somehow, it just didn’t feel right to be there with everyone else. Not when they knew everyone had known Natasha so much longer than they had.

But that didn’t mean Natasha didn’t mean anything to them. Quite the opposite. Five years and they learned so much from her. Some things were really important and other things weren’t, but Natasha took them in when no one else had been able to do so. Gave them a job and friendship when everyone else decided to go their separate ways, not thinking about what little some people were left with.

Harper walked around the compound, knowing that everyone was outside. No one would have been mad if they showed up too, but they also didn’t feel like they would fit there.

Back in their room, one last suit was being finished up. Since it had been shown with all of Tony’s different ideas, Harper figured he wouldn’t mind them making it into a reality. Figuring out everything they wanted from it was tough, but they managed to work it out on their own. And if Natasha couldn’t be there anymore, they knew they could certainly try to be there.

“The suit looks nice,” Tony commented.

Harper jumped and turned around, “Can’t you knock?”

“Door was open. You coming?”

They raised an eyebrow, “Coming where?”

“We decided to go through with this snap. Natasha would’ve wanted it. I think she would’ve wanted you to be there.”

“Yes. I-I’ll be there, should I change? The blast is gonna be big, isn’t it?”

Tony nodded, “Yeah, I made that for a reason. I didn’t think it would be for this, but you get changed and I’ll work on getting the stones together.”

In less than an hour, Harper stood in a circle with everyone else with a green and white suit. This was finally happening. It was everything they wanted, wasn’t it? Yes, Harper knew that they wanted this. Annie would be back, everyone would be back. Natasha would have wanted them to enjoy life after all this.

Maybe they could go back to college or something.

Everyone was arguing over who should get to snap the gauntlet. Harper didn’t volunteer. No one would have let them, and they knew that.

“I’ll do it,” Bruce said, “It’s all gamma radiation.”

With that, everyone sort of murmured an agreement. Bruce had the gauntlet on and the power was causing him pain. Harper had the mask on for when the snap happened. Their heart started to beat rapidly and then there was the click of a snap.

The force of it gave a bit of an impact, but Harper didn’t care. If it had power, then they could see Annie again. Everyone was back, right?

Once they could get out of the room, Harper rushed out to the window. There were trees and birds that hadn’t been there before. Quickly, they pulled out their phone.

“Ned, Ned they’re coming back!” Harper exclaimed.

Before they could hear a response, their phone was thrown out of their hand and they were forced back by a massive blast.

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