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officerjennie · 3 years

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You'll Never Be Too Much

CW: ED adjacent thoughts, weight gain thought of negatively (by Eskel), spiraling thoughts, weight gain spoken of positively (by Jaskier), tummy kisses, scar kisses, stretch mark kisses, brief mentions of witchers not eating well on the path, soft!Eskel, hurt/comfort. Starts out rough but ends up Soft. WC: 7.6k+ Rating: T Prompt: Tickling Summary: Eskel injured himself at the start of the winter and ended up resting throughout it, and when it's time to meet up with Jaskier in the spring he fears he will be unattractive to him. But Jaskier is determined to do his best to show Eskel just how beautiful he is when he's soft and healthy.

Dedicated to @all-hail-the-witcher who kept yelling at me to stop hurting Eskel. And a special thanks to @lindianaj0nes for betaing for me <3

It was a mistake coming here.

Eskel rode Scorpion through the small town streets, apprehension tensing through his body until he was just one knot of it, his eyes unable to look further than the stones straight ahead of where his horse took him, unable to look up and see the faces around him.

Sometime the fall before, when the trees were all but bare and the scent of rotting leaves was thick in the air, Jaskier had shooed him home. It had made his heart ache though he knew Jaskier’s decision had not been one made of emotion - no matter how difficult that might be to believe. Jaskier, following logic instead of his heart or cock, but the regret and the worry and the love had been so clear on his face that not even Eskel could deny it.

Jaskier was many things, but an outright liar was not one of them. And there was so much proof to his love that, after almost seven years, Eskel was finally comfortable and confident enough to relax into it.

But that had been before the winter, and dread sat rotten in his gut as he rode slowly towards their agreed upon meeting place.

It was a nothing town in the middle of a nothing country, named but nothing to that name. They’d chosen it because of its location more than anything else. Nestled nicely an equidistance between both Kaer Morhen and Oxenfurt, in an area that wasn’t too keen on driving away witchers, not really known for much monster nuisance or trouble. It was a bit dull and boring for the both of them but when it came to spring meetings dull and boring was nice, a pleasant if brief respite from the world they’d be flinging themselves into shortly.

Jaskier would be there at the inn, waiting for him. As he always was. Singing the crowd into a joyous lot, using a rickety table as his stage, his bright colors splashed against the dull and dark of the rest of the world - and Eskel would be joining him soon, slipping into a booth in the corner to see how long it took for Jaskier to notice he’d shown up, because if the way his bard’s face lit up upon noticing him couldn’t convince him of his love then nothing else ever could.

But this year, this spring, he feared the lust might not follow.

Eskel shifted, feeling his shirt too tight against his skin, and when he looked up at last the inn was far too close. But he’d come this far, and he’d made the mistake of skipping one of their meetings before. Not entirely on purpose, but it hadn’t stopped Jaskier from hunting him down and giving him several pieces of his mind. For several months.

And the songs that followed felt like they’d never end.

The inn had a dingy stable built right next to it, one with only a few stalls and one single, rather sleepy stable boy who always had hay sticking out from his dirty blonde hair. Eskel slipped him a few extra coins after settling Scorpion in, nodding as the boy settled back onto his bucket, coins shoved into his pockets before he rested back against the wood and pulled the hat back over his eyes.

He could already hear his singing. One of Geralt’s songs, a grand tale that was more hyperbole than anything else - anyone who knew Geralt would know Jaskier was embellishing but no one in the inn had probably laid eyes on him before. Or, if they had, they only knew the gruff exterior and the character that Jaskier spun with his words.

It was enough to distract him momentarily from his worries. He entered the inn and slipped easily past the crowd, not drawing more than a pair or two of eyes his way, the barkeep sliding him a tankard without even bothering to demand payment up front. Eskel’s face was a memorable one, and he was good for his coin; there were some benefits to returning every spring and fall.

Jaskier had not changed much since he last saw him, Eskel noted as he slid into a booth (not the same one as the last time, never the same one. That would have ruined their game). His hair was a bit longer, curls a bit wilder from the length, looking as if he’d recently run his hands through them a few too many times. Doublet open, chemise white and almost see-through and far too visible to be decent, black curls begging for fingers to run through them. He was wearing red and Eskel colored at the sight, eyes slipping away as Jaskier drew the crowd into a roar of laughter at his raunchy lyrics.

Not a single bit of Jaskier’s performance was ever unplanned, and his clothes were part of his every day performance. There was a reason he wore red.

Eskel managed to get through a few tankards of ale as he waited, eventually going back to watching him play, letting himself let go enough to be drawn into the music. It was a bit too loud, a bit too much for his liking, but for Jaskier he could put up with it. The crowd, the noise, the scraping of wooden chairs against the floor and the slamming of cups down on the tables. All of it could be tuned down if he tried hard enough, focused hard enough on something else, and that something else was how expertly Jaskier’s long fingers worked the strings on his lute, how he poured every emotion into every lyric and word, and how he could see those cornflower eyes scan the crowd every once in a while looking for a matching splash of red.

When Jaskier finally spotted him, it was enough to make Eskel’s heart flutter. His words did not stumble, his fingers did not stutter, but his eyes found him and blew wide. From across the room Eskel watched as his pupils grew, drinking in the sight of him, eyes flickering as if to sear the memory of him into his mind. His lips drew upwards in a smile he couldn’t hold back nor could he ever fake - Jaskier’s grin, his true and joyous grin, was lopsided and silly, not thought through and perfected like the rest of his performance and Eskel adored it all the more for it. Treasured each moment it was sent his way as he did just then, forgetting his worries as he heard the lilt of excitement weave into his bard’s music.

Jaskier didn’t even attempt to make it through another song, bowing out quickly and hopping off of his table even quicker, the crowd nearly forgotten as his grin spread and his feet brought him straight to his waiting witcher.

“And here I thought you’d forgotten me,” he teased, though the hurt that once edged into those words was long gone. Didn’t stop Eskel from thinking he was a little shit for bringing it up still, after all of those years, but Eskel had grown up around little shits and knew how to deal with them. Mostly.

“Hard to forget someone like you.” Eskel winked just to hear Jaskier laugh, leaning back in his seat with his arms crossed over his chest - and the movement reminded him of why he’d sat with his back to the wall, table in-between him and Jaskier’s makeshift stage, the worries and fears coming crashing down on him as he made to tug his shirt back into place.

Jaskier didn’t seem to notice, not yet. Too busy shaking his head fondly and chattering away, holding onto his lute strap with one hand while the other gestured and flourished through the air, spinning his fingers as he spun the tale of his journey there. Eskel caught a good bit of it, whisps of familiar words as Jaskier joined him at the table, his bard pressing a leg against Eskel’s as he went on about how one fork in the road had nearly been his downfall when his turn had been blocked.

“It was luck and Melitele’s blessing alone that got me here,” he concluded, dramatically heaving a sigh as he fluttered his eyelashes, looking up through them in the way that usually had Eskel’s insides melting. “We must truly be meant to be, dearheart, if not even the most formidable of foes can keep us apart.”

“A fallen tree and a couple of bandits aren’t that dangerous,” he pointed out, keeping at least one hand in his lap and hoping the position was normal. How was it that he usually sat? Did he usually have his hands on the table? Arms across his chest? Nothing like trying to act inconspicuous to make one realize they knew so little about their own behavior, and Eskel felt disdain at not knowing how to act like himself.

“You feeling alright, love?”

Eskel could have cursed himself, doubly so because he didn’t know what had given him away. But Jaskier’s lips had turned down, his eyes searching his face for any hint of something, one of his hands reaching out to hold Eskel’s where it had been resting on the table.

“I’m fine,” he lied, the words heavy on his tongue. Heavy like the fears that had turned into stones in his gut, heavy like every step had been on the way here. Heavy like him. “Just a bit tired. Traveling down a perilous mountain is a bit more exhausting than some formidable trees.”

The teasing worked at least. Distracted Jaskier enough for his nose to scrunch up cutely, for the frown to disappear from his face. But it was only a delay of the inevitable as Jaskier leaned towards him, bringing his hand up to brush his lips against the back of his knuckles, the tender touch followed by a few soft kisses to his fingers.

“I’ve already got us a room. Upstairs, window overlooking the stable, just like you like. Always best to leave the crowd wanting so why don’t we retire early tonight?”

“It’s not anywhere near night,” Eskel said, the correction in place of the irrational words he wished to say. ‘Let’s stay down here’, he wanted to suggest. ‘We can eat and drink and stay here, on opposite sides of the table. We can stay here all night and all through tomorrow and don’t look at me, I don’t want to see your face fall in disappointment’.

His hand tugged at the end of his shirt, trying to hide the soft skin that refused to stay contained. But Jaskier intertwined their fingers so sweetly, his voice like honey, lips so soft where they ran across his own rough skin.

“I’ve missed you,” he admitted, voice full of all the nights they’d spent far, far away from each other. “So what if it’s not night; maybe I’d rather spend the day in your arms than around all these drunken fools.”

“You’re sappier than a maple,” Eskel accused, his cheeks dusted pink, but they both knew Eskel didn’t hold it against him - just as they both knew Jaskier would get what he wanted.

It meant standing up, however, and Eskel was not looking forward to that. But he let himself get tugged up, making sure to not let Jaskier feel the weight of him, pushing himself up instead of reveling in the strength in those deceptively slender looking arms. Jaskier laced their fingers together the moment they were both standing and Eskel counted his blessings as Jaskier led the way, eyes elsewhere and ahead of them, his bard quiet for once as he led them past the bar and up the stairs, halfway down the hall on the left, their door not even locked much to Eskel’s chagrin.

“Not worried your bags will be pilfered through?”

“I was in a hurry,” Jaskier pouted, dropping Eskel’s hand and making a show of locking the door behind them, tossing the key onto a table that looked a little out of place with no chairs to be seen. “Now, on the bed, mister. I’ve walked a long road and sang my throat raw countless nights to reach you, and I’m not wasting another moment outside of those arms!”

Eskel hesitated. He hated that he did, with his back to Jaskier as he heard him gently placing his lute on the same table he’d carelessly tossed the keys onto - and it occurred to him that Jaskier had probably requested it specifically for that purpose, using his exceptional charm to get his way as usual, and the coin toss had landed on success rather than backfiring in his face as it sometimes was wont to do.

He shifted his weight, feeling the pull of the muscles he’d fucked up in his leg at the start of the winter. Not even the start of it; on his journey up the mountain, too cocky for his own good, not taking care with his steps and leading to a nearly fatal fall that had left him limping and dragging himself the rest of the way home.

If he’d been human - if he’d still been human - it would have been a permanent injury. As it was his own stubbornness had made it worse over the winter, and it was one he could still feel a few months later. One that had cost him.

He should be grateful he’d survived, and he was grateful of it, but as he stared at the bed he was supposed to climb in he wondered if it really would’ve been all that bad to skip their meeting until fall. Skip the few months they’d get together now, the nights he could spend in Jaskier’s arms, for a chance to work past the rough winter and resemble more of himself before Jaskier caught sight of him again.

It wouldn’t do to stand there in the middle of the room any longer. He started towards the bed a bit too quickly, almost forgetting to take off his armor and boots as he went, the rest of his pack having been left to Scorpion to defend with his viscous bite and deadly kicking aim.

Eskel was under the covers before Jaskier was even ready to turn towards the bed, his bard ever slow with getting ready for even the simplest of things despite how he rushed and shooed others on. The doublet had been folded neatly and moved around until he deemed a place suitable enough to stash it away, his boots aligned neatly near the door while Eskel’s had been kicked off towards the wall. Jaskier scratched his hair as he sighed, his shoulders sagging, the performance melting away and leaving a disaster of a man that Eskel could not love more if he tried.

The sheets sussed together as Jaskier crawled into them as if he’d never felt a more comfortable bed, not stopping until his nose was nuzzling into Eskel’s chest, legs tangling themselves in Eskel’s as his hands, to Eskel’s growing horror, quickly found their way under the back of his shirt to circle around him and tug him close. But not as close as they used to be able to be, not with his stomach in the way, pushing Jaskier away as Jaskier’s cold fingers leeched the heat from him.

Jaskier hummed, and Eskel counted the seconds as they rolled over into a minute. Two. Three. He knew it would come eventually. The questions, the ‘why’s, the ‘what happened to you’ and the disappointed pursing of those pretty pink lips. He managed to wrap his arms loosely around Jaskier as he waited for it all to come. There was no doubt in his mind that Jaskier would love him no matter what - he’d proven that point time and time again - but love wasn’t the only thing that held them together, that kept them company at night, and it wasn’t something he’d struggled to find throughout his long life.

After all, his family loved him. Vesemir had raised him and they’d become closer after the sacking of the keep, feeling like family rather than what they’d been before. His brothers as well, no matter that they got under each other’s skin like no one else could. Eskel knew love, knew it well, it was no stranger to him - but Jaskier had brought so much along with it that Eskel couldn’t- he just couldn’t.

How many times had Jaskier run his hands all over him, over even his scars, over every part of him that he hid from the world in shame and Jaskier had called him beautiful. Every place Jaskier’s fingers had traveled so had his lips, brushing against him as if Eskel was a precious thing and not some mutated imitation of a human. And Eskel had gotten used to it, that tenderness, the way his heart would flutter and feel so full at every honeyed word of praise that would drip from Jaskier’s lips.

What must he think of him now? The strong arms that Jaskier had purred about the first time he’d pressed a palm into Eskel’s erection through his pants, the strength that used to have Jaskier fawning over him - it was covered, now, hidden under a thick layer of fat from all the nothing he’d done all winter.

“If you think much harder the neighbors will hear your thoughts.”

Eskel blinked out of the darkening spots of his mind. When he tilted his head down just enough to look at Jaskier he found his love frowning up at him, a bit of his lip worrying between his teeth, brow furrowed but only just.

Guilt tinged at the edge of the self-loathing that had been building a nice home in his chest, because that was a look he’d only ever seen once on Jaskier. It was concern, nervousness, and the way he so carefully held himself back instead of pushing all of the emotions to the forefront meant he was feeling something he wanted to hide.

Jaskier didn’t hide himself. Not unless he thought he wasn’t good enough, and that self-doubt was only reserved for those closest to his heart. And Eskel had made him doubt himself somehow, some way, and he had no right putting those feelings on him.

“I’m fine, Jask.” Those weren’t the words he meant. ‘It’s fine. Everything’s fine, everything’s alright’, he meant, and he soothed a hand in circles on Jaskier’s back, bringing him as close as his protruding stomach would allow.

“You’re not.” He could tell by the worrying of his bottom lip that those weren’t Jaskier’s words either, but Eskel wasn’t sure what doubts had wriggled their way into his mind and nor did he know the why’s.

Words weren’t his strong suit, and personal communication wasn’t Jaskier’s. But seven years they’d been together and Eskel wasn’t going to let his own shortcomings get in the way.

“Something the matter, songbird?”

Jaskier snorted lightly, but he nuzzled into his chest. A good sign.

“You’re the one who’s so tense. Stiff as a board, which is entirely unlike you. Are you hurt? Did something happen?”

‘What happened to you?’ Eskel swallowed against the thick lump in his throat, leaning his cheek against the top of Jaskier’s head and willing himself to relax.

“Not currently,” he admitted. His injury might still bug him but it wasn’t a pressing issue, didn’t even get in the way of him sparring or fighting anymore - not like it had all winter, after his damned brothers had noticed it, much to Eskel’s frustration. He’d tried to hide it and carry on like normal, but one misstep had caused his leg to give out under him, exasperating the injury and making his brothers and Vesemir infuriatingly stubborn over him resting and not doing a single task that might upset it further.

It had meant no sparring. No training of any sort. Just laying or sitting around or only doing the simplest of tasks while he got fat off of Vesemir’s home cooking, the muscles in his arms and legs softening from lack of use, and soon the definition that had been built on the path was nowhere to be seen. Eskel had never been more self-conscious about his body which was saying something given every waking moment someone found some way to remind him of what he looked like.

People were afraid of him. Of what he was, of what he could do. They saw his scars and the scent of fear always lingered, like they knew in the back of their mind they weren’t safe no matter how careful he was to make his presence known and not sneak up on anyone, how he kept his hands visible at all times, how he moved slowly and deliberately so they knew he meant them no harm.

He’d lived with all of that for so long, but none of it prepared him for this. For knowing he could have stopped this, could have kept himself in shape.

So, no, he was not hurt. His leg only cramped every now and then, the injury more or less healed, but Eskel was not fine and he wouldn’t be until-

The spiral was stopped with a kiss. Nothing lingering, nothing passionate, just a peck to his lips that brought him right back from wherever his mind had been trying to drag him to. And he was met with the softest expression he’d ever seen Jaskier wear, with fingers caressing his cheek, the sound of his love’s heartbeat a little faster than it should have been.

“Where were you going, dearheart?” His words were soft with emotion, the self-doubt nowhere to be seen anymore. A small blessing within whatever curse Eskel was winding around them, ruining their long awaited meeting with. “Don’t hide whatever it is from me. If you can, if you want, you know I’ll listen.”

Eskel wanted to laugh at that, because how could he hide it when not even his shirt could cover up his shame. But he didn’t. Instead he curled up tighter around his songbird, tucking Jaskier up under his chin once more so he didn’t have to see the concern on his face anymore.

Talk about it... would that do them any good? Would facing it head on, ripping off the bandaid, be any better than waiting for Jaskier to eventually say something? Maybe it would be. Maybe it would be worse. But Eskel was tired from the road, tired of second and third guessing whether he should have showed up at all, and when he was tired the small, small parts of him that dared to reach out for comfort had more sway in his thoughts and actions.

“It won’t take long to get rid of it.” Eskel murmured the words into his lover’s hair, as if hiding them could hide his shame. “Just a month or so at most. Then I’ll be back to normal.” He’d be better then. He could do it by then. Just...a month, maybe two, he could ask Jaskier for that much.

“Normal?” Jaskier tried to peek his head back up but Eskel held him too tightly, not wanting to face him, so Jaskier gave up with a sigh pressed into his collarbone alongside a few soft kisses. “So something is wrong then - I can’t help you if you don’t speak clearly, dearheart. What are you getting rid of? Are you ill- should we be seeking out a witch? A healer? Oh please don’t tell me I have to see Yen already, that is not how I want to start out my year.”

Bringing up that old rivalry was enough to draw a chuckle out of him, no matter how short lived the humor was - and no matter that Yennefer and Jaskier apparently got along just fine. Half of the time, anyway. Eskel did not envy Geralt any of that nonsense, though it had seemed to calm down significantly once Jaskier had switched his witcher hyperfocus onto Eskel.

The old rivalry aside... Eskel shifted around, a little uncomfortable that Jaskier was going to make him draw such blunt attention to his issue. That he was making him say it flat out instead of letting him talk around it. Bluntness was usually how Eskel dealt with his issues anyway, most of them at the very least, but when they were so personal he preferred to not and just...not bother anyone with them in the first place.

Bothering Jaskier with it was unavoidable, given that he hadn’t stayed away. That was something he was going to have to live with until he fixed it. The right diet might help him do that faster, a stricter training regime, he could do it, would do it.

But if Jaskier wanted blunt, wanted him to throw it out open and ugly between them, Eskel didn’t have the energy to keep talking in circles around him.

“I got fat.” As if to mock him, with his next deep breath he felt his stomach press against Jaskier, putting more distance between them as it pushed him away. And when Jaskier made some sort of gargled noise in his throat Eskel had to shut his eyes tight against it.

This was it. This was when Jaskier would tell him how he’d noticed the instant he’d seen Eskel from across the bar. How he’d seen his shirt straining to contain the lot of him back, how it had made him hesitant to touch him - maybe that’s why he’d rushed them off to the room, Eskel thought suddenly. Jaskier hadn’t wanted to be seen with him, hadn’t wanted to be embarrassed by him, and this was when he’d hear what he’d been dreading all along.

Jaskier would still love him, Eskel did not doubt that. But how could he still be attracted to him like this? How could he still trace his scars with calloused yet gentle fingers, murmur words of praise against a body that had hardly deserved it before and certainly didn’t now. It had been a stretch of anyone’s imagination to call Eskel beautiful but he’d wanted to believe it, but not even Jaskier, his beloved songbird who’d seen good in the darkest of places, seen the good in those who wanted nothing more than to shy away and hide from the world - not even he could look at him now and see-

“And?”

His thoughts stopped again, and Eskel had to circle back to that word. Circle back and puzzle on it, puzzle on the question, because he wasn’t sure why the question was posed in the first place. There was no ‘and’, it was...just that. It was what it was, and wasn’t...wasn’t that bad enough?

Jaskier didn’t wait for his answer. Or perhaps the minute Eskel took trying to catch up with what the question might mean was too long and he continued without one anyway. “What’s so wrong with gaining weight? We do it every winter. Lucky enough to, even, I’ve seen too many starving people begging for food during the worst of them.”

That… Eskel tucked Jaskier up closer before he had a chance to try to escape his lax arms, ignoring his grumbling when he did. It was true that they both tended to gain a few pounds over the winters. No matter if Jaskier went off to see his family (a very rare occurrence) or spent the time teaching at his old academy, he always came back with a nice layer of plush to him that Eskel loved to knead and feel. Hips softer, stomach making for a wonderful pillow, his thighs becoming squishable in a way that made Eskel want to bury himself between them.

And Eskel himself usually left home with a more rounded shape, but that was…

“That’s different.” It was nothing like this year, nothing like how he looked like now. No matter that he didn’t feel all that different, that perhaps it wasn’t that much more weight than the previous years, this time it was so much more.

Some thought reminded him that didn’t quite track, but the thought didn’t stick, tossed away because this time was different.

“How is it any different? Eskel just- your neck and chest are gorgeous, love, but can I please look at your face while I’m talking to you?”

Eskel relented, reluctantly letting up his hold so Jaskier could move back far enough to meet his eyes. At least he didn’t look as disgusted as he thought he might, his nose scrunched up in a way he’d always found rather cute, his lips pursed and promising him a tongue lashing if he wasn’t careful.

But his words weren’t harsh accusations when he continued, and his hands had yet to leave Eskel’s body. One came back up to stroke a thumb over his cheek as Jaskier spoke softly to him, his words filled with the wrong kind of wonder.

“What’s wrong, love? What’s different? Tell me.”

There had only ever been two people who could make him squirm under their gaze like that, and it was one of the main reasons Vesemir had had much better luck with him than any of the other wolf teachers. It was difficult to not listen, to bite back his tongue and not talk when leveled with that exact look and maybe it was a little concerning that Jaskier and Vesemir both shared that power over him.

Eskel sighed. Refused to look up at Jaskier, fixing his gaze somewhere in the dark curls that peeked up over his loose chemise. Fidgeted and tried not to fidget and only ended up fidgeting more.

“I didn’t,” he started, then stalled, not sure how to put all of his shortcomings to words. But he had to at least try, lest that look turn to the worse disappointed one. “I could have done better. Didn’t do anything all winter, really, just…”

As he went along, it didn’t get any easier, though Jaskier’s fingers had started to rub a soothing pattern into his back. The ones resting on his cheek held him softly even over his scars, never flinching away, never twitching in annoyance. Jaskier just held him and waited patiently, as if he had all the time in the world for Eskel to chew out what was wrong and different.

“On the way up the mountain, I fucked up my leg. Couldn’t train. Couldn’t help.” It all tasted as bitter then as it had during the winter. Forcing his brothers to pick up his slack, not being anything but a burden on the lot of them. Even when he tried he’d only made things worse, pissing Lambert off and making Geralt grouse at him like he was some baby witcher who’d never even gone out on the path before. All he’d been able to do was laze around and grow fat, muscles flabby and losing their strength, he should have been better and he could get better- would get better, for all of them.

Jaskier brushed his lips lightly against his jaw, and Eskel couldn’t help but look at him then. The way his eyelashes fluttered against his cheekbones, the way sunlight lit up his features and made his skin glow. Gods but his songbird was beautiful; how could he possibly deserve him, now especially?

Those lips brushed all the way up to his own, pausing every so often to leave soft kisses in their wake, until Jaskier was kissing him. It was one Eskel slowly melted into, pressing back, soft and slow and lingering until his hand was tangling in soft brown curls as he gently nipped the lip Jaskier had been worrying between his teeth.

“Dearheart,” Jaskier murmured between their kisses, his cornflower blue eyes gentle as they met Eskel’s, “I’m not sure I understand. Can you help me try?”

Eskel would be willing to do anything if Jaskier requested it in that voice. All he could do was nod and continue to brush their lips together, breathing him in, letting their noses brush together as well just to feel the soft contact between them.

“Thank you, love.” And he meant it, Eskel could hear it in his tone, could feel it in the rhythm of his heartbeat. “Now, please, can we try this again? You’ll have to talk to me like I’m the single most oblivious person in the world just to make sure I follow every step of the way. Alright?”

Eskel did. He started with his fall, how it had fucked up his leg so badly that Scorpion was the only reason he was still alive. Continued on to how he tried to hide the injury - and did not miss the pinched look that promised him they’d be revisiting that little fact at a later date, but Jaskier, somewhat out of character, managed to bite his tongue and save the lecture for later - and how it had ended up making it worse. How he’d been refused to contribute in any fashion after that, burdening his family and growing fat off their food anyway, his injury preventing him from keeping up with himself until he got worse and worse from it.

At some point, the hand that had been soothing circles into his back moved, slowly coming forward until it rested on his stomach. Eskel tensed when it did, though he fought past the urge to bite off his words and stop speaking. But eventually it wasn’t up to him anyway, Jaskier gently cutting him off with another kiss, and then another, and another until Eskel was melting though he hadn’t even realized how tense he’d become.

“Okay. Alright. Now, I’m going to repeat what I believe you’re trying to say, but love,” Jaskier kissed him again a few times, then reached up to kiss his nose, and Eskel wasn’t sure why he was being so extra tender with him today. “I need you to know I don’t believe these things, and that I’m not teasing or judging you for them. Alright?”

Eskel managed to nod but his words were gone. All he wanted to do was sleep, perhaps roll over so his stomach wasn’t pressing into Jaskier - it was probably uncomfortable though Jaskier hadn’t tried to pull away from him quite yet.

“You think you’re fat, and you think that’s a bad thing.” Eskel tried to nod at that as well but Jaskier shook his head, kissing his nose again as his hand began to gently caress the front of Eskel’s stomach. “You think that you...that you were a burden on your family, and that- this is the part that I’m struggling with, Esk, I’m having to make some assumptions here but- you think you’re not...worthy? If you’re not thinner and more visibly muscular, is that it?”

Jaskier’s face was pinched up when he said that. It wasn’t an expression Eskel had an easy time reading. His own lips pursed, but that sounded about right. He wasn’t good like this and was only holding them all back.

But Jaskier shook his head, such concern written in the wrinkle of his brow that Eskel could only frown at his own thoughts. “Esk. Eskel, dearest, dearheart. Why would you ever think that?”

His words were gentle but they were breathed in a rough whisper, Jaskier’s fingers finding their way underneath the shirt that could barely hold back Eskel’s stomach. But instead of pinching or grabbing the fat they found they just gently soothed over his skin, rubbing circles there as they’d done so many times before. As if he wasn’t different now, as if it was normal.

“I’m not…” He struggled to find the words, licking his lips, not for the first time wishing he was better at talking about this, talking about himself. Sure, he would never be as bad as Geralt, but Eskel struggled and floundered so much when the attention was on him that he could never begrudge Geralt’s stunted emotions. “Jask, I’m just not… I’m not attractive like this.”

Jaskier gasped, and Eskel’s eyes snapped back up to his face to find so many emotions flickering across it that he couldn’t keep track of them all. “Eskel you- you take that back this instant! You are the single most handsome man I’ve come across on this whole continent and that’s saying something.”

Even with Jaskier being so earnest with his words, Eskel would never believe him about that. Though his heart wanted to believe that Jaskier believed it, or at least believed him to be attractive, handsome, beautiful, precious, all of the things Jaskier had pressed against his skin and whispered in his ear over the years they’d been together.

That hand continued to caress his stomach as if it wasn’t pushing them apart, the calloused fingers pushing through the hairs there. Rubbing, lightly brushing the back of his fingers against him, gently painting patterns onto his skin as if there was a picture there that only Jaskier could see. Eskel had wanted to move away from the touch, had wanted to flinch at it, hide his shame, shy away, but under the gentle affection he found himself relaxing. It soothed the ache in his chest until he couldn’t listen to his own thoughts anymore, focused in on what Jaskier was telling him.

“Esk, there’s nothing wrong with this.” His touch became just the slightest bit firmer, massaging his stomach as he brushed their noses together, his other hand still on Eskel’s cheek. “This is good, this is healthy, it’s not something bad or wrong.” Jaskier kissed the protest that was forming right off of Eskel’s lips, not letting his mind catch up and throw out how Jaskier was very wrong about that. “Eskel I would much much rather see you like this - healthy, soft, thick and sexy - versus when the path gets rough and you’ve not had anything to eat for a week.”

“Sexy?”

“We’ll get back to that.” Pink suddenly splattered Jaskier’s cheeks and his eyes flickered down to Eskel’s stomach, though Eskel made no move to hide it from view. “Look, just, this is good. I need you to hear that, know that. The soft protects your muscles, something I know you already know, but it’s a good thing. Dehydration, starvation, those are terrifying and very much not what I want my beloved witcher to deal with during the winter.

“Speaking of, what is so wrong with getting some rest for your injured leg, which you could barely stand on let alone walk and fight and train on.”

Ah. There it was. Eskel had the decency to at least blush when he shot Jaskier a grin, though it earned the tip of his nose a nip - the whole while Jaskier’s hand never once pausing where it was slowly massaging and caressing his stomach.

“Bloody witchers, the lot of you are ridiculous.”

“You love me,” Eskel teased, half just to hear him admit it.

And Jaskier did, without a single moment’s hesitation, without any regret to be heard in his voice, “I do, dearest. I do. Every single inch of you.” Eskel’s heart picked up as Jaskier kissed down his jawline, peppering kisses down his neck, stopping at his collarbone as his hand slipped from his cheek to follow him. The hand at his stomach was still tracing idle patterns, not caring if his skin was scarred or not, as if every single inch of skin there deserved the attention - no matter how much there was.

“I love you,” Jaskier whispered again, right over his heart, and Eskel’s breath caught in his throat.

Jaskier kissed down, down, down all the way to his stomach. Kissing his shirt on the way as if it wasn’t there, as if it was Eskel’s bare skin he was adoring with affection. And when he reached his stomach Eskel tried for a moment to suck it in, to make it appear smaller, but Jaskier was having none of it. He wrinkled his nose and scowled up at Eskel with a firm, “be nice to it, I love it,” and Eskel didn’t have it in himself to argue then.

Though Eskel was much stronger than Jaskier, he moved easily when Jaskier pushed him onto his back. His beloved songbird made himself cozy between his thighs as he gently caressed his stomach and sides, his nose brushing just above his naval before his lips joined in. And Eskel had to blink the tears away because Jaskier continued on. Peppered him with kiss after kiss, tracing the stretch marks that stood against his tanned skin, showing him over and over without poetic songs or honeyed words that he was loved. That this part of him was loved.

Kisses on his soft skin wherever Jaskier could reach. Gentle fingers caressing and tracing patterns. Eskel almost squirmed over it all, just the side of too much, but he wanted it. Wanted to feel loved, wanted to be loved, to deserve all of this. Though he didn’t believe he did, he wanted desperately, reaching out a hand to grasp one of Jaskier’s and hold onto him tightly.

“Jask.” It sounded like a request, though he wasn’t sure what he was asking for. Jaskier continued on kissing him, stopping to press his lips against a rather nasty burn scar on his side, kissing all the way up and pushing his shirt out of the way as he went. He made sure to love every scar he passed along the way, knowing each by heart though he knew so few of the stories - Eskel kept most of his past to himself, much to Jaskier’s usual chagrin, but today was not a day for pressed questions.

Eventually, Jaskier worked the shirt off entirely, throwing it off to the side and kissing Eskel’s lips once firmly before going back to his chest. He laid mostly against him, showering his softened chest with love and affection..

Careful with his grip, Eskel held him tight. Blinked away some of the more stubborn tears as Jaskier kissed soft words onto him, murmurs that etched their way onto his heart, and Eskel knew without a doubt that he would never forget this day no matter how long he might live.

But there were some doubts wriggling around in his head that he couldn’t quite shake. Instead of letting them fester, instead of letting them spiral out of control, Eskel held onto Jaskier tight, and with a small voice he reached out to him.

“Is it too much?”

Jaskier pressed a kiss right over his heart, blue eyes fluttering as he looked up at him, a look of sheer adoration that was just for him clear on that pretty face. “Is what too much, love?”

It took all that he was not to fidget or look away. “Me. My stomach. My- well, just me.”

“No, love.” Another kiss over his quickening heartbeat. “You’re perfect, you’d never be too much.”

“It didn’t fit anymore.”

“What didn’t?” Yet another, before Jaskier laid his ear against his chest, fingers tracing idle patterns into his side.

“My shirt.” Eskel turned his head to see it laying crumpled on the ground.

“We’ll buy a new one.” The fingers lightened their touch on his skin, and Eskel had to bite his lip as they traveled across his ribs.

“I don’t have the coin to waste on new clothes.”

“I do.”

The fingers at his side continued on running over his ribs, and finally Eskel couldn’t keep back the fidgeting, his mouth quirking into an unintentional grin at the ticklish feeling. All of which did not go unnoticed as he jostled Jaskier with his jerking. His songbird first looked up at him with momentary confusion before he understood what had happened, a mischievous grin spreading across his lips as his stalled fingers started to tap against Eskel’s skin.

“I’m sorry, love, but is there something wrong?”

Eskel rolled his eyes but snickered when Jaskier poked just the right spot between two of his ribs, unable to help himself. And Jaskier, having discovered after all this time that Eskel was ticklish, of course descended upon him, assaulting both of his sides until Eskel’s laughter was booming in the air around them.

He could have shoved him off. Could have tossed him off the bed or held his hands above his head. But instead Eskel allowed it until a different emotion prickled at the corners of his eyes, and then he flipped them, laying on Jaskier and nosing into the crook of his neck and just. Just laid there, the ends of laughter still keeping him light, his beloved songbird doing a horrible impression of pouting while snuggling him close and kissing his hair.

“I love you.” The words caught on a lump in his throat but Eskel meant them so much, closing his eyes and burrowing himself into his songbird. And Eskel believed Jaskier when he said “I love you too,” believed him with his whole heart.

One afternoon could not erase the thoughts that had clouded Eskel’s mind, but it was a good afternoon, and Eskel could not find a single regret over coming to Jaskier that spring. He could never regret not hiding from him, not hiding his softer stomach and softer thighs, because in that moment he knew that Jaskier found him beautiful and beloved all the same with or without them.

The rest could come later. The rest of his mental healing, but for now this was enough of a start, and Eskel reveled in the tender love Jaskier showered him in.

@witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

#jaskel #eskier #eskel x jaskier #jaskier x eskel #eskel/jaskier #jaskier/eskel #the witcher #fanfiction #mywriting #my summer bingo #someone please explain to me how i got this #-gestures vaguely at whole story-#out of TICKLING

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nukacoola · 3 years

Note

Companions react to Danse stepping out of power armor for the first time!

Cait:

She would look Danse up and down very obviously and grin which would make him extremely uncomfortable.

“Ya’outgha get out of that thing more often Dansey. Who knew there were cookies in that tin can of yours.”

She obviously isn’t actually interested in Danse. Way too boring. But she’s not one to toss out eye candy just cause it isn’t her favorite flavor. She wouldn’t actively follow him but for fun and also to get on his nerves she would definitely cat-call him everytime he was in hearing range. Deacon and Hancock might join in for a few comments if they don’t have anything better to do.

She would not stop unless sole made a convincing plea or reason for why she should and maybe not even then.

Danse would not respond or look at Cait but he would be very red and never get out of his suit in front of her again.

Codsworth:

“Why Paladin Danse I dare say you’ve been keeping up your workout routine! Cheers to your excellent health whether in or out of your power armor!” Codsworth is reassured that his owner is traveling with someone so equipped for the struggles of the wasteland.

“Uh, thank you, Codsworth.” Danse would feel a bit awkward but he would appreciate the compliment.

“Might I polish that for you while you're otherwise engaged? It seems to be in a just dreadful state and I would like nothing more than for you to be looking your best in your wasteland escapades!” Though he is reassured by Danse’s physical state and abilities, he is mortified by the state his armor is in. All the scratches, dings, and dirt? It’s just horrible. Codsworth has always wanted an opportunity to fix that suit up and is pretty happy that the day has finally arrived.

“I- If you’d like to you can.”

“Oh good! I do so love a difficult task!” With that Codsworth would zoom away to procure the necessary supplies to return Danse’s armor to it’s original state. Danse didn’t really know whether or not he should be offended at the robot’s comments but he decided to just continue about his business and not think about it too much.

Curie:

“Oh Monsieur Danse, you are quite zee lovely specimen! I would be eager to do a physical examination if you would allow me to.” Ever since leaving the vault, Curie has been astounded at how many different sorts of humans there are. Danse is particularly interesting to her because of the amazing athletic feats he does so regularly. She is also interested in studying the effects of constant power armor usage on the human body. When she sees him step out of his suit for the first time and sees his overly muscular physique, it just tacks on another reason she wants to study him.

Before Blind Betrayal:

“The only specimen that needs examining is you, synth. Don’t talk to me unless you’re submitting yourself to the Brotherhood.” The only reason Curie isn’t already on the Prydwen is because Sole thinks it’s their friend. It bothers Danse immensely that Sole hasn’t destroyed or used this inhuman thing already.

(Don’t get mad at me he literally says this in game.)

Curie is very hurt, she expected this reaction but it still hurt. She was still getting used to feelings such as the pained ones she felt in moments like these.

After Blind Betrayal:

“No. Thank you.” Danse’s words were strained. Being around Curie was pretty awful for him. He had treated her so terribly before and he still had strong feelings of disgust towards her despite what he knows now. Everytime he sees her and has those feelings of hate and disgust, he remembers that he and Curie are the same. He’s still struggling to overcome the years of propaganda that were drilled into him.

Curie is disappointed. Did Danse not see they are the same? If he didn’t believe in her humanity then he would have to not believe in his own. It is very confusing for Curie. She hopes that he will eventually go back on his denial of her offer. He would be a very interesting specimen.

Deacon:

He would be surprised that Danse would be able to wear that clunky thing so much in the first place. He wouldn’t be surprised at how muscular he is under the suit though. It takes a lot of strength to operate those suits. He’d read that before they were fully developed, a lot of trial runs had resulted in really terrible accidents. The kind of accidents that crush all of your bones at once or remove your top half from your bottom.

Deacon would definitely make a few jokes. “Hey the sardine’s outta the can!” “Isn’t getting out of that bulldozer against Brotherhood policy or something?” “And I thought it was glued on! Learn something new everyday.”

Danse would scowl at his comments but say nothing. He did not like Deacon one bit. That man’s hiding something and if it turns out what he’s hiding will harm Sole or the Brotherhood’s mission, there was gonna be hell to pay. Danse could’ve sworn he’d seen him on the Prydwen a few times but whenever he looked back again to check, he was gone. Danse didn’t much like the idea of leaving his power armor alone with Deacon around but Sole assured him he’s harmless. We’ll see...

Whenever Danse returned to his suit Deacon would stand suspiciously close to it and act like he was trying to play cool after almost being caught doing something nefarious. He would never get tired of watching Danse carefully inspect every part of the armor before apprehensively getting in. Man that guy’s fun to mess with.

Dogmeat:

He was so surprised! He thought this human was just made of metal! But now Dogmeat can play and jump and lick! Yes!!

Danse has no idea how to deal with a dog he wasn’t allowed to kick so he would just try to awkwardly push the pup off until Sole took care of it.

Hancock:

Oh HELL YES! Hancock has wanted to punch this fucker since he first laid eyes on him. “HEY SOLDIER BOY, TIME TO SEE WHAT YOU CAN DO OUT OF YOUR DAMN COWARD COFFIN!” He would make a beeline towards the paladin and the paladin would speed walk towards the ghoul as well. Sole barely let him insult the damn freak but this was a direct attack of which he was most definitely gonna defend himself from.

Sole would freak out a bit and try to get in between the two. They would both try to get Sole out of the way so they could pummel each other. A brief alliance in order to facilitate their battle. This was too sweet of an opportunity to miss.

“Sorry Sunshine, this is happening.”

“Sole, it has directly started an altercation with me and I intend to see it through.”

If they both had a great relationship with Sole after a bit of panicked begging to both parties, the men would begrudgingly back off. They would, however, insult each other viciously despite Sole’s protests.

“You have no fucking idea how lucky you are meathead. I swear to god if they weren’t here…”

“You call me a meathead but you’re the one who’s rotting, ghoul.”

They would continue to jab each other until Sole dragged Danse off to do what he got out of his suit to do in the first place.

If one or both of them didn’t have a close relationship with Sole, well, it wouldn’t be pretty. They would forcibly move Sole out of the way and fight for a while. Though Danse is much bigger than Hancock, Hancock is quicker and better at hand to hand. Danse, being unused to fighting outside of his armor, was ultimately unable to beat the ghoul. Hancock landed one final blow to his face, knocking Danse flat. When he stayed down Hancock laughed loudly and spit at him.

“Done in by the best, lucky you.” It would be a huge blow to Danse’s ego and he’d resent Hancock even more now. Hancock would gloat constantly when Danse was around. “Heyyy, there’s my favorite punching bag!” “Come on over Dansey I won’t bite!” He wouldn’t out of shame, but if Danse ever did try to retort, Hancock would just taunt him. Saying something like “Oh yeah? Ya know my favorite way to settle conflicts is by beating the other asshole into the dirt. Hop outta that suit and we can go for round two.”

MacCready:

Mac’s always thought of Danse as an annoying asshole. He still thinks of him this way but when he stepped out of that armor for the first time. Ho lee sh-crap. MacCready might have to look into joining the Brotherhood if the rest of those guys looked the same as Danse. He had expected him to be strong cause of the whole carrying 500 pounds of steel everywhere but his body was something Mac was not expecting and something he could look at for a while.

If Danse came near the merc he would probably clam up and blush a bit. If Danse caught him staring, he would annoyedly ask, “Is there a problem, civilian?”

“I- uh no.” any other day he would’ve fired back some snide remark but he couldn’t quite seem to think of one right now.

Nick:

Nick really couldn’t give less of a damn. He hated Danse, Danse hated him, and the two did their best to ignore each other.

Piper: Piper didn’t really care either. Sure he was muscular but she was very turned off by the everything else about him. All she really payed attention to was the possibility of an exclusive interview or an inside look at the Brotherhood’s workings. Danse would never agree to either of those though. Preston: Preston didn’t care. He already knew you had to be strong to wear power armor especially if you wore them as much as Brotherhood Paladins did. He didn’t like the Brotherhood and by extension, he didn’t trust Danse. Preston was mannerly of course, for Sole, but he knows Danse thinks very little of the Minutemen so he didn’t try too hard to be kind. Strong: Strong thinks this is good time to smash strong human. He has killed many brothers but he wears metal suit. He is weak without metal suit. Human friend tells Strong that if Strong smash, Strong will not find milk of human kindness. Strong angry, Strong want to smash, but Strong not smash.

Danse would never get out of his suit near Strong unless he absolutely had to. Sole insisted that the abomination wasn’t going to be a problem but he didn’t believe it for a second. It took all of his willpower to not open fire on the thing whenever he saw it. Sole has poor taste in companions...

X6:

X6 wouldn’t care. He would consider taking this opportunity to get rid of the high ranking Brotherhood soldier, but it would make Sole upset and would do relatively little to the Brotherhood as a whole.

Ask and ye shall recieve! I decide the winner on Hancock’s one by their special stats. How the hell does Hancock have such good stats and he’s still terrible in a fight??

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augment-techs · 3 years

Note

I DON'T KNOW HOW THE WRITING PROMPT MEME WORKS REALLY

but it's WAYYYY too CUTE to not do. Sooooo how about I toss ya some numbers! ^^

Hand holding: 12 and 10! 33,

Hugs: 2, 18, 27

Hope it isn't too much!!! ^^

Kim was emotionally fluctuating between feeling sorry for Tommy, and trying not to go into shock whenever she walked into a room and found her older, alternate universe, badass-self kissing an older, Coinless General Bulk. Watching them seemed more perfect than she might have dared hope for whatever fate was allotted to the Ranger Slayer. When they'd first dropped into their Command Center and explanations had been given, Alpha had allowed Bulk to lead his Kimberly to the medical bay, and Kim had followed after them in case they got lost. Bulk was incredibly good with the damaged woman that could probably beat him into the ground at any moment. Kimberly hadn't even huffed when he'd offered her a piggy-back ride and then insisted on bandaging up her hand that'd been cut open when she'd gone after Tommy and he'd had to defend himself with Saba. He'd sterilized the wound, wrapped it tight but not without sympathy and hadn't bothered untangling their fingers or letting go when they'd wandered back into the room Zordon occupied so they could all talk and argue and occupy themselves with searching the data banks for ways out and locating their other friends for hours. The kissing was on the extreme end of their affections, though. In the days that followed, Kim didn't see them lock lips as often, as they usually found themselves training or cooking or reading with just one hand, as the other one was invariably found more often holding onto the other; like two magnets that would always find themselves connected if given enough time. It was, admittedly, adorable as anything she could have imagined, but still a surprise she couldn't help but balk at. Tommy underwent the same amount of shock with the random displays of affection that he often stumbled into with Kim, but he had more pressing issues: when he left to walk into a room with one of the Coinless universe alters, he always had to keep his movements to a minimum, hands far away from his pockets, and eyes to the ground. With the older Trini, Zack, and Bulk, it wasn't so bad; with the Omega Rangers out in space and their history with this smaller Tommy helping them before Drakkon shattered the Morphin Grid, they were more willing to acknowledge that the evil despot and the teen weren't the same. With those Coinless who had never been Rangers--Rocky and Aisha in leather and combat armor with battle scars, had looked very shocked when they'd met their younger selves in Ranger gear, Adam being given the oddest looks from the elders--it was much harder, because they hadn't even spoken to Tommy. And they'd all been dumped through a hole in space and time that the Eltarians and Zedd had caused when Zelya had gotten away from the moon, so everyone was still reeling--especially with them being separated into three groups around Angel Grove. Perhaps they'd make up their minds when the stragglers from Drakkon's universe arrived at the Command Center... * * "He's very strong, and very sure, but he's no Drakkon." "No offense, Skull, but how--" "Could I know that?" The spy--spy, spy, actual double agent who had to relay messages and blend into the background and not die a horrible painful death at the slightest misstep, how the fucking hell--smiled with benevolent pragmatism. Rocky nodded, mouth tightening into a line as Aisha stood her own ground in their questioning. They would have loved not to have come to such an awkward position with having to use Skull to calm down their worries, put them to bed, and smother them to death, but they couldn't find solace and reassurance in Zack and Trini's words and it didn't seem fair to keep putting the kids in defense positions just because they could calm the fuck down. Skull flicked his hand open and made a motion for Tommy to come closer to him, which he did with only a slight hesitation. He wasn't wearing his suit, but Skull had been the only person so far from the other dimension who hadn't looked at him and gone fully rigid, so he had a good sporting chance of not being injured here. When he was only a

step or two from walking directly into Skull, the man offered up his open palm, harmless and dangerous at the same time, and Tommy blinked, unsure and afraid, before deciding it was better to get everything that was going to happen one way or another out of the way. He lifted up his own hand and laid it flat in Skull's. There was dirt under his pointer finger and he only had a single twitch of a moment to be embarrassed before the much bigger fingers circled his wrist and wound around his knuckles, brought his hand upwards, as if he was little more than an infant fresh from a tub, or a sun warmed kitten. Tommy felt a coil behind his belly bunch up all of his nerves at once when Skull's fingers slotted between his own in a possessive kind of way that sparked familiar-unfamiliar thoughts--those all fading away when the man kept their palms together and brought his head down, breathing out like a gust of a train through a mountain pass, and inhaling at Tommy's wrist. Nose tip to his skin raising all the goosebumps Tommy thought he even had. He's pretty sure his ponytail sparked at the end when he jerked a little back. Which swiftly brought him to absolute internal humiliation that showed across his face like a goddamn Muppet. Just because he'd seen that Skull let the Coinless drink his blood right from his finger and they all ate it in bread and stuff after he'd let a tube from his arm pour into the batter of whatever he made them, didn't necessarily mean the man would bite him. ...He hoped. Then, as if that hadn't been the weirdest thing, Skull lifted his head to grin at him, but didn't let go of his hand as the man addressed Rocky, Aisha, and all the other adults--and Tommy was too confused to ask him to let go, so... there was that, "He doesn't smell like he's rotting from the inside; like he needs to be wearing five layers of Axe Body Spray. And he isn't getting all put-upon and squirrely with me holding onto him. And, if you'll humor me a moment?" He was looking at Tommy directly at the last bit, but didn't let the teen answer before he found himself being wrapped in arms that had way more muscle than Skull had any right to have in any universe holy hell--and Tommy was suddenly in a bear hug, feet off the ground and spun around twice as much as he had ever been even at five years old; three times around and around, before he was planted on the couch like a sack of flour right next to Kim (his Kim, who looked utterly stunned and far too amused). The giggle that left his mouth when he smiled at her smiling at him should not have come into existence, and if he hadn't been red before, he was practically blazing as he brought his hands up to cover his mouth. Skull's hand patted him on the head as he ducked his head as much as possible at the sounds of snickering and the other adults choking on their own reactions. He definitely felt like a kitten. "See? Totally harmless to us. Now let them take us to the Juice Bar and feed us; I'm hungry and Ernie's alive here to make me that banana-marshmallow smoothie I haven't had in over a decade." * "I...played the right politics." It would have been so fucking nice if Billy would stop asking Skull questions about the past and present the Coinless had to live through. He didn't mean to make the adults with faces he knew and worried over angry or tired, but Adam was getting very, very annoyed with how he always seemed to find the core root of things that made Skull look... All the emotion left Skull's face at that word, every single time. Politics, like a euphemism for something else entirely. (And it was.) Adam remembered, because he was there when Zack and Trini, Aisha and Bulk, Rocky and the others weren't; inside the fortress Drakkon ran and imbibed in terrorizing whenever he got especially bored. The monster loved to play games with his sentries, with his prisoners, but rarely with his staff, because it took time and effort to train up new ones. But the sentries were his favorite, because they had to prove their loyalty each and every day. Some in

little ways, some in big ways. And Drakkon remembered Skull. Zack and Trini hoped he wouldn't, and Skull, when he was giving help and clues and time that he could to them, made it seem as if he never even crossed Drakkon's mind from being a punk that wore a spiked collar back in high school to becoming one of the higher-functioning members of the red sentries. Oh, being a spy made him so good at pretending nothing was wrong, how to be cool under pressure, how to avoid danger on all sides with one way out or none at all; how to think ahead, think like his opponent, pull facts and plans out of instinct and thin air (because what other choice was there, after all). That was why he was the best; probably why, too, he was revived from death by the universe and multiverse reshaping itself with the Grid's renewal. Politics translated so well to Games in Drakkon's palace. (It was amazing how often the horrible bastard made the sentries fight or fuck each other in his presence; the threat of his being displeased getting them through most of the time, and out the door when he was finished with himself to go vomit or find a shower or smoke so many cigarettes. As far as Adam knew, Skull was one of the very rare few who were made to fight or pleasure Drakkon himself. Skull and Adam and one yellow sentry that died before Kim returned to their world. If Kim was ever made to do as they were, she didn't tell or didn't remember, and Adam was thankful for that. And thankful for Skull. When he fought other sentries, he injured with care to avoid it being permanent or knocked out the other in a show of force that Drakkon appreciated that didn't lead to brain damage but made a good show. When he was made to fuck the others, he carried necessary aids to protect them from hating themselves or leaving much of a trace behind--condoms made from animal skin by Finster-5 he bribed out of the little freak; lubricant so there wouldn't be blood or bruising; an aptitude for pleasing other people as thoroughly and as quickly as he could while being on top and leading them through it with hands calloused but still soft. When he had to use his mouth on Drakkon or submit to the tyrant--often in front of others and while being degraded with his real name being used like words from a djinn or an immortal snake--he did so efficiently and made it seem as though he wasn't being forced at all. Adam hated Drakkon more than anyone those times he had to be there and watched Skull pull his armor back on and resume his place in line among the other sentries like nothing had happened. He hadn't known him before the world came crashing down, but before he'd traded his loyalty for the hope that his family might survive--what a stupid hope that had been--he'd heard that the man had cried over Billy Cranston's gave for a week after his death and been good.) But this small, wide-eyed Billy Crantson, alive and well and looking at Skull with so much awe and respect that Adam could spot it from a mile away if he was goddamn blind, didn't need to hear that. Did not need the thought in his head like a rotting wound festering with so many white little maggots. So Adam continued sipping his coffee (pumpkin spice; which was so fucking good after years of straight, bitter instant black) and remained in his usual place beside Skull in the daytime, watching him go through the motions in this time out of joint from their own. Gladder still to be in the Juice Bar, watching the teens enjoy themselves, play at their video games, ramble on about tests they had to take in school; watch the Coinless eat their food and drink their smoothies, enjoy watching their young reflections practice gymnastics or martial arts. When Billy excused himself to talk to the Stone Canyon Trio about some notes they'd asked for from Ms. Appleby's class, eyes still sparkling with information given and listening to Skull like he would have listened to him even if he knew everything out of his mouth could have been a lie; nobody saw Adam wrap an arm around Skull's waist and squeeze

him from the side. It was just as well.

#wasn't sure who you wanted it written for since you didn't request specific names or pairings so I just kind of winged it #ask fill #prompt fill #boom! comics power rangers #shattered grid #mmpr #ggpr #eugene skull skullovitch #farkas bulk bulkmeier #kimberley hart #tommy oliver #adam park #rocky desantos #aisha campbell #billy cranston #implied/referenced dubcon #tomberly #world of the coinless #coinless Bulk x ranger slayer Kim

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wiypt-writes · 3 years

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Stark Spangled Banner

Ch 11: A Turkey Called Marv

Summary: Nat, Clint, Evans, Lawson and the rest of her SHIELD team throw Katie a leaving party once news of her resignation spreads across the Triskellion before Katie and Steve head to New York to spend their first Thanksgiving as a couple with Tony, Pepper and Bruce.

Paring: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

Warnings: None for this chap, bar a bit of bad language and teeth rotting fluff

A/N: Accompanying One Shot- The Life Of Marv.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Chapter 10

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

November 2013

News of Katie’s spectacular resignation spread like wildfire through the Triskellion. Evans, Lawson, Natasha and Clint had all been pretty upset but had understood when she had explained why she was doing it, even if Natasha didn’t necessarily agree. They had no intention of letting her go quietly, however, and the team took it upon themselves to organise a small Leaving do at Lori’s which was in full swing. Background music was playing, food had arrived and the drinks were flowing. Steve was talking to Lawson, Rumlow and Evans by the bar, leaning against it, an easy smile on his face as Katie stood with Clint and Natasha a bit further down the bar as Clint was talking to them about his latest home improvement plan.

“So I thought about putting in a pool.” Clint mused, “Now the kids are bigger I thought it might be nice to have one. Maybe even a pool house round it for bad weather.”

“How ambitious.” Nat quirked an eyebrow.

Clint grinned. “That’s my middle name.”

“Really?” Katie asked. “I always thought it was Robert.”

“What?” Clint looked at her as Nat snorted out a laugh. "Francis. Why would you think its Robert?“

Katie shrugged "You look like a Bob.”

“Wait… so it’s not Ambitious?” Nat asked, winking at Katie. “How boring.”

Katie nodded, draining her glass. "Bob would have been better.”

"Right,” Clint started, pulling himself taller. “I hate both of you.”

The girls laughed and Nat turned to Katie. “So what’s in the pipeline for you now Nova?” “I have no idea.” Katie shrugged and she didn’t. “I guess I’ll just get more involved in the family business.”

“You gonna move to New York?” Clint asked. She shook her head. “Probably spend a bit more time there but, I’m not moving back.”

“Nah, she can’t leave lover boy.” Natasha looked at Clint and Katie rolled her eyes. Truth is Nat had hit the nail on the head. No way was she leaving Steve in DC to move back to the tower. Although they had only been together seven months she had spent over a year of her life being ‘with him’ one way or another and the thought of him not being there terrified her.

“You know, to be fair Nat, they’ve been going out a while now. Things are probably starting to cool off.” Clint teased “Oh trust me, there’s no problems in that department.” Katie sniggered, looking over to where Steve was stood.

“And would you look at that. I’m out of alcohol…” Nat said, suddenly “And so is Stark.”

“There’s a bar over there,” Clint pointed

“Cheers…”Natasha took Katie’s glass and handed it to him along with her own. Clint shook his head taking the glasses with a sigh.

“So… now he’s gone…” Nat glanced over at Steve then back to Katie “Gimme details…”

“Details on what?”

“Throw me a bone here Stark. I’m working on a dry spell.”

“Why are you so obsessed with my sex life?” Katie groaned. “You’re constantly trying to get me to talk about it.”

“Hey, look, up until a few months ago I was convinced he was a virgin.”

“Well then you’re a dumbass.” Katie smirked “Like I said, he’s Captain America, had girls throwing themselves at him back in the day.” “So he was until the serum?”

“I never said that.” Katie flushed.

“You’re such a shit liar.”

“Can we change the subject?”

“Ok, answer me one question and then I’ll drop it.” Nat pressed.

“What?” Katie snapped with an air of playful frustration. If she was honest, it was quite nice to have a girlfriend to chat to about these kind of secrets.

“Did the serum enhance…everything?” Nat wiggled her eyebrows.

Katie glanced over at Steve and smirked before she looked back at her. Fuck it.

“Well if it didn’t, I’ve no idea how he managed to stay upright before.” she smirked "I’m a lucky woman”

The red head threw back her head in a dirty laugh, a laugh that Katie had never heard from her before and it made her snigger at the sight of the normally composed assassin letting loose.

“What I miss?” Clint asked as he reappeared, handing them their drinks.

“I’ll explain when you’re older…” Nat said, patting his chest fondly.

*****

The next two weeks flashed by and before they knew it, it was the morning before thanksgiving and they were at the Tower in New York. Last year Katie and Steve had spent Thanksgiving as friends. This year they were spending it as lovers, and Katie was also excited to be spending it with Tony, although she would never admit that out loud.

Steve was also looking forward to it as well. Tony had mellowed to him somewhat over the past few months, especially when he had found out Steve was supporting Katie’s decision to quit SHIELD and not trying to stop her as he had original thought the Captain would. He was also looking forward to Katie’s damned fine cooking as well. Despite the fact that Tony had offered to cater in as Pepper was away until the very last minute, his girl had insisted on cooking it herself, especially now she had plenty of time on her hands.

As such, Steve and Tony had left her in the kitchen area of the main living quarters at midday to head down to the lab to discuss some further upgrades to the Tower. When they left Katie had been surrounded by bags of flour and ingredients, and when Steve returned he found her at just gone 5:30 surrounded by 3 pies (one apple, one pumpkin and one blackberry) pans of vegetables prepped ready for the and a turkey in the oven ready for JARVIS to turn on in the morning. She was stood at the sink, gently humming, the kitchen now clean and the smell of her baking making his mouth water.

“What are you doing Soldier?” Katie asked, jumping a little as Steve’s arms came around her sides, reaching for the sink, effectively trapping her between the counter and his body.

He laid his chin on her shoulder. “The dishes,”

“I’m only leaving the pie dish to soak.” She informed him, turning her head to give him a quick kiss. “The rest are going in the Dishwasher.”

“Oh because God forbid her majesty would actually wash a dish.” He teased and she rolled her eyes.

“You don’t wash them much either. How many brushes did you break last week?”

“The plastic is bad quality.” Steve pouted.

“Nothing to do with your ridiculously large hands being too rough.” “You weren’t complaining last night.” He grinned, lips warm against her neck as he gently nipped under her ear. Katie squirmed a little and then swatted him in the face with the dishtowel, and he laughed out loud.

“Seriously though Doll face, are you nearly done? You’ve been in here all afternoon. You do know we’re not eating till 3 tomorrow, right?” His hands squeezed her hips and she tossed the dishcloth down and turned to face him, her hands sliding up his chest to his shoulders.

“Yeah but the more I do now, the less I have to do tomorrow, and let’s face it, it’s not like I have anything else to do, on account of being an unemployed bum.” She shrugged making Steve laugh again. “Plus, I just want everything to be, you know…right.” she shrugged, and she did.

“It’s a dinner.”

“It’s Thanksgiving” She corrected him.

“Yeah, and last years was pretty cool, remember?”

“Yeah but…” she trailed off, biting her lip. Steve knew that look well enough now to know there was more to this.

“What?” He probed gently.

“Nothing, just, well I never had a boyfriend over for Thanksgiving before. Or Christmas come to think of it.”

Steve smiled “I like being your first…” Katie grinned. The whole ‘I like being your first’ thing had started off by her saying it to Steve but they’d fast come to realise that they actually both had a world of inexperience between them when it came to relationships, and it was nice that they could be each other’s firsts in a lot of ways. “Honey, tomorrow is gonna be great.” He assured, tipping her face up to look at his “Don’t sweat it.”

“Did you seriously just say don’t sweat it?” she sniggered.

Steve groaned “I told you I spent the afternoon with your brother…”

She giggled and leaned up to catch his lips in a soft kiss.

“Getting kinda tired of catching you two making out in a kitchen!” Tony chose that time to waltz in and open the fridge door, pointing to them as he did so. “You got your own floor, piss off and go use it.” ******

Katie woke the next morning to find Steve’s side of the bed empty and cold. It wasn’t unusual for him to be up earlier than her, she knew he would either be out running, in the gym or making coffee. She climbed out of bed and walked to the blinds of the bedroom, instructing JARVIS to open them, the AI being one of the many perks about being 'home’. The New York skyline stretched below her and as she glanced down she saw the people gathered on the sidewalks, attention turned to the streets, obviously waiting for the Thanksgiving Parade. She had asked Steve if he wanted to go and watch it in person but he had said he would prefer to stay in and watch from the tower as he didn’t fancy getting mobbed in the street. Being recognised by one person every so often was fine but in those crowds if one person spotted him then it would spread like wildfire. Besides, as he had pointed out, her floor had an awesome view so they could watch out of the window with a drink. Katie frowned as suddenly a large brown turkey shaped balloon floated in front of her eyes. The parade wasn’t supposed to start until nine and that meant by the time it made its way to the Avengers tower it would be… she turned and glanced at the click and gave a yelp. She had slept in until Ten.

Steve heard her before he saw her, not that he needed super hearing to hear the loud yell of "how fucking late?” coming from the bedroom. Grinning to himself he turned back to the griddle on the island of the kitchen, flipping a pancake with one hand and drinking a coffee with the other. “Why didn’t you wake me?” Katie grumbled to him as she leaned in the kitchen doorway, taking him in for a moment. He was freshly showered, dressed in a loose grey t-shirt and sweats, hair still a bit damp and spiked up in a way that made her smile. “Because you were up early yesterday and I thought I’d make you breakfast for a change.” He shrugged as she wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her face into the back of his shoulder. The smell of his shower gel mixed with the smell of the pancake mix, made her nuzzle her nose into him to inhale deeply. “You smell good.” She eventually spoke again. “Good to know.” A grin tugged at the corners of his lips at the fact she was still clinging to him. “I just saw a giant inflatable Turkey.” Her hands dropped and slid under his T-shirt, gently rubbing at his stomach. “What?” Steve paused. “The parade”

Steve smiled. “You know when I was a kid, the parade was the best part of Thanksgiving.” “Yeah?” she mumbled, her cheek still pressed to his shoulder.

“Yeah. Me and Bucky used to come into Manhattan with his family and my ma if she wasn’t working and stuff ourselves on popcorn and warm mixed nuts” He smiled to himself at the memory. They always picked out their favourite balloons, ate until they thought they would burst, and made Rebecca, Bucky’s younger sister laugh till she cried by pretending they were in the marching bands. But once the war started, the parade had ended. He had never realized that they started it up again until Tony and Katie had mentioned it last night as they had sat eating takeout. Part of him had wanted to go to the street to watch it but after seeing that morning how crowded it had been on his run he was happy to watch it from the comfort of Katie’s floor. He turned to face her for first time that day, her arms still round his waist. Her hair was pulled up into a pony tail, face fresh, eyes bright and she was, as ever, in one of his shirts and not a lot else. He leaned forward to give her a quick kiss and when he moved away, she quickly closed the space to give him another, letting her lips linger on his for a second. “I’ll burn the pancakes.” He murmured and she grinned, pulling away. “I’ll make fresh coffee.” She pat his chest and turned to the machine. “Hey JAR…Hit me with some Christmas tunes, buddy” “The usual Miss Stark?” “As long as it has the Pogues on…” “Wouldn’t dream of not doing” the AI replied and then the apartment was flooded with the sounds of ‘Fairy Tale of New York.’ “It’s November.” Steve turned to look at her, but she simply grinned to herself and turned around, singing to him. He couldn’t help but laugh, he knew from last year that Christmas for her started at Thanksgiving and ended on New Year’s Day. Plus the fact that the previous year she had spent Christmas day fighting a bunch of exploding super soldiers meant that she was going to enjoy this year as much as possible. He shook his head, a low chuckle escaping before he turned back to his pancakes. They dragged the cushions off the couch and ate breakfast sat by the huge floor to ceiling windows of the penthouse, Katie sat between Steve’s legs as they both watched the parade. Suddenly, a large green balloon floated by the window and Katie gave a loud squeal when she saw what it was. A Hulk float. An amused smile spread across her lips as she watched the balloon bob in front of the window, twisting to the sides in the air as it wrestled with the wind. “Oh my God!” Katie giggled again, gently tapping Steve’s right calf but he had already spotted it. A massive shield was coming out, followed by Iron Man’s mask, Thor’s hammer, a bow and arrow, Natasha’s Red Widow symbol and her own Nova star. She turned to look at him, a little smile was tugging at the corners of his mouth and when he met her eyes the smile broke out across his features. Laughing in disbelief, he shook his head, turning his attention back look at the shield float bounce down the street. “That’s pretty cool.” He allowed himself a slightly smug and amazed sigh, and it was. If anyone had told him all those years ago that one day he would feature in the Macy’s Thanksgiving parade he would have told them that they were mad. Yet there it was. He found himself smiling as he thought about how his ma and Bucky would have reacted. When they had finished eating, Katie leaned back into him a little more, slouching so that her knees were bent and her feet rested on the bottom of the window. His arms reached round her neck, and he kissed the back of her head as they continued to watch the floats, the gentle sound of Bing Crosby “White Christmas” now playing through the room, the two of them simply enjoying the closeness of one another. ***** Eventually it was time to head downstairs and join Tony, Bruce and Pepper for their dinner. Katie and Pepper left the men to it and finished off the prep before calling them all to the table. As was tradition, as ‘head of the house’ Tony carved the turkey with his usual, trademark drama and they took it in turns to give a few things they were thankful for. Tony was thankful for his friends, family and a decent brand of scotch he had in the cupboard for later, Pepper was thankful for being so fortunate and being surrounded by people she loved, Bruce was thankful for being welcomed into their family home, not just for today but since he had taken up residency just after the Chitauri Battle, and Katie was thankful for being in the presence of people she cared for, and for the last year being so much better than the previous twelve months. She shot a wink at Steve as she said that and he beamed before he realised they were waiting for him.

"Okay, well…” He cleared his throat. “I guess I’m thankful for being given a second chance, being welcomed by you all…and for, err, you.” He grinned at Katie who gave him a playful roll of the eyes but the flush on her cheeks told him she had understood.

“Awww.” Pepper smiled, as Tony made a gagging noise which resulted in Katie throwing a carrot at him. He pointed at her, frowning.

“No food fights on my floor, Kiddo.” He said sternly and she simply raised an eyebrow at him, taking a sip of her wine.

The food was good, not that anyone expected anything else. Both Tony and Banner managed two servings whilst Steve made it through three. And then there was the pie. Steve scoffed down a piece of each, whilst everyone else could only face one, but no one cared. And he found himself secretly pleased that there was enough left for him to scoff later on.

“I’m so glad I wore leggings.” Pepper sighted, leaning back and massaging her stomach.

“Tell me about it.” Katie moaned. “I’m so glad this denims have an elasticated waist.” She pulled at the middle of her long maroon peplum style top. “Think I’m having a food baby.”

“Yeah, I gotta hand it to you Kiddo…” Tony leaned back in his chair, undoing the top button of his pants and massaging his stomach “That was absolutely awesome.“

Steve’s hand dropped to his girl’s leg under the table and he gave her knee a little squeeze as she reached for her wine glass, before he moving his arm to drop it round the back of her chair. "I certainly prefer the Turkey dead and cooked anyway” Tony added and Katie groaned. “Are you ever gonna let me live that down?” She looked at him. “No” he shook his head. “What’s this?” Steve asked, setting his glass down. “Did she not tell you about the time she brought home a live Turkey one year? Katie sighed as Steve sat up, turning to her, smirking "No…” “I was seventeen and going through a meat is murder phase.” She waved away the comment with her hands. “I was in the way home and saw him. He was the only one left in the farmyard so I liberated him” “By liberated she means stole.” Tony quipped, standing up to retrieve two more bottled of Rijoca from the wet bar as laughs rang round the table. “No one came looking for him.” She shrugged. “Marv lived a happy life for five years in our back garden” “Marv?” Bruce looked at her, a smile creeping across his face. “After the character from Home Alone.” She replied simply

“You had a turkey called Marv?” The scientist deadpanned and she nodded.

“He was a great pet. Used to chase Tony around” “The bird was a fucking menace.” Tony frowned, topping everyone’s glass up. Settling back into his chair, Katie noticed Pepper giving him a look and he started suddenly as if he was remembering something. He leaned forward and looked at Katie. "So I know we don’t do Thanksgiving gifts kiddo but I was thinking yesterday about something you said to me once, about having a vision for a publishing company.”

Katie stole a look at Steve who simply shrugged. It was true, when she had first graduated she had thought about setting up a publishing company, but one that dealt with unknown writers. Her favourite books in the world were the Harry Potter series and during her degree she had been lucky enough to attend a small seminar held by JK Rowling, who had openly discussed her life before becoming a famous author. She had been a single mother, struggling to make ends meet, and even after she had written the books it took her years to get a deal, being rejected by four different publishers before Bloomsbury (a small, independent group) took a chance on her and it paid off for both of them. Katie loved the rags to riches story and since then had always harboured a desire to do the same thing for other authors but it had never really been much more than a pipe dream.

“It was an idea I once had.” She shrugged, looking at Tony. “Then things went a bit crazy.” “Well… how about we make it a bit more than an idea?” Pepper said. “What?” Katie frowned, looking at Pepper, then he brother who nodded. “I want you to put a proper proposal together, business plan, mood and story board that type of thing.” He said, waving his hand in that Tony-esque manner “Then we’re gonna look at what we need to set it up and take it to the board. Run it as a Ltd company under the Parent company of Stark Industries, but you’ll be the Managing Director.” “I…, I can’t run a business!” She stammered. “Didn’t you run the UK branch of SI for a while?” Bruce looked at her, smiling. “That was different.” She pressed. “Why?” Steve asked. “Shut up Steven.” She shot without even looking at him.

There were a few chuckles round the table before Tony continued. “Look, you don’t need to work.” He shrugged. “You have enough capitol behind you plus the revenue from the business as it to live your life out as an IT girl, but we both know you’ll end up killing someone if you get bored, and that’s likely to be Cap seeing as you see him most so this is for him as much as you.” “Thanks Tony.” Steve tipped his glass to the Inventor who winked. Katie pondered. It really had been a dream of hers since leaving Uni, putting her degree and passion into her work and she would be lying if she said the thought didn’t excite her but it was a hell of a big commitment, and what if it all failed?

“I’ll help you.” Pepper smiled at Katie who was biting her lip. "I’ll proof read the proposal and I’ll be there every step of the way whilst you set up.” She leaned back in her chair. "The week before Christmas there’s another board meeting. I suggest we use that to pitch the idea.”

“I think this could be a great opportunity for you and Stark Industries.” Tony looked at Katie. “And you’ll get full autonomy over it all, I promise.” This was amazing. She looked at Steve who nodded encouragingly. “What is it you keep saying to me? You’ll never know until you try?” he smiled at her. She took a deep breath and looked around the table before throwing caution to the wind and letting out a huge grin. “Ok. Fuck it. Let’s do it.” **** After another half an hour or so of chatter, and a bottle of champagne to celebrate Katie’s agreement to the business idea, everyone chipped in to clear the table before retiring to the plush living area of Tony and Pepper’s floor for more drinks and chat. Then the alcohol really did began to flow, Steve and Tony moving onto the scotch, the soldier watching as everyone around him descended into that well recognised drunken haze. And then out came ‘Drawing Without Dignity’, a game Steve had never played before which was really rather vulgar, but he couldn’t help but enjoy it. The game fast slid into chaos which was to be expected with an extremely competitive Super Soldier who had a natural advantage as he could actually draw, an equally competitive billionaire and a normally mild mannered scientist who also was quite cutthroat when it came to winning it turned out.

Pepper and Katie spent most of the time sniggering at the bickering men, and at the point when they were laughing that much when it was their go, the three boys got so frustrated they banned them from playing. For that, the next time Steve asked Katie what one of the more risqué sayings meant (he had cringed at a fair few of them over the course of the evening) she lied to sabotage him earning her a full on Captain glare. “That was a pretty shitty thing to do.” He grumbled at her as Tony and Bruce were both howling with laughter. “Not my fault Captain Badass doesn’t know what Rimming is!” Katie shot back, wiping away her tears. Steve had to bite back his own laugh at the ridiculous nickname, instead he fixed her with another glare which she returned with a simple shrug of her shoulders. The game ended, and Steve and Tony called it a draw, which was probably the easiest thing to do since Pepper had stopped taking count and tallying towards the end. It was now well after ten pm and Steve looked around the room as Tony stood up, a little unsteady on his feet, teetering back over to the bar.

“I think maybe we’ve had enough.” Pepper hiccupped slightly looked at Tony who had been reaching for another bottle of liquor, wheeled round slightly too fast causing him to stumble into the bar.

Katie cackled as Tony looked at Pepper “Shut up Mom.” he grabbed another bottle of scotch in one hand and the open bottle of Krug the girls were drinking in the other. He walked carefully over towards the sofa, as he dropped down into it heavily, handing the champagne to Katie who was on the floor in between Steve’s legs, her back resting against the sofa. She took it and poured herself and Pepper a glass, quite pleased that she didn’t spill any.

“You know he…he can’t get drunk!” Tony handed Bruce a now full glass, pointing to Steve.

“That’s sad.” Bruce surmised, taking a sip of his drink before Tony sat bolt upright, and pointed at the scientist.

“Hey, I wonder if Hulk can get drunk?”

“That’s an…that’s an…ex…exper-expediment I don’t think we should do.” Bruce shook his head, hiccups punctuating his speech.

“Absolutely not.” Steve shook his head as Katie cackled.

“But it would be for science purposes.” Tony pressed

Bruce wrinkled his nose and shook his head “No Code Green.” “Spoil sport.” Tony sniffed

They stayed for another hour or so, until Pepper fell asleep. Katie’s cheeks were flushed pink and when she asked for a bottle of water Steve knew it was time to go. After asking Tony if he needed help clearing anything up, which he declined stating housekeeping would be in at some point tomorrow to deal with it, Steve stood up, surprised to find he actually felt a little bit of a head-rush. Ok, so maybe the three bottles of scotch they’d managed to go through had had a little effect after all, but he felt the fizziness ebbing away as he pulled Katie to her feet and she grinned up at him.

“Wanna carry me Soldier?” she asked.

He arched an eyebrow and in one swoop had her over his shoulder, causing her to shriek with laughter as she clutched at his navy blue cardigan jacket.

“Night!” She waved from her upside down position. Tony and Bruce waved distractedly from where they were now trying to mix some form of cocktail at the bar.

“You can put me down now.” Katie patted Steve on his back as they boarded the elevator. “Steve…”

He smirked to himself, ignoring her giggles and protests, swatting lightly at her ass, and didn’t put her down until they reached the bedroom where he tossed her onto the bed and set about showing her exactly how thankful for her he was

******* If you want to read more about Marv the Turkey, check out the One shot: The Life Of Marv. As with all SSB One Shots, they don’t need to be read to understand the main story...consider them tasty little side dishes.

********

Chapter 12 Part 1

**Original Posting**

#stark spangled banner #steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x ofc #steve rogers x original female character #katie stark #chris evans #chris evans characters #mcu #mcu fanfic

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saferemercer · 3 years

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Worthy

June 26th, Late Evening, After the Queen’s Gala

"There ya go lass, she's all set for yeh!"

Safere glanced at the dwarf gryphon master, still holding the winning ticket in her hand. To the right of her, stood Snowbeak, the majestic, white Wildhammer gryphon she had just won in a high society raffle. The beast was immaculate; feathers shining in the moonlight, beak seemingly polished to a mirror sheen and talons sharp as adamantine steel. She was straight out of a storybook.

Safere looked down at her rented tuxedo; a crab meat stain on her collar, one cufflink gone and her shoes having stepped in something grey and slimy. She didn’t want to think about that too much. All in all, she felt pretty damn foolish standing in front of this paragon of gryphon-kind, ready to take her as a mount.

“So uh...you have any tips for how to...uh, care for her?” she asked. “I mean...I have another gryphon, but he’s older and kinda half-blind…”

The dwarf chuckled, unlatching the gryphon’s chains. “Oh, Snowbeak is ah’ feisty young lass, she’s gonna want ta’ fly around prettah’ often. You’ve got ah’ roost fer her, yeah?”

Safere rubbed the back of her head. “Yeah...definitely,” she hoped.

“Good, good. She needs tha’ best of care! You gala types can manage that, ah’m sure. You ah’ knight or ah’ cleric of some kind?”

Safere rubbed her head, harder. “I’m...a...uh, protector.”

“Protector! Ha, tha’ sounds good! Yeah, Snowbeak is fit fer the grandest of adventures. The soarin’ clouds, the tallest mountains, the greatest-”

“I get it, I get it,” Safere said, through gritted teeth. “I’m...sure we’ll have a wonderful time together.”

The dwarf shrugged and gave Snowbeak a final pat on the snout, before he opened the gate and led her out of the pen. Safere walked up to her, trembling just a little. She raised a hand and brought it down to touch her beak. The gryphon stared into her eyes, as she was touched. Safere swore she could sense a subtle disappointment in those eyes. She sighed.

“I know, Snowbeak...we’ll...make this work,” Safere said, now starting to regret ever taking a raffle ticket.

July 20th, Mid Evening, Crowsfield.

Snowbeak was screaming at her. Well, squawking might have been more accurate, but it sure felt like screaming to Safere. If the beast could speak common, she had an idea of the level of vitriol she’d be experiencing right now.

“I know, I get it, you’re angry!” Safere grumbled, trying to clean her feathers with an old brush. “We don’t...we don’t fly as often as you’d like...and I wish I could fix that, but I just...don’t travel as often as some people. Ok?! Buddy doesn’t mind, do ya pal?”

She turned to the black gryphon in the pen next to her. The cross-eyed, older gryphon was chewing on a large ferret he had caught earlier that day, but in the same way a tired farmer might sip on a tall glass of sweet tea. He was in no rush.

As if Snowbeak could understand Safere’s words (she was almost certain she could, some days), the majestic gryphon snorted at her, in seeming disgust.

Safere sighed. “Yeah, I know, you don’t like being compared to Buddy. But he’s the only gryphon I’ve ever really known before, so maybe we can just-”

Snowbeak raised her legs and flapped her wings right in Safere’s face, knocking her to the ground, landing flat on her ass in the dirt.

“Oh, fine!” Safere shouted, lying down in defeat. “Have it your way! I’ll just let you-”

“Might I be of assistance, Miss Mercer?”

She looked up to see a man in copper colored armor, standing above her, offering a hand. She turned around and gripped his palm, rising back to her feet. She recognized the man immediately. He was the only one she knew who would wear a fully enclosed helm in such sweltering weather.

“Mordecai, right?” Safere asked, despite knowing she was right. She just..hadn’t spoken to him that much.

He nodded. “Indeed, Miss Mercer. Mordecai Sharpe, at your service.” He sounded calm and helpful, even if his expression was entirely unreadable. That copper-colored mask he wore always bore the same neutral, placid expression. His eyes were the only thing that could be seen. Kind brown orbs, blinking every so often.

Safere sighed, dusting off her trousers. “Well, uh, have you got any experience with gryphons? At least more than I do?”

Mordecai nodded once more. “I rode one for nearly a decade. Back when I was a more...active member of The Silver Hand. She was a gorgeous creature, fair and swift...but I didn’t appreciate her at the time.”

Safere blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I...neglected her,” he began to say. “Not in the sense of health or feeding, I assure you. I always kept her well fed, clean and cared for. Until the day she died, she never missed a meal, nor was she abused. But…”

The man’s shoulders fell, for but a moment. “I didn’t truly appreciate her. I never even named her. Not really. Whenever a fellow knight would ask me, I would say something like...Silverwing or Judgment. But it was a hollow excuse for a title. I simply didn’t care. She was a beast to be used for glory. Much like a sword or a shield. Cared for, certainly. But never loved. Never seen as more than a tool.”

Mordecai turned to look at the gryphons. “Do I have your leave to approach her?”

“Sure,” Safere replied, shrugging. “Just be ready, because she’s in a mood.”

He walked up to Snowbeak, slowly reaching into a pouch on his waist and retrieving a handful of wildberries. Once he reached the gryphon, he held out his palm and let her eat from it. She did so with some trepidation, but soon enough, had cleaned his gauntlet entirely. She then leaned her head against his arm, as he stroked her gently.

“A beautiful lady...you should be very-”

“HELP!”

Mordecai and Safere turned around to see a young woman running toward them, a distraught expression on her face. The paladin ran forward to meet her halfway.

"Miss, what is wrong?!"

"Please, they took my brother, please they took him into the forest-"

He laid a hand on her shoulder...and she seemed to calm down, enough to explain more clearly, at least. By then, Safere had joined Mordecai by his side and was listening closely.

"She took Theodore, the...some witch, I saw her snatch him from his bedroom window and take him into the moor! I tried to run after her, but these...skeletons rose up from the dirt! Undead monsters! Out in the Bleakmoor! Please sir, miss…please help my brother…” the girl wailed, tears welling in her brown eyes.

“We have no time to lose. Miss, return to your home and wait for us there. We will find him. Safere,” Mordecai said, turning to face her. “Might we-”

She nodded, already running back to Buddy. “Come on!” she called back. Fiddling with her ebon gryphon’s chain, Safere mounted him and pulled the reins. He may have been an older gent, but Buddy knew when it was time to get serious. Years of getting Safere out of sticky situations had given him a kind of sixth sense. He rose to his feet and flapped his wings, ready to burst off.

Mordecai was running up now, while the young woman returned to her homestead. He looked at Buddy and Safere. “I...don’t know if I’ll be able to fit on there with you. Or if your gryphon can carry my extra bulk,” he said, gesturing to his mix of chain and plate mail. “Perhaps if-”

Safere shook her head. “You’re taking Snowbeak!”

The paladin shook his head. “No, miss Safere, she is yo-”

“This is not the time to argue, pal! Get to it!” Safere shouted.

Mordecai nodded and ran to the ivory bird, expertly climbing upon her saddle without even a wayward twitch from the proud beast. She shrieked out a battle-squawk and took to the air almost immediately, leaving Safere and Buddy to catch up.

They were soaring above the hills now, keeping low enough to spot any figures...if it wasn’t so bloody dark.

“I can’t see a damn thing down there!” Safere shouted, the wind coursing through her hair.

“Let us remedy that,” Mordecai roared back. “Cover your eyes, Mercer! For just a moment!”

Safere did as she was told, bringing her wrist back across her eyes, just as the night turned to sunrise in front of her. Her peripheral vision was a holy inferno, but it soon faded enough until she felt comfortable to gaze openly again. Mordecai was still glowing, casting a net of light across the hilly moor below.

“There!” he said, pointing down. Sure enough, no longer shrouded beneath a barrow-hill, Safere could spot a crowd of figures. Over a dozen skeletal warriors, covered still in the dirt and grime of their former resting places. Most gripped broken hatchets and rusted blades. A couple held ancient shortbows. These two decrepit snipers took aim as Safere and Mordecai came down upon them. With surprising dexterity, an arrow was loosed, aimed right at Snowbeak’s chest.

But the gryphon saw it coming, swiping the missile away with a talon. The other shot toward Safere and Buddy; its aim was less true, allowing them to dodge the projectile with a quick turn. By then, the two of them were landing. Hard.

Snowbeak smashed into the center of the undead, scattering two of the boney bastards into splinters. Mordecai pulled his great morningstar from his shoulders, the flanged head gleaming with golden fire, as he slammed it into the rotting ribcage of another, crushing the sternum and wasting the foul creature away.

Safere came down less glamorously, but no less effective. Her cutlass in one hand, silver edged and shining, slicing through the skull of the axe wielding monster nearest to her. The foolish archer she had landed by, tried to swat Buddy with his bow, only for the elder gryphon to grab him in his beak and snap his spine.

“Interlopers!” A shrill voice screamed. Safere turned to see a wretched old hag, twisted and deformed, holding a young boy by the scruff of his pajamas. The child was wailing, kicking at his captor, to seemingly no avail. “You will not stop the sacrifice to Gorak Tul!”

“Gorak Tul is vanquished, fiend! Killed in his own realm of shadow and failure!” Mordecai growled, shattering the knees of an approaching skeleton. “You will accomplish nothing!”

“Yeah, you suck!” Safere helpfully added, stabbing another undead.

“Fools! Gorak Tul’s spirit lingers, forever! And I will be his new bride!” the witch shrieked, raising a twisted dagger to the child’s throat. “The boy’s blood will show me the way!”

Safere grit her teeth, looking around for any options. There were still a half dozen skeletons advancing. Buddy was fighting off one more to her left. Snowbeak...was gone. Where had she-

Mordecai let loose a sharp whistle. The gryphon moved so fast, she was more of a blur of white upon the wind, than any discernible form. Just as the witch had barely begun to look behind her, she was rammed by the Wildhammer gryphon, sending her gangling form flying forward, her loose grip on the boy’s shirt going slack, as he fell a few feet to the ground.

Safere ran over to him, making sure he was unharmed. Aside from some dirt stains and a bruise on his shoulder, he seemed to be fine, if still wailing and terrified. Within that handful of moments, Mordecai, Buddy and Snowbeak had dispatched the handful of remaining skeletons, their bones scattered and unmoving. The witch...lay in a defeated pile nearby, groaning like a sickly weasel.

“You are beaten, monster. Submit and be judged!” Mordecai commanded, his aura pulsing like wildfire. He stood above the subdued wretch, morningstar at her throat.

The witch mewled and raised her elongated arms, in a show of surrender. “I...yes, I am defeated! Oh, brave and powerful paladin! I...submit to your mercy! Please!” Her yellow eyes wide and pleading.

“Mercy! How could a villain such as you deserve-” Mordecai began to say...before stopping and sighing. “Very well, witch. You will come with me, bound and subdued...to be judged by the people of Autumnhearth! And see what mercy they lay upon you!”

The paladin barely shifted his gaze, but for a mere moment, he did glance at his belt, to retrieve a length of rope...only for Safere to watch as the hag began to channel a pale blue energy in her palm.

A Ruinous Bolt! Safere thought to herself. She had been researching just last night. In a flash, she drew her Gnomish pepperbox from the back of her trousers and fired. One, two, three, four…

Her aim did not fail her. Each silver shot ripping into the hag’s flesh, with the last metal ball landing right between her sour yolk-yellow eyes...which made the spell in her palm fade away and the witch slump back onto the ground, as dead as her would to be husband.

Mordecai looked back at the shot riddled body and exhaled. “My thanks, Miss Mercer.”

She nodded, sweat dripping down her forehead. In her arm, the young boy blinked and wiped away tears. “That was...so loud!” he squeaked.

“Ah yeah...sorry about that, Theodore,” Safere said, grimacing. “But it’s over, your sister is waiting for you.”

The boy nodded and hugged her, still crying, but less feverishly. Mordecai came over to him, kneeling down and offering a hand.

“How would you like to fly on a gryphon, master Theodore?” he asked.

For likely the first time that night, the boy smiled.

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

The reunion with Theodore’s sister (Charlotte, they learned) was full of more tears and smiles alike, but the boy was soon returned to his own bed, with a small number of local farmers promising to watch over the house until morning. Mordecai would join them, sitting down by the front fence with Safere. Snowbeak and Buddy waited nearby.

“That was...an exciting evening, wouldn’t you say, Miss Mercer?” Mordecai said, having removed his mask, among the two of them. Safere had seen his burned visage before and grown accustomed to it. The permanent half grin across his partial lips and exposed cheek, were little more than a beauty mark to her by now.

“Hell of a lot more...fighting than I expected, that’s for damn sure,” she said, sipping from a glass of fresh milk. Supplied by Theodore's grateful farming family, after the two of them had refused the meager amount of silver they had scraped together as a reward. “But this is good cow juice.”

Mordecai sipped from his tin straw and nodded. “Indeed. Regardless, you fought well. Thank you again for your expert shooting.”

Safere chugged the last half of her moo-juice and stood up, brushing off her pants. “Don’t mention it, Mordo. Last thing I needed tonight was having to tell Wes that her Warden took a Ruinous Bolt to the chest.”

He chuckled and stood with her. “You recognized the spell? How impressive.”

“Yeah, all that reading paid off, just like Mere said it would,” Safere replied, smiling.

“You make the steward proud, I’m sure,” Mordecai said, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Are you returning to Easthollow with your gryphons, then? They’ve had a busy evening too.”

“One of them, yeah,” Safere said.

“Good, I hope they-”

The paladin turned to look at her, confusion in his eyes. “One of them?”

“I’m leaving Snowbeak with you, Mordo. You made an incredible team. And I’ll be damned if I’m gonna break that up.”

Mordecai shook his head, raising a hand in disagreement. “No, Miss Mercer, I couldn’t accept such a-”

“First off, call me Safere. Or Saf, even,” Safere said, making sure her cutlasses were properly attached to her belt. “Secondly, I’m not gonna hear any arguments on this. Snowbeak deserves someone like you. Someone brave and worthy of her. Someone who can make the best use of her skills. And that ain’t me.”

The man was silent for a moment. “You are worthy of more than you think, Mi...Safere. And you are as brave as any champion of the Hand that I’ve ever known. You joined me in the search for Theodore without a second thought. Lent me your steed, without hesitation. Charged into the mass of undead and stood by my side.”

He whistled, causing Snowbeak to trot over. Mordecai rubbed her neck and watched as she nuzzled back. “If this is your desire...your command, I will do so. I will care for and love Snowbeak, as I failed to do for my former steed. But never believe it is because you are unworthy. Promise me this.”

Safere sighed and smiled, looking down at her boots for a second or two. Before returning his gaze and nodding. “I promise.”

He nodded back. “Good. Also, I ask that you bring Buddy along to visit every so often. The two are quite...attached.”

She blinked and looked from Snowbeak to Buddy. The white gryphon was looking back at him, softly cooing. Buddy in turn was waving his wings slowly and...prancing?

“Buddy, you scoundrel!” Safere exclaimed, laughing. “Have you been laying down some moves behind my back?!”

Buddy squaked, shaking his wings and hopping up and down. Snowbeak scraped her talons in the dirt and squawked back.

“Best warn your gryphon master of the possibility of eggs, in the future, eh?” Mordecai cautioned, chuckling along with her.

Safere gave him a thumbs up. “You bet. Keep safe out there, Mordo! See you soon!” She left with a spring in her steps, mounting her flirtatious bird and soaring off toward Easthallow. The wind in her hair felt like energy flowing through her. She let out a loud “woooooooooo!” and grinned.

It had been quite a night to fly.

#warcraft ocs #warcraft story #short story #gryphons #safere #mordecai sharpe

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fablesrose · 4 years

Text

Of Kings and Shadows XXVI

Description: Y/n, a girl who seems to have found her calling. Being a SHIELD agent is like a dream come true. With a friendship starting to form with the Avengers, she’s the Queen of the world! What could go wrong?

Pairings: Avengers x reader, Loki x reader (eventually)

Notes: On Wattpad –> Here

Series Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three days.

With the help of Loki and regularly scheduled meals (even if they were served through a straw since I couldn't use my hands) helped reset my internal clock to be able to keep track of the time.

It's been three days since I gave my report, part of it anyway, and no one has come to visit me. No one has talked to me. Loki hasn't come down to one of my therapy sessions. No one has even turned on the radio for me to listen to.

Yesterday they let me off of my restraining stand. It was an awkward procedure, with the restraints releasing, waiting for me--Noxy to step off of it, and then they froze the jumpsuit while they pulled the contraption through the floor and out of the way. Noxy could literally do whatever she wanted, but instead, she laid on her back, spread eagle and stared at the ceiling. She didn't hardly move.

Since that was boring as hell, I tried to occupy myself with no hope of ever getting human (sort of) contact again since I admitted to killing a fellow agent who I called my friend.

So, to pass the time I have made three card houses, each one more complex than the last, played tic tac toe with myself (spoiler: I only won once), touched up on my juggling skills, made out with my favorite celebrity more than a few times, got into an argument about shopping carts, and thought about impossible things, impossible places, and impossible dreams.

That was until the outer door opened. I couldn't think of a time that the door had opened. Loki stayed outside of the entire enclosure, maybe on a whole different floor. Food and water were delivered electronically with no need for a door.

But here we were, someone with cotton-light footsteps walked around the glass so much that I couldn't tell where they were until they spoke from the opposite position of the entrance.

"Hey Y/n," Natasha spoke softly, the way she only spoke with the team, on a good day. "I know you can't talk back to me, but I figured I could talk to you."

My first visitor. It felt nice.

"I know Lokes hasn't been down in a few days, but just hang in there. He'll come around. He always has." She gave an at ease chuckle, "You know, none of us would have believed it, but he's really a part of the team. He looked and sounded so stiff the other day, I haven't seen him like that in forever, honestly."

I wonder if being in a coma was like this. Being able to hear them, but not answer. I hated it.

"We've really added to the team, I don't know if Loki told you. They're all going to love you... If Wanda would stop being a little butt-sore." She left a pause to think, "Anyway, I just wanted to say that we miss you. I miss you."

I wouldn't have been able to tell if she had left or not except for the fact that my mouth opened and a voice not quite mine came out, "You know, I could tell you what she's saying."

A feeling of dread washed over me. This was not going to be good.

"She hates you. She hates all of you. You left her to rot in a cell for seven years, only to bring her back to rot in a different cell." Noxy still lied on the ground, not looking at Natasha, so neither could I see her reaction. "You left her all alone in a cell that gives her nightmares. One that just drags her back into a time where I wasn't there. Not yet, but oh how she wished for a sweet release for the pain." Her laugh was warm and inviting, but it was so bitter I could nearly taste it and gag, "And then you just waltz in here and say you replaced her. The audacity! How many people did it take to fill up the hole she left behind? Three? Four? Zero? Maybe there wasn't a hole at all." Noxy rolled onto her stomach, feet crossed in the air, and her chin resting on her hands. Her eyes were still fixated on the white ceiling, puposefully making it so I couldn't see, "So yeah, she absolutely loathes you."

I was devastated at what she said to her. There was nothing I could do to stop it.

To Natasha's credit, it didn't even sound like she flinched, or even blinked knowing her. She just said simply, "I don't believe you."

Noxy paused from waving her crossed ankles before answering, "You're right. Y/n didn't say those things, you wanna know why?" This time she looked at Natasha's stone-cold face, "Because she isn't saying anything at all. Now you tell me, " Noxy blinked slowly, pleasantly, "which is worse?"

Natasha didn't reply, but I did catch the faint movement of a swallow.

Noxy began a little sing-song: "She's gone! Disappeared! Never to return! The little girl you knew has left forever."

Natasha shook her head, "That's not true, we spoke to her just the other day."

Noxy raised an eyebrow, "Are you sure?" She raised her voice mockingly which added a bit of grain, "Oh, I'm Y/n and I love my friends! Let's have a sob-fest that this happened to me and I'll tell you everything you need to know about my King."

Blinking slowly, Nat turned on her heel and mumbled, "Yeah, this isn't working."

"Buh-bye!"

I sighed to myself. Noxy was going to ruin everything. First I pushed away Loki. Now Natasha isn't going to be on my side. One by one they were just going to leave me here to die. Not that I expected anything less in the months before, but it still hurt. What little was left of my hopes and dreams took a nose-dive. I wasn't sure if I could recover before I crashed and burned.

Who was I kidding? I'm pretty sure I already have.

A couple hours went by with me wallowing in self-pity. I couldn't even find it in myself to hum a song. No lyrics came to mind. So I sat. I stared at whatever Noxy stared at. It was all the same, white walls and bright lights.

That is, until something felt a bit different.

Congratulations Wanda, you've graduated to burlap!

Wanda mumbled sarcastically, Thanks, Y/n. Natasha would like to speak to you.

Oh, she already did and didn't receive a very kind response. Not from me of course, but...

Fine, Natasha would like you to speak to her.

I laughed shallowly, Alright, and how are we going to do that?

Wanda didn't answer me, instead a voice that I heard a few hours before spoke.

Hey... How're you holding up?

A sense of calm came over me, knowing that she could talk to me. I could still feel the roughness of Wanda's magic holding us together, but after the last few days, any company at all was worth it.

As well as you could expect I guess.

She hummed at me softly, It sounds like you're doing better than any of us would in your shoes.

You flatter me.

I gotta butter you up some how don't I?

I laughed a real laugh. My word it's been a while. I am a little concerned about what Natasha.

That's for me to know.

And for me to find out?

No.

I chuckled one more time, Alright Natasha, what did you really want to talk about?

She feigned offense, What, I can't just talk to my friend?

I've known you long enough that everything you do has a purpose.

She paused, Well maybe my purpose is to check up on my friend who's voice I never thought I would hear again. And to make sure that she knows that we have her back, and if Loki doesn't get down here to keep you company I'll kick his ass myself.

Thanks Natasha, but I don't blame him. Not fully anyway.

Why would you ever think that?

I would have taken a deep breath. I wasn't sure if I was ready to say it out loud. I wasn't sure if I was ready to make it real. But the mind makes thoughts more fluid, so it's harder to quickly change an answer to a simple 'no reason.'

I chose to kill someone.

So have we all.

Not a friend. Loki, he killed so many, but he didn't know any of them. You and Clint were assassins, but did you ever kill someone you were friends with?

She didn't answer. I didn't know whether it was a silent confession of guilt, or a concession of my argument.

Neither of us spoke for a while, choosing to let the conversation stew for a while.

Eventually she must have grown tired of the quiet and decided to end the conversation, So, Nick says that the next report will be tomorrow.

Okay.

Uh... She trailed off, not sure what else to add, Take care.

You too.

I felt Wanda break the connection between us and she left too, but not before sending a feeling.

One that I wasn't sure I still knew the name of.

Tag List: [Open] @snarky--starky @kitkatd7 @confetti-its-an-imagine-blog

#loki #loki odinson #lokilaufeyson #loki fanfic #loki x reader #loki x y/n #Avengers #avengersfanfiction #avengers x reader #avengers x y/n #clint barton #natasha #wanda maximoff #natasharomanoff #Of Kings and Shadows #chapter 26

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pynches · 5 years

Text

a/n bet you all thought i wouldn’t do it, huh? well i’m still feverish but i wrote this very fluffy thing so have fun!

word count: 1986

The little alarm on Adam’s bedside moving-box had just turned 2:21 AM when there was heavy knocking on his door. Granted, he had already been up, working on the English paper he had to submit the next day, but that didn’t stop him from getting annoyed that he was bothered at fucking almost 2:30 at night.

He still opened the door.

Ronan was dressed in full black as always, keeping him almost hidden in the dark of the hallway. Adam would recognise his form anywhere, though, and let him in without saying a word, stomping back to his bed where his old laptop was half-covered by the sheets he had thrown over it.

“In a bad mood, Parrish?”

Adam didn’t answer. Instead, he turned back to his half-finished essay and kept typing, his hands moving more furiously with every bored huff Ronan let out.

“You really are no fun,” Ronan said accusingly before letting himself fall back on the uneven wooden floor of St. Agnes, staring up at Adam from under his eyelashes.

Adam momentarily forgot his train of thought, every bit of the annoyance he felt before draining out of him. He could only stare at the shadows his long lashes casted on his sharp cheekbones. Then Ronan smirked sharply and the spell was broken. Anger rushed back into Adam, hitting him harder than it had before.

“Go then,” Adam sneered. “I’m not here to entertain you.”

Ronan raised his eyebrows in an unfiltered moment of pure shock before his walls rose up again and he went back to his casually indifferent self.

Despite Adam’s outburst, one he was already regretting but too prideful for to apologise, Ronan threw his jacket on the space next to Adam’s bed and threw himself on top of it. He immediately pulled his headphones from around his neck and put on his god awful music. Though the volume was lower this time, Adam could barely hear it over the soft hum of his laptop.

Instead of focussing on his essay, now that he had finally been given the chance, his mind was clogged with thoughts of Ronan and his considerateness. There was so much more to Ronan than what showed on the surface and at times like these, Adam didn’t understand why he ever hated him. Granted, that was at the beginning, when they had just met and Ronan was less than friendly to him. But now, with everything they had been through together and everything they would have to go through in the future, Ronan had softened up, though he would deny it if Adam ever brought it up.

Adam shook his head a little and refocused on the screen in front of him. He had to get this done now because he wouldn’t have the chance later. He had shoved school to the background already in lieu of searching for Glendower. The thought of not graduating, leaving this town and making something of himself tightened something in his chest.

He swiftly rubbed his eyes, feeling another pair landing on him. Adam looked up quickly but Ronan had turned away already.

And then there was the tumulus relationship or friendship or whatever it was with Ronan. His attention was not something Adam thought he deserved, but it got handed to him anyway. And now he doesn’t know how to act upon it. Deep down he had a feeling Ronan would never say it, not out loud at least. He did it through the hand-cream and the mixtape that was just the Murder Squash song played 12 times, or so he thought.

He listened to it once, when everything was too much and he was sitting in his car at night, trying not to cry about the money he didn’t have and the necessary supplies he couldn’t afford. He had expected the screeching noises that couldn’t really be called a song for the 13th time but instead a different song came on. It was softer with actual instrumentals instead of the techno stuff Ronan usually listened to. There was a man singing, not screaming, but actually singing.

It was about love.

Adam had started to look at Ronan differently after, but Ronan didn’t look back, not when Adam’s eyes were already on him. Somehow, whatever they had, felt like it was a secret they needed to keep, even from each other despite both of them knowing.

Adam was tired of keeping secrets.

Adam was tired in general. Just as he typed the last word of his essay, his eyes were starting to fall close. He handed it in quickly and closed his laptop, placing it on the box next to his bed, praying it would hold.

He climbed around Ronan, kicking him in the leg “on accident”. Ronan opened his eyes briefly to glare at Adam but went back to listening with his eyes closed almost immediately. He looked almost relaxed and much younger than he usually did. The sharp edges of his face were softened, even the harsh scars marring his eyebrow, his nose, his cheekbone, the scars that made him look that much more intimidating, were smoothed out until there were only faint lines left.

Adam averted his gaze quickly when he realised he was staring and went into his little bathroom to get ready. He washed his face, brushed his teeth, and dressed himself in some boxers and an oversized shirt he had found at Henrietta’s only second-hand store.

He kicked Ronan again on the way back, much like little boys pulled at girl’s pigtails in elementary school, though Adam would always deny that was the reasoning behind it. To him, he just liked fucking around with Ronan, pushing to see how far he could go before Ronan lost it.

Ronan never had.

Adam felt a sharp pang of pity and threw Ronan a blanket from his own bed, aiming it straight at his face. Ronan glared with a sharp intake of breath but he let it out and spread the blanket across his body.

As Adam laid down on his mattress, he was once again reminded at how close he and Ronan were lying together. There was not much height difference between the sunken-in mattress and the rotting floorboards of St. Agnes and Adam could almost imagine Ronan’s body heat on him. Not that he did imagine that, but he could.

Adam always had trouble sleeping when Ronan was so close, so he turned to the wall and let his breath even out. He tried his hardest to will himself into falling asleep, already having his too busy schedule in mind for the next day. There was work and then school, meeting with the others to search through another part of Cabeswater, work again, do homework after, wait until Ronan knocked again.

It just hit him then how much Ronan had become a part of his little routine. There was hardly a day that went by where Ronan wasn’t knocking at his door, searching for a way out of his never-ending nightmares.

Adam thought he heard a whisper, but he couldn’t be sure. Even with his hearing ear not covered, the sound was so faint Adam couldn’t be sure. So, he kept glaring at the wall, staying very still in case he would hear it again.

“Parrish?”

Ronan’s voice was soft but more audible now. There was something in his tone, something private and vulnerable. Adam had never heard Ronan sound this small. He waited, just to see if Ronan would speak up again.

He heard a sigh and then, “Are you still awake?”.

This would be the time for Adam to speak up, but he wanted to hear what Ronan would say in the safety of the darkness surrounding them. He wanted to know what secrets he would tell unconscious Adam even if it was a bit fucked up to do that to him.

Adam almost said something, almost turned around from the guilt bearing down on him, until he heard Ronan say something that made him freeze up completely.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Adam couldn’t hold the shuddering breath that was ripped out of him.

Ronan heard.

“What the fuck, Parrish?”

Adam turned around quickly, looking straight Ronan’s blazing eyes, his fury poorly hidden.

“I’m-“

Ronan threw his blanket off himself and gripped his jacket before he stood up and marched to the front door.

The sheets tangled around Adam’s feet when he rushed to go after him, nearly tripping him straight unto the floor. Once he got a holding on himself, Ronan was already half out of the door.

Adam quickly wrapped a hand around Ronan’s arm, pulling hard enough to turn him around. Ronan’s face was stone, his features carefully aligned so he looked more bored than upset. But Ronan’s eyes never really did hold a secret well. He wasn’t looking at Adam but his eyes were wide.

He looked scared of him.

“The fuck do you want?” Ronan asked, still not looking at him no matter how much Adam pulled on his arm.

Adam raised a quick eyebrow, still not letting him go. “To talk maybe?”

“Hard pass.”

Ronan tried to yank his arm away but he wasn’t even using half the strength Adam knew he possessed. He didn’t know if it was because Ronan didn’t actually want to leave or because he didn’t want to hurt Adam. For either he was grateful.

“Ronan, it’s okay,” Adam tried but Ronan’s eyes hardened to match his face.

“Is it?” Ronan snarled, this time ripping his arm away with success. He didn’t move though, instead was standing in front of Adam, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

Adam tried not to let his eyes linger but Ronan’s eyes were boring into him and that was not something he could take right now.

“I’m not angry.”

Ronan let out a humourless laugh. “Oh, thank the lord.”

“Ronan-“

“Just leave it, okay?” Ronan said pleadingly this time. He looked so desperate, Adam almost let him off the hook.

Almost.

Adam stepped a little closer. “What if I can’t do that?”

Ronan seemed taken aback but held his ground. The vulnerableness returned to his eyes and Adam reminded himself to be careful. Hurting Ronan wasn’t an option.

Adam softly laid his hands on Ronan’s arms, spreading his fingers when he felt Ronan’s muscles jump.

Ronan stared at him quietly for a few seconds before he leaned forward slightly. Adam’s heartbeat picked up, thrills shooting up his back at the prospect of what was going to happen.

“Please tell me I’m not wrong about this,” Ronan whispered.

Adam closed his eyes.

“You’re not.”

And then Ronan’s lips were on his. They were unmoving for a split-second, just to process what finally happened. Then Adam turned his head and moved his lips, letting out a quiet sigh.

Ronan’s arms unfurled and wrapped themselves around Adam’s waist bringing him closer. Adam was holding onto his neck for dear life, brushing through his buzzcut with one hand.

The kiss was soft and careful, just like Adam was expecting Ronan to kiss. Ronan was laid wide open before him and Adam was not surprised at what he was seeing. He felt right at home instead.

They untangled themselves and laughed sheepishly.

“Should we talk about this?” Adam asked, brushing his rumpled clothes nervously.

Ronan smiled openly, brighter than Adam had seen before. “In the morning.”

Adam took Ronan’s hand and laid next to him on his flimsy mattress. There would be a lot to figure out; what to say to the others, how this relationship would work at all, what they would do when Adam was leaving for university in less than a year. But for now, Adam basked in Ronan’s body heat against his back and went right to sleep, smiling as he did.

#pynch #pynch fic #pynch fanfic #pynch fanfiction #adam x ronan #ronan x adam #adam parrish #ronan lynch #trc #the raven cycle #trc fanfiction #trc fanfic #trc fic #the raven cycle fic #the raven cycle fanfic #the raven cycle fanfiction #pynch fluff #mine

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taetaesbaebaepsae · 5 years

Text

"You're still my girl, yeah?"

Happy 1000 followers to you lovely beans! I have chosen two requests finally and I thought it'd be more fun to announce and post them at the same time.

I'm sorry I'm late! The request is *drumroll*

Anonymous said to taetaesbaebaepsae

:Hello, can you do something like it’s Jimin and you and someone from your past just came to say hi and complemented you out of nowhere (idk it might be party) and Jimin got super jealous but doesn’t show it until you are back to home together. When you are all alone he immediately starts talking about it during sex and wants you to constantly say that you are his like the sex proves it. But he is not angry with you he is maybe too fond of you? Ps: fuck this imagination i hate myself

A/N: I love your imagination, actually, I’m sweating and in my feelings over this imagine. Park Jimin is our collective boyfriend and that’s that on that, ok? I hope you like it Nonniecakes

Warnings: angst, smut, unprotected sex (condoms are important irl but boring in imagines), tooth rotting fluffy ending

Word Count:1770

Jimin is so excited to be seeing you again that at first he doesn't notice the guy standing next to you.

He'd gotten back from tour a couple days ago and was finally able to meet you for coffee and a smile spread across his face as soon as he saw you.

It faded slowly when you laughed and placed your hand on the guy's bicep.

Jimin tapped you on the shoulder and you turned around and threw yourself into his arms. He glared at the guy over your shoulder but the guy remained blank faced.

"Jimin, I missed you so much! Oh, this is my friend Josh! I wanted you guys to meet for a while now."

You gushed about your friend for a while and Jimin realized with a sinking feeling that you'd talked about him a lot, even telling him when you met, but since you hadn't said a name Jimin had assumed it was a female friend.

He's polite during coffee but he panics inwardly the more he thinks about it, watching closely every time you smile at the other man, flinching every time you touch him while gesturing and swallowing hard and looking away when you give your friend a full body hug to wish him goodbye.

"You look beautiful today, Y/n." Josh says with a wink and a smirk and Jimin's hands close into fists.

He nods goodbye and rushes off, you running to catch up with him.

He's uncharacteristically quiet on the walk to your place, smiling weakly when you tease him about it.

He murmurs that he's just tired but his mind is racing.

"You guys are pretty close, huh?" He asks, and you brighten.

"Oh for sure, he's my new best friend. We have so much in common and he really keeps me company when you're away. He's the best."

Jimin sets his jaw and nods but you don't notice his expression, taking his hand in yours and pulling him quicker into your apartment building.

You're shocked when he kisses you hungrily, pushing you against the door to shut it because he's been so quiet this morning. You thought he was tired or something but he's kissing you like he means it, hands roaming over your back, hips and ass.

You make it to the bedroom, strewing clothes all over the apartment and by the time he throws you onto the bed he's got your breasts pulled out of your bra, worrying your nipple between his teeth.

Your whole body is aching for him but when he bunches up your skirt and impatiently pushes aside your panties, you still his hand.

"Wait, Jimin, slow down..."

You don't want him to stop but he seems off and you want to know why.

His eyes shoot to yours.

"Why?" He whines. "I want you so bad, Y/n, I'm so hard for you," and he puts your hand on him and he's not lying, his cock straining against the zipper of his jeans.

You moan against your better judgement and unbuckle his jeans and slip under his boxer briefs to stroke him.

He throws his head back with a strangled groan and slides his fingers up and down your slit. When his fingers come away wet he sticks them in his mouth and sucks, smirking at you.

"You want me just as much as I want you, baby. No one else can make you this wet this fast, right?"

You notice his choice of words and wonder what's going on with him when he pushes inside you, slowly, pushing the crotch if your panties aside.

You stop thinking, then, because he fills you up so well and you're panting when he fucks you slow and languid, watching your face intently.

"I missed you," he moans and stills inside you. "Did you miss me? Were you lonely? Or did you have company?"

You frown. "Jimin, what's wrong-" you cry out when he snaps his hips back and thrusts back into you, hard, hitting your gspot just the way you like it.

His eyes are dark with lust but also something you can't put your finger on and he keeps talking while he fucks you hard, speed peppered with grunts and moans.

"You wouldn't let anyone else fuck you like this? Ah...you're this hot and wet just for me? You're gonna come for me, huh? You're still my girl, yeah?"

You nod frantically, not liking the uncertainty in his voice but also chasing your orgasm.

"All yours, Jimin, always."

He stills again and you cry out. His eyes search your face, tongue coming out to wet his lips.

"Say that again," he commands in a hoarse whisper.

"I'm yours," you say, staring right back at him. "I'm yours, Jimin."

You purposely clench your muscles around him, hoping to spur him to move.

He lets out a low groan and twitches as if he's desperate to buck into you but he doesn't, not yet, goes down on one elbow to caress your face, staring into your eyes.

"Promise?"

"I swear Jimin, please...I'm yours, all yours and I need you to fuck me, please, baby--"

That's all it takes and he snaps his hips forward, fucking you with short, quick strokes until you're a keening mess beneath him, arching your back and locking your ankles around his hips.

You cry out his name when you come, black spots at the corners of your vision.

He's not far behind, hair damp with sweat and falling into his face.

"I love you so fucking much, Y/n. I missed my girl so bad. Don't forget me when I go away again. You'll wait for me, yeah? You love me?"

His voice is hoarse and almost desperate so you nod again.

"I love you so much, Jiminie. I belong to you and you belong to me, yeah?"

He nods frantically, looking almost relieved as if that's what he needed to find his release and after two or three strokes he pulls out with a loud groan and shoots thick white stripes onto your bare breasts and stomach.

He instantly pulls off his tshirt and wipes you hastily and you're far from clean but it isn't uncomfortable when he lies down beside you, forearm over his eyes, panting.

He keeps his forearm over his eyes when he speaks, voice hoarse.

"I want you to tell me everything."

"Jimin, what are you talking about?" You ask tiredly, placing your hand on his bare chest.

He twists toward you, face serious, eyes dark and wet.

"I love you too much to let this end things, but please be understanding. I'll try not to get mad, but I need to know every detail."

"Jimin, what do you mean?" You're confused and worried.

He takes in a shaky breath and runs a hand through his hair, sitting up with his back against the wall.

"I need to know how it happened. I need to know exactly where he touched you and where you touched him. Did he make you come? Did you moan his name? Did you-Did you even think about me?"

His voice breaks and you scramble up, straddling his lap and hug him tight and you're horrified to feel tears on your neck when he buries his face there.

"No, no, Jimin, stop..." You croon, trying to reassure him with tears threatening at the backs of your eyes.

How could he not know how much he meant to you? You must be the world's worst girlfriend.

Jimin misunderstands and he mumbles against your neck in a broken voice.

"I'll go crazy if you don't tell me, Jagi, please."

You pull back and kiss him hard. You scoot back off him so you can see him clearly and he watches you miserably, eyes following you as you sit between his thighs, hands on his shoulders.

"Park Jimin, I would never, ever cheat on you. No one laid a hand on me and I would never let them."

His eyes light up with hope but he's searching your face.

"Don't lie to me, Jagi, please. You talked about him nonstop for weeks and I saw the way he looked at you..."

"He's just my friend, Jimin! He's the shoulder I cried on when I missed you so bad I couldn't breathe, that's all. And I hope he's not looking at me like that because his fiancee would beat my ass."

Jimin ducked his head, smiling finally, and you let out a sigh of relief.

"You swear? You really waited for me? You're really mine?"

"Of course I am. I haven't even so much as looked at another guy that way since we got serious."

He looks at you for a moment and then throws himself at you, making you squeal as he ended up on top of you, your head hanging off the edge of the bed as he kissed your throat.

"Oh, thank God! You scared me so bad! you're not allowed to be that touchy with your male friends ever again, ok?"

You're giggling as you bat him away when he nips at your collarbone.

"Get off me, you big jealous idiot! I can't believe you thought I cheated on you!"

He sits up, allowing you to and pouts at you.

"I'm sorry, Y/n, but I was gone so long and after this morning I couldn't stop thinking about what might have happened...I was going crazy. My heart hurt so bad!"

He grabbed his chest dramatically and you smiled at him.

"Talk to me next time instead of just jumping my bones and maybe this won't happen again, dummy."

He smirks at you. "But it makes me feel better to jump you first and talk about it later."

You roll your eyes at him but he's all smiles and pouts and you can't be mad at him after he got so upset.

"I need to tell you I'm yours more often to make you believe it, I guess."

His eyes widen.

"Yes," he breathes, "every day, Jagi, please."

That night while watching a movie, while he's playing with your hair absently and you're dozing off, you turn to look at him.

He looks down at you with a fond smile.

"Your girl needs you to take me to bed, Jiminie, I'm tired," you say sleepily, and he cradles you in his arms and lies down on the bed with you.

Just before you fall asleep you whisper, "I'm yours, remember?"

Jimin strokes your hair and watches you sleep for a while before he drifts off, wondering how he got so lucky.

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what-is-your-plan-today · 4 years

Text

Stark Spangled Banner Ch11: A Turkey Called Marv

Paring: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

Warnings: None for this chap, bar a bit of bad language and teeth rotting fluff

A/N: There is an accompanying One Shot to this called The Life Of Marv...

November 2013

“So I thought about putting in a pool…” Clint said, “Now the kids are bigger I thought it might be nice to have one. Maybe even a pool house round it for bad weather…”

"That's ambitious." Nat quirked an eyebrow.

Clint grinned. "That's my middle name."

"Really?" Katie asked. "I always thought it was Robert."

"What?" Clint looked at her as Nat snorted out a laugh. "Francis. Why would you think its Robert?"

Katie shrugged "You look like a Bob."

"Wait… so it's not Ambitious?" Nat asked, winking at Katie. "How boring…"

Katie nodded, draining her glass. "Bob would have been better,"

"Right," Clint started, pulling himself taller. "I hate both of you."

The girls laughed and Nat turned to Katie. “So what’s in the pipeline for you now Nova?” “I have no idea.” Katie said, and she didn’t. “I guess I’ll just get more involved in the family business.”

“You gonna move to New York?” Clint asked. She shook her head. “Probably spend a bit more time there but, I’m not moving back.”

“Nah, she can’t leave lover boy.” Natasha looked at Clint and Katie rolled her eyes. Truth is Nat had hit the nail on the head. No way was she leaving Steve in DC to move to the tower. Although they had only been together 7 months she had spent over a year of her life being 'with him' one way or another and the thought of not being terrified her.

“Nah to be fair Nat, they’ve been going out a while now. Things are probably starting to cool off.” Clint teased “Oh trust me, there’s no problems in that department.” Katie sniggered, looking at where Steve was stood.

“Oh would you look at that. I’m out of alcohol…” Nat said, suddenly “And so is Stark.”

"There's a bar over there," Clint pointed

“Cheers…”Natasha took Katie’s glass and handed it to him along with her own. Clint shook his head taking the glasses with a sigh.

“So… now he’s gone…” Nat glanced over at Steve then back to Katie “Gimme details…”

“Details on what?”

“Throw me a bone here Stark. I’m working on a few months dry spell.”

“Why are you so obsessed with my sex life?” Katie groaned “You’re constantly trying to get me to talk about it.”

“Hey, look, up until a few months ago I was convinced he was a virgin…”

“Well then you’re a dumbass.” Katie smirked “He’s Captain America, had girls throwing themselves at him back in the day.” "So he was until the serum?”

“I never said that…” she flushed.

“You’re such a shit liar.”

“Can we change the subject?” Katie groaned.

“Ok, answer me one question and then I’ll drop it.”

“What?” Katie said with an air of playful frustration. If she was honest, it was quite nice to have a girlfriend to chat to about these kind of secrets.

“Did the serum enhance…everything?” Nat wiggled her eyebrows.

Katie glanced over at Steve and smirked before she looked back at her. Fuck it.

“Well if it didn’t, I’ve no idea how he managed to stay upright before.” she smirked "I'm a lucky woman"

The red head threw back her head in a dirty laugh, a laugh that Katie had never heard from her before and it made her snigger at the sight of the normally composed assassin letting loose.

“What I miss?” Clint asked as he reappeared, handing them their drinks.

“I’ll explain when you’re older…” Nat said, patting his chest fondly.

The party went on well into the early hours of the morning and Steve had practically had to carry his girl home, not to mention holding her hair back whilst she puked up God knows how much tequila. She had a hangover to end all hangovers the day after and had hardly moved from her spot on his sofa bar to top up her glass of water and to find something crap to eat. They’d had a Chinese that night and she’d practically eaten everything on the menu before showering and crawling back into his bed, swearing she was never challenging Evans to a tequila drinking contest again which Steve had assured her was a pretty good idea.

Now, a fortnight later they were at the Tower in New York, and it was the night before Thanksgiving. Last year Katie and Steve had spent Thanksgiving as friends. This year they were spending it as lovers, and Katie was also excited to be spending it with Tony, although she would never admit that out loud.

"What are you doing Soldier?" Katie asked, jumping a little as Steve's arms came around her sides, reaching for the sink, effectively trapping her between the counter and his body.

He laid his chin on her shoulder. "The dishes,"

“I’m only leaving the pie dish to soak.” she said, turning in his arms. “The rest are going in the Dishwasher.”

“Oh because God forbid her majesty would actually wash a dish…” he teased as he rest his chin on her shoulder.

“You don’t wash them much either.” she said, rolling her eyes “How many brushes did you break last week?”

“The plastic is bad quality.” he said, pouting a little.

“Nothing to do with your ridiculously large hands being too rough.” “You weren’t complaining last night…” he said, lips warm against her cheek. Katie could hear the smile in his voice before she swatted him in the face with a dishtowel, and he laughed out loud.

“Seriously though Doll face, are you nearly done?” he said, “You’ve been in here all afternoon. You do know we’re not eating till 3 tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah but the more I do now, the less I have to do tomorrow, and let’s face it, it’s not like I have anything else to do, on account of being an unemployed bum.” she said making Steve laugh again. “Plus, I just want everything to be, you know…right.” she shrugged, and she did.

“It’s a dinner.” Steve said, chuckling slightly.

“It’s Thanksgiving” she pouted

“Yeah, and last years was pretty cool, remember?” he smiled

“Yeah but…” she trailed off, biting her lip. Steve knew that look well enough now to know there was more to this.

“What?” he probed gently.

“Nothing, just, well I never had a boyfriend over for Thanksgiving before. Or Christmas come to think of it.”

Steve smiled “I like being your first…” Katie grinned. The whole ‘I like being your first’ thing had started off by her saying it to Steve but they’d fast come to realise that they actually both had a world of inexperience between them when it came to relationships, and it was nice that they could be each other’s firsts in a lot of ways. “Honey, tomorrow is gonna be great.” he smiled at her, tipping her face up to look at his “Don’t sweat it.”

“Did you seriously just say don’t sweat it?” she sniggered.

Steve groaned “I told you I spent the afternoon with your brother…”

She giggled and leaned up to catch his lips in a soft kiss.

“Getting kinda tired of catching you two making out in a kitchen!” Tony chose that time to waltz in and open the fridge door “You got your own floor, go use it." ******

Katie woke the next morning to find Steve's side of the bed empty and cold. It wasn't unusual for him to be up earlier than her, she knew he would either be out running, in the gym or making coffee. She climbed out of bed and walked to the blinds of the bedroom, instructing JARVIS to open them, the AI being one of the many perks about being 'home'. The New York skyline stretched below her and as she glanced down she saw the people gathered on the sidewalks, attention turned to the streets, obviously waiting for the Thanksgiving Parade. She had asked Steve if he wanted to go and watch it in person but he had said he would prefer to stay in and watch from the tower as he didn't fancy getting mobbed in the street. Being recognised by one person every so often was fine but in those crowds if one person spotted him then it would spread like wildfire. Besides, as he had pointed out, her floor had an awesome view so they could watch out of the window with a drink. Katie frowned as suddenly a large brown turkey shaped balloon floated in front of her eyes. The parade wasn’t supposed to start until 9 and that meant by the time it made its way to the Avengers tower it would be... she turned and glanced at the click and gave a yelp. She had slept in until 10.

Steve heard her before he saw her, not that he needed super hearing to hear the loud yell of "how fucking late?" coming from the bedroom. Grinning to himself he turned back to the griddle on the island of the kitchen, flipping a pancake with one hand and drinking a coffee with the other. "Why didn't you wake me?" She grumbled to him as she leaned in the kitchen doorway, taking him in for a moment. He was freshly showered, dressed in a loose grey t-shirt and sweats, hair still a bit damp and spiked up in a way that made her smile. "Because you were up early yesterday and I thought I'd make you breakfast for a change." he said as she wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her face into the back of his shoulder. The smell of his shower gel mixed with the smell of the pancake mix, made her nuzzle her nose into him to inhale deeply. "You smell good." she eventually spoke again. "Good to know." A grin tugged at the corners of his lips at the fact she was still clinging to him. "I just saw a giant inflatable Turkey." she said, hands going to rub at his stomach. "What?" "The parade" she smiled at him. Steve smiled. "You know when I was a kid, the parade was the best part of Thanksgiving." "Still is" she mumbled, cheek still pressed to his shoulder.

"Me and Bucky used to come into Manhattan with his family and my ma if she wasn't working and stuff ourselves on popcorn and warm mixed nuts" He smiled to himself at the memory. They always picked out their favourite balloons, ate until they thought they would burst, and made Rebecca, Bucky’s younger sister laugh till she cried by pretending they were in the marching bands. But once the war started, the parade had ended. He had never realized that they started it up again until Tony and Katie had mentioned it last night as they had sat eating takeout. Part of him had wanted to go to the street to watch it but after seeing that morning how crowded it had been on his run he was happy to watch it from the comfort of Katie's floor. He turned to face her for first time that day, her arms still round his waist. Her hair was pulled up into a pony tail, face fresh, eyes bright and she was, as ever, in one of his shirts and not a lot else. He leaned forward to give her a quick kiss and when he moved away, she quickly closed the space to give him another quick kiss, letting her lips linger on his for a second. "I'll burn the pancakes" he murmured and she grinned, pulling away. "I'll make fresh coffee." she said, patting his chest and turning to the machine. "Hey JAR..." she spoke, "hit me with some Christmas tunes buddy" "The usual Miss Stark?" "As long as it has the Pogues on..." "Wouldn't dream of not doing" the AI replied and then the apartment was flooded with the sounds of Fairy Tale of New York. "It’s November." Steve turned to look at her, but she simply grinned to herself and turned around, singing to him. He couldn't help but laugh, he knew from last year that Christmas for her started at Thanksgiving and ended on New Year’s Day. Plus the fact that the previous year she had spent Christmas day fighting a bunch of exploding super soldiers meant that she was going to enjoy this year as much as possible. He shook his head, a low chuckle escaping before he turned back to his pancakes. They dragged the cushions off the couch and ate breakfast sat by the huge floor to ceiling windows of the penthouse, Katie sat between Steve's legs as they both watched the parade. Suddenly, a large green balloon floated by the window and Katie gave a loud squeal when she saw what it was. A Hulk float. An amused smile spread across her lips as she watched the balloon bob in front of the window, twisting to the sides in the air as it wrestled with the wind. "Oh my God!" Katie giggled again, gently tapping Steve's right calf but he had already spotted it. A massive shield was coming out, followed by Iron Man's mask, Thor's hammer, a bow and arrow, Natasha’s Red Widow symbol and her own Nova star. She turned to look at him, a little smile was tugging at the corners of his mouth and when he met her eyes the smile broke out across his features. Laughing in disbelief, he shook his head, turning his attention back look at the shield float bounce down the street. "That's pretty cool." he commented with an amazed sigh, and it was. If anyone had told him all those years ago that one day he would feature in the Macy's Thanksgiving parade he would have told them that they were mad. Yet there it was. He found himself smiling as he thought about how his ma and Bucky would have reacted. When they had finished eating, Katie leaned back into him a little more, slouching so that her knees were bent and her feet rested on the bottom of the window. His arms reached round her neck, and he kissed the back of her head as they continued to watch the floats, the gentle sound of Bing Crosby "White Christmas" now playing through the room, the two of them simply enjoying the closeness of one another. ***** Eventually it was time to head downstairs and join Tony, Bruce and Pepper for their dinner. Katie and Pepper left the men to it and finished off the prep before calling them all to the table. As was tradition, as ‘head of the house’ Tony carved the turkey with his usual, trademark drama and they took it in turns to give a few things they were thankful for. Tony was thankful for his friends, family and a decent brand of scotch he had in the cupboard for later, Pepper was thankful for being so fortunate and being surrounded by people she loved, Bruce was thankful for being welcomed into their family home, not just for today but since he had taken up residency just after the Chitauri Battle, and Katie was thankful for being in the presence of people she cared for, and for the last year being so much better than the previous 12 months. She shot a wink at Steve as she said that and he beamed before he realised they were waiting for him.

"err…” he cleared his throat “I guess I’m thankful for being given a second chance, being welcomed by you all…and for, err, you.” he grinned at Katie who gave him a playful roll of the eyes but the flush on her cheeks told him she had understood.

“Awww.” Pepper said, as Tony made a gagging noise which resulted in Katie throwing a carrot at him. He pointed at her, frowning.

“No food fights on my floor, Kiddo.” he said sternly and she simply raised an eyebrow at him, taking a sip of her wine.

The food was good, not that anyone expected anything else. Both Tony and Banner managed 2 servings whilst Steve made it through 3. And then there was the pie. Steve managed a piece of each, whilst everyone else could only face one, but no one cared. And he found himself secretly pleased that there was enough left for him to scoff later on.

“I’m so glad I wore leggings.” Pepper sighted, leaning back and massaging her stomach.

Katie nodded in agreement, also dressed in leggings and a long jersey dress. “Think I’m having a food baby.”

"Yeah, I gotta hand it to you Kiddo..." Tony said, leaning back in his chair, undoing the top button of his pants and massaging his stomach “That was absolutely awesome."

Steve's hand dropped to his girl's leg under the table and he gave her knee a little squeeze as she reached for her wine glass, before moving his arm to drop it round the back of her chair. "I certainly prefer the Turkey dead and cooked anyway" Tony added and Katie groaned. "Are you ever gonna let me live that down?" she looked at him. "No" he shook his head. "What's this?" Steve asked, setting his glass down. "Did she not tell you about the time she brought home a live Turkey one year? Katie sighed as Steve sat up, turning to her, smirking "No..." "I was 17 and going through a meat is murder phase." She waved away the comment with her hands. "I was in the way home and saw him. He was the only one left in the farmyard so I liberated him" "By liberated she means stole." Tony quipped, standing up to retrieve 2 more bottled of Rijoca from the bar as laughs rang round the table. "No one came looking for him" She shrugged. "Marv lived a happy life for 5 years in our back garden" "Marv?" Bruce looked at her, a smile creeping across his face. "After the character from Home Alone." She said simply

“You had a turkey called Marv?” the scientist deadpanned and she nodded.

"He was a great pet. Used to chase Tony around" "The bird was a fucking menace" Tony frowned, topping everyone's glass up. Settling back into his chair, Katie noticed Pepper giving him a look and he started suddenly as if he was remembering something. He leaned forward and looked at Katie. "So I know we don’t do Thanksgiving gifts kiddo but I was thinking yesterday about something you said to me once, about having a vision for a publishing company."

Katie stole a look at Steve who simply shrugged. It was true, when she had first graduated she had thought about setting up a publishing company, but one that dealt with unknown writers. Her favourite books in the world were the Harry Potter series and during her degree she had been lucky enough to attend a small seminar held by JK Rowling, who had openly discussed her life before becoming a famous author. She had been a single mother, struggling to make ends meet, and even after she had written the books it took her years to get a deal, being rejected by 4 different publishers before Bloomsbury (a small, independent group) took a chance on her and it paid off for both of them. Katie loved the rags to riches story and since then had always harboured a desire to do the same thing for other authors but it had never really been much more than a pipe dream.

"It was an idea I once had." She shrugged, looking at Tony. "Then things went a bit crazy." "Well... how about we make it a bit more than an idea?" Pepper said. "What?" Katie frowned, looking at Pepper, then he brother who nodded. "I want you to put a proper proposal together, business plan, mood and story board that type of thing." He said, waving his hand in that Tony-esque manner "Then we're gonna look at what we need to set it up and take it to the board. Run it as a Ltd company under the Parent company of Stark Industries, but you'll be the Managing Director." "I..., I can't run a business!" She stammered. "Didn't you run the UK branch of SI for a while?" Bruce looked at her, smiling. Was everyone in on this bar her? "That was different." She pressed. "Why?" Steve asked. "Shut up Steven." She said without even looking at him.

There were a few chuckles round the table before Tony continued. "Look, you don't need to work." He shrugged "You have enough capitol behind you plus the revenue from the business as it to live your life out as an IT girl, but we both know you'll end up killing someone if you get bored, and that's likely to be Cap seeing as you see him most so this is for him as much as you." "Thanks Tony." Steve tipped his glass to the Inventor who winked. Katie pondered. It really had been a dream of hers since leaving Uni, putting her degree and passion into her work and she would be lying if she said the thought didn’t excite her but it was a hell of a big commitment, and what if it all failed?

“I'll help you." Pepper smiled at Katie who was biting her lip. "I'll proof read the proposal and I'll be there every step of the way whilst you set up.” she leaned back in her chair. "The week before Christmas there’s another board meeting. I suggest we use that to pitch the idea." she concluded and Tony nodded.

"I think this could be a great opportunity for you and Stark Industries." Tony looked at Katie "and you'll get full autonomy over it as you'll set up your own sub-board to feed up into the PLC" This was amazing. She looked at Steve who nodded encouragingly. “What is it you keep saying to me? You’ll never know until you try?” he smiled at her. She took a deep breath and looked around the table before throwing caution to the wind and letting out a huge grin. "Ok. Fuck it. Let's do it." **** After another half an hour or so of chatter, and a bottle of champagne to celebrate Katie's agreement to the business idea, everyone chipped in to clear the table before retiring to the plush living area of Tony and Pepper's floor for more drinks and chat. Then the alcohol really did start to flow, Steve and Tony moving onto the scotch, the soldier watching as everyone around him descended into that well recognised drunken haze. And then out came Drawing Without Dignity. A game he had never played before and frankly found vulgar, but couldn’t help but enjoy it. The game fast slid into chaos which was to be expected with an extremely competitive Super Soldier who had a natural advantage as he could actually draw, an equally competitive billionaire and a normally mild mannered scientist who also was quite cutthroat when it came to winning it turned out. Pepper and Katie spent most of the time sniggering at the bickering men, and at the point when they were laughing that much when it was their go, the 3 boys got so frustrated they banned them from playing. For that, the next time Steve asked her what one of the more risqué sayings meant (he had cringed at a fair few of them over the course of the evening) she lied to sabotage him earning her a full on Captain glare. "That was a pretty shitty thing to do." He grumbled at her as Tony and Bruce were both howling with laughter. "Not my fault Captain Sex Fiend doesn’t know what Rimming is!" Katie shot back, wiping away her tears. Steve had to bite back his own laugh at the ridiculous nickname instead he fixed her with another glare which she returned with a simple shrug of her shoulders. The game ended, and Steve and Tony called it a draw, which was probably the easiest thing to do since Pepper had stopped taking count and tallying towards the end. It was now well after 10pm and Steve looked around the room as Tony stood up, a little unsteady on his feet, teetering back over toe the bar.

“I think maybe we’ve had enough…” Pepper hiccupped slightly looked at Tony who had been reaching for another bottle of liquor, wheeled round slightly too fast causing him to stumble into the bar.

Katie cackled as Tony looked at Pepper “Shut up Mom.” he said, grabbing another bottle of scotch in one hand and the open bottle of Kristal the girls were drinking in the other. He walked carefully over towards the sofa, as he dropped down into it heavily, handing Katie who was on the floor in between Steve’s legs, her back resting against the sofa, the champagne. She took it and poured herself and Pepper a glass, quite pleased that she didn’t spill any.

“You know he… he can’t get drunk!” Tony handed Bruce a now full glass, pointing to Steve.

“That’s sad…” Bruce surmised, taking a sip of his drink before Tony sat bolt upright, and pointed at the scientist.

“Hey, I wonder if Hulk can get drunk?”

“That’s an…that’s an…ex…exper-expediment I don’t think we should do.” Bruce shook his head, hiccups punctuating his speech.

“Absolutely not.” Steve shook his head as Katie cackled.

“But it would be for science purposes…” Tony pressed

Bruce wrinkled his nose and shook his head “No Code Green.” “Spoil sport.” Tony said.

They stayed for another hour or so, until Pepper fell asleep and Katie’s cheeks were flushed pink and when she asked for a bottle of water Steve knew it was time to go. After asking Tony if he needed help getting to bed, and the man declining, Steve stood up, surprised to find he actually felt a little bit of a headrush. Ok, so maybe the 3 bottles of that scotch had had a little effect after all, but he felt the fizziness ebbing away as he pulled Katie to her feet and she grinned up at him.

“Wanna carry me Soldier?” she asked.

He arched an eyebrow and in one swoop had her over his shoulder, causing her to shriek with laughter.

“Night!” she waved from her upside down position. Tony and Bruce waved distractedly from where they were now trying to mix some form of cocktail at the bar.

“You can put me down now…” Katie patted Steve on his back as they boarded the elevator. “Steve…”

He smirked to himself, ignoring her giggles and protests and didn’t put her down until they reached the bedroom where he tossed her down on the bed and set about showing her exactly how thankful for her he was.

Tags

@the-omni-princess

@momobaby227

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toloveadevil · 5 years

Text

It’s Not a Dream

//gabriel x margaret. fluffy smut. after a long night at work, gabriel is about to clock out when he sees someone he thought had been a hallucination before, only to find out that this someone is very, very real. gabriel and margaret belong to @ask-the-nightshift / @invertedmindinc//

Gabriel groaned softly as he stood and stretched. The clock had just dinged 6 AM and he was more than ready to leave this place. Springtrap had been terrible and there had been several times that the young guard had thought he was going to get killed. He just wanted to get home and snuggle with Hope and forget that tonight had happened. Thank goodness that it was Sunday and he wouldn't be back into work tonight.

A movement in the camera caught his eye. Turning his head Gabriel's breath caught when he saw the figure of a woman in the monitor. She had just moved out of the view of the camera. Suddenly alert, Gabriel sat back down, flipping to the next camera. There she was! His eyes narrowed on her, flipping from camera to camera as she moved. He couldn't stop watching her. He had always believed that the glimpses he had caught of her were simply hallucinations brought on by the lack of air, like the phantom animatronics. He had never seen her for this long of a time.

She was beautiful...at least what he could see of her in the cameras. Long, soft hair that looked like it could be red. Her frame was slender, but there were definite curves to her shape, dressed in a white sweater and a long black skirt. What Gabriel could see of her face was simply angelic and so pretty that he gave a small sigh as he continued to track her through the cameras. He knew the area where she finally disappeared from the camera's view. There was nothing back there but an odd storage room with a couch in it that Gabriel had assumed had been intended for a break room. Determined now, the young guard stood and walked down the halls, following the same path he had seen her take. Gabriel had to see if he could find her, if he could see her.

Finally, he reached the store room and stood outside the door, steeling himself. Either he would find the woman, which would bring all kinds of questions, or he'd find the room empty and again have it confirmed that this woman was nothing more than a figment of his imagination.

As his hand reached for the door, it was pulled open from the inside. He heard a soft, sweet voice from the other side.

"I'll be back tonight, Spring, don't worry."

And then Gabriel was face-to-face with the prettiest woman he had ever seen. He had been right about her hair being red, but he was startled at the color of her eyes. So blue...so very blue...like two sapphires staring out from a creamy, pale face that bore a light dusting of freckles across the nose. Now she was dressed in a long blue sundress that set off the color of her eyes and made Gabriel's throat go dry when he eyes glanced down and he saw how low-cut the dress was, showing more of that creamy skin.

"Gabriel!" the woman gasped, her hand over her red mouth, her blue eyes widening as she stared at him and he stared back at her.

Before he knew what he was doing, he had stepped forward, his hands moving to rest on those shapely hips...and he was kissing her. God, her lips were so soft...softer than he had imagined those days where he had laid in bed, his mind obsessing over the "red lady" as he had dubbed her.

"I-I'm sorry..." he stammered when they finally pulled apart. The woman was staring at him, a delicate flush on her cheeks, her small hands resting on his chest, but not pushing him away or coming up to strike him. "I...I don't even-"

"It's Margaret," she told him, her voice slightly breathless, "My name is Margaret."

"Margaret..." Gabriel spoke the name softly. It felt perfect on his tongue. Again, he was kissing her, holding her body tight against his. She was so soft, as yeilding as water. Before he could stop himself or even realizing what he was doing, he had gently pushed the woman back and kicked the door shut with his foot. He didn't notice the rotting rabbit suit in the corner as he guided Margaret back to the couch and soon tumbled her down onto it until he was ontop of her, his hips between her legs.

"I-I'm sorry..." Gabriel apologized even as he pulled a strap of the sundress down on her shoulder, kissing the skin there. Margaret gasped softly as he did, her face flushed and her eyes closed, but she was so unresistant, so soft...Gabriel knew he wasn't going to be able to stop himself until he'd at least had her once. He had fallen in love with the woman, even from the few glimpses he had seen of her. She had just felt like a gentle, caring soul, like an angel stuck here on Earth, He'd had more than a few dreams where he had tasted her skin and felt her wrapped around him. Now he had this dream woman in his arms...he had to have her. Margaret whimpered and gasped as Gabriel continued to kiss her skin. She could feel his hardness through his slacks and her gentle hands came down and unzipped and unbuckled them to at least give him some relief. Gabriel let out a groan as he was released from his slacks, his forehead resting in the crook of her throat and shoulder. "M-Margaret...I need...can I...?" "Yes..." came the whispered reply and that was all Gabriel needed. He angled his hips and soon he was inside her. He gasped as he felt how hot she was, how tight, how she hugged his arousal. It was like they were puzzle pieces that fit perfectly together. He was trembling slightly because, finally, he was inside the woman he had fallen so hard for. Gentle hands pet his hair, his shoulders, soft lips kissed his forehead as he stayed where he was for a moment, relishing the feel of her soft heat around him and how good she felt. "Y-You feel so...so good..." Gabriel whispered, lifting his head to kiss her as he began to move his hips, thrusting into that wet heat that fit around him so perfectly. It felt like she was made for him to be inside her. As he thrust, he could feel the bounce of her breasts against his chest. He peeled down one side of her sundress, exposing a perfect pink nipple. His mouth was almost immediately wrapped around it, causing Margaret to give a soft moan as his teeth bit lightly into the tender skin and his tongue flicked the nipple until it became a soft nub. After a few moments of suckling on her breast, he lifted his head and kissed her again. "I love you..." he whispered as he continued to thrust himself into her, the sound of skip slapping skin, the wet sound of his arousal diving in and out of her heat, and their mutual gasps and moans filling the air. Gabriel didn't need her to reply, he was inside of her and she was so accepting of him. He could drop dead right now and die the happiest man on the planet because he'd had his red lady. His thrusts became more erratic as he felt his orgasm building. She just felt too good, there was no way he'd be able to hold on for long. Her breaths were coming in quivering gasps and he could feel her heat throb around him and knew that she was getting close, too. This only made it more perfect if they came together. He wanted her to climax with him, he wanted to feel her tighten around him, holding him, wanted to hear her cries of pleasure. And he got just that. He felt his cock throb and his sac tighten as he reached his climax. At the same time, Margaret's back arched and her walls tightened around him as she came, as well, her body accepting the hot seed that he spilled inside of her, spurting and pumping deep in her womb, filling her before he almost collapsed on the woman. His body was shaking and he felt like an exposed nerve, just the touch of her hands on his skin sending a tingling sensation through his body. The pair laid there, trembling and gasping as they recovered from their mutual climax. Gabriel kissed the woman gently and lovingly, feeling her arms come around his shoulders, holding him against her. He could feel himself falling deeper and deeper in love with her. He made love to his beloved red lady three more times before he was too tired to continue. All he could do was shift around until he had Margaret trapped between his body and the back of the couch. She was too tired to move, herself, and she simply snuggled into his arms as the two fell asleep, breathing softly. As soon as the two were asleep, a figure walked into the room and covered the pair with a blanket. Charles smiled as he looked down at them sleeping, brushing back Margaret's hair from her face. She'd be good for Gabriel he knew. With that thought, the phone guy turned and left the two to sleep.

#Margaret Wilford #gabriel collins #smut #fanfiction #not canon #gabe hasn't fucked margaret #at least not yet

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rotten-games · 5 years

Text

Hello and welcome to three whole pages of rushed bullshit because I’m lazy.

Erm putting it under a cut because of its length, and there are themes of abuse here.

His mother was sobbing as he packed up his bag, shoving the rags he called clothing into the tiny slip of a satchel that never got repaired from the first time he tried to run away. Her delicate fingers wrapped themselves around his upper arms, the brown eyes that didn't match his own red and watery with the tears she finally let free. There was a lump in his throat, heavy and stuck there like the bruise forming under his eye.

“Vel, my baby, don't leave. We can fix this,” his mother pleaded, shaking him and sending a jolt of pain through his body that lingered at the base of his skull. Druvel could only stare at the rawness around her neck, the dark welt on her chin, the cut that still glistened with blood on her cheekbone. He could look at all of that; all the damage dealt to her, but he could not look into her eyes. Because this was his fault.

“We can't fix anything.” Is all he could muster, the words coming out with a heaviness like a lead ball on his tongue. Druvel turned away from the woman who raised him, her greying black hair hanging down in loose strands that had fallen from the otherwise elegant bun atop her head. Even with the bruises she was beautiful, and Druvel couldn’t bring himself to think too hard on the man who had laid a hand on her because of him. “I can fix everything by leaving.”

“Vel you don't need to leave I just… I can just…” Druvel scoffed, inspecting the various keepsakes adorning his rotted wooden dresser. His hand briefly brushed over the silver medallion hidden behind the old stuffed bear mother made him when he was found on the side of the road. He picked it up, the metal glistening even in the sparse light. Romelle gave it to him when he was just old enough to ask why no one looked quite like them. There was a message carved into the back, but it was in an uneven hand and could no longer be read. He always did love Uncle Romelle the most.

He pocketed it.

“I'm leaving, Mother, I won't have you hurt any longer.” He said, softly, more to himself than anyone else as his gaze shifted over to the woven little bracelet one of the other brats had made him. Before they were taken away to some orphanage, no doubt. And yet he had always remained, for almost sixteen years. With a sigh, he tore himself away from the forgotten little bracelet, abandoned like the children who thought they’d have a loving family with so many aunties and uncles. Only Druvel received that ‘privilege.’

He was staring the woman he called his mother down now, her flush of distress contrasting with his own inability to do just that. His tail swung back and forth, a habit he’d learnt from mimicking the strays that lingered in the alleys strewn throughout the city. He forced himself to relax, a remorseful smile lingering on his features.

“You always did tell me I’d go on that adventure I always talked about, one day,” He said, but the statement fell on deaf ears as the delicate elf clung to him. He forced himself to push her off, his voice becoming harsher, but no less quiet. “I need to go. That man doesn’t want me here. He will only tolerate you.”

“Then I’ll leave with you!” His mother protested, her words coming out clumsy. In time she would be unable to speak. And yet Druvel wasn’t sure what would be better for him. He gave her a sad look, still refusing to meet her eyes, as he pulled her into a weak hug. Any more would no doubt hurt her ribs again. He gently stroked her hair as she sobbed, hissing through his teeth as her fingers dug into his back and exacerbated the bruising. But yet he made do, he could not let her know the pain that coursed through his body.

“Shush, you know you wouldn’t survive a day out there,” He uttered, resting his chin on the top of her head. His mother sniffed, her shoulders quivering as she sobbed some more. Finally, after what seemed far too long, Druvel tore himself away from her. “Now I need to go.”

Druvel left his mother in his old room, gently closing the door behind him as she collapsed onto the sparse cot that had held him for so long. But he was no longer a child. Even at sixteen he knew this. And though he would outlive all those here—save, perhaps the younger elves—he would miss them dearly.

Romelle greeted him at the door, his face pale and lips tight. There was a heaviness to the set of his jaw, as if wanting to say something but not knowing how. He was never one to burn bridges. Within moments, his expression softened, his tail linking with Druvel’s in that comforting way he’d done when he was a child.

“You’ve made up your mind, then.” A statement, not a question. One that Druvel could only nod his head to. He averted his gaze from the intense stare of a man he’d considered his mentor. He was usually kind, with a joke or coy little grin that masked his heart of gold, but now Romelle looked tired and… sad. But Druvel noticed something else.

“Your hands…” He muttered, gesturing loosely to the grazes across Romelle’s knuckles and the bruises around his wrists. The bruises might have been a common occurrence, something Druvel wouldn’t have noticed, were his hands not also bloody and mangled. His fellow Infernal flinched, his pink eyes shifting slightly to look away, before an easy smile formed.

“Just a, ah, client,” Romelle started, he detached himself from Druvel and took a step backwards. There was a limp to his movement, a preference of his left leg as he shifted, and tensed every few seconds. He slowly rubbed at the insides of each wrist before shoving them into a pocket. The slight wince was easy to miss. “He likes to get a bit rough with me.”

Druvel could only leer, knowing full well that this was far from just an unruly client. And yet he said nothing. Few people in that blasted house liked talking about their woes. Perhaps it was a learned habit, or maybe it was simply a trait of the types of people who were made to work there.

“Fine,” Druvel said, but submitted to the crushing hug he was then pulled into. Romelle’s claws sank into his shoulders like a cat, and he could do nothing but laugh bitterly at the thought. His uncle was no cat, no matter how many of his ‘clients’ liked to think so. After a few moments, he pat Romelle’s shoulder lightly, “Okay, okay, I have to go.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Yes I do.”

“Yes, you do.” Romelle finally conceded with a sigh, detaching himself from Druvel. He looked perhaps decades older than what he was—though he never did get around to disclosing such information—and his fingers twitched at his side. “But don’t forget about us, eh?”

“How could I? You asshole’s have eternally cockblocked me.” Druvel allowed a grin to pull at his lips, his grip on his satchel tightening. Romelle returned the playful smirk with one of his own.

“It was for your own good kiddo. Hey, do try not to do anything stupid. At least for the next two years or so?” Romelle pat him on the back as Druvel turned on his heels, pushing open the door and exiting out into the cold dark morning of Harris’ Red District. Even at dawn there was ample activity. Romelle followed him out.

“I’ll sure attempt not to go joining any cults,” Druvel rolled his eyes as he turned to his uncle and gave him one last hug goodbye. His voice was lower, now, hushed in a way that ensured no one would hear them, “Look after Mother for me. I fear she won’t survive the night.”

“I’ll try, but you have no idea how much light you brought inter her otherwise bleak life when she found you.” Romelle returned, his voice hardening. He pushed Druvel off gently, his stare boring holes into the top of Druvel’s skull. “You have to go, I know that, but if I find out you’re dead any time soon, I’m personally raising your corpse to kill again.”

“I won’t die.” Druvel promised. And as he left that day, in the cold crisp morning of Xactha’s winter, he felt that weight on his shoulders he’d felt for all of sixteen years lift. An easy smile formed on his lips, despite the pain that shot through his jaw because of it.

Surely, things would get better. Right?

#hahahahaha he was wrong #very wrong #I cant have a non-traumatised character #it is impossible for me #And that comment about not joining a cult?#Druvel #sho #short sleeves #lore #love interest #tw: abuse #abuse #trigger warning

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elane-in-the-shadows · 6 years

Text

Red Queen Fan Fiction - Dark Heart Bright Lightning Chapter 3

Attention! Contains War Storm spoilers. Attention!!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Find this on wattpad and on AO3

Stone

Maven POV

So far, the same two Reds assisted Cassie Griffey-Ives in the observation of me. Though they couldn’t be all who were here, certainly there were more guards in the arena. I asked about that the next time she came to visit.

“It’s unlikely someone would look for you in an unused arena,” Ives replied.

“Is that so? As Iris didn’t look for the Piedmont heirs in the Montfortan observatory?”

“It’s a matter of disguising your whereabouts and officially, you were burnt to ashes that currently rest in the treasure chamber of Whitefire. But don’t worry, you grave will soon be erected.”

“Now you got me curious.” Her morbid streak amused me.

She coughed. “Possibly, you could visit your grave in a few days, when … I mean, it’s scheduled in a few days …”

“What is?”

“Tiberias will … well, he and Anabel Lerolan. They’ll relocate – “

“Anabel! That’s about time she pulls away from the frontlines. I can’t believe your Scarlet Guard still allows that hag to stroll in the capital. You must know she wouldn’t let a chance to dismantle your efforts go to waste.”

“I suppose so.”

“Tell me, will my brother ever dare to visit me, too? Or am I stuck with you alone?”

She said nothing.

“How was his birthday, anyway? I forgot to send my regards, but, you know.” Although I’d threatened he’d never make it to his next birthday.

“As I heard, it was a private affair. I didn’t attend, as I had my own party.” She grinned. “I got married that day.”

“Ah, to that Red? I think I remember him. You couldn’t wait at all?”

“Indeed, Calore. Actually, the Scarlet Guard was happy to hear about our plans, the first official mixed marriage. They made a big thing of it, putting us in rich clothes, taking photos and having them printed in the papers.” She smiled dreamily and I left her to her romantic musings. Her rose-gold ring caught my eyes again, it had to be her wedding band. Of course. It was likely an alloy of silver and copper, what an obvious symbol of their union.

Only later I realized how she’d changed the topic and avoided to explain the meaning of visit your grave.

“I don’t know how you can eat in here,” Ives said. She shoved aside her fork and meal she’d brought into my abode as if to imply she liked to spend her personal lunch break with me. Should she suffer for her pretentiousness. I smirked wrily, but I was no stranger to that nausea myself; I was merely better at hiding and ignoring the constant sickness I suffered in this place and under the silent stone. Its weight was stronger in here, more massive and grave-like than the rooms I had lined with it in the palace.

Maybe she guessed that, as she threw me a commiserating glance. “How is it in general, Calore?” she inquired.

“Needing data and results for the ‘experiment’?” I said. “Could be better. It’s a little small in here.”

She inclined her head and I frowned. Who, please, was actually interested in my state, besides my gaoler? Couldn’t she tell me how this was supposed –

“I won’t come tomorrow,” she said.

“That’s not an answer.”

“I just wanted to prepare you. However, are you still curious about your brother?”

I said nothing, remaining carefully still.

“He’ll leave on the 7th, that’s in three days.”

I gulped. “I know which day that is.”

Her gaze was understanding and pitying and I could’ve barfed. “Do you?” she whispered.

No answer.

She stood up. “When I return, I’ll ask you whether you want to continue the experiment or whether you’ll go with Tiberias,” she said and left me behind.

I did not miss her wretched company, I could do well on my own. I was granted a few books and days-old papers, what more did I need? Oh, it became harder to read every day, every night, but I wasn’t bored. It’d been only five days, something easy to manage. Not once did I hear my mother in my head apart from the memories I conjured myself. Yet, today, when no one had spoken to me, I wished she would. I wished someone cared about me, that Jacos and Cal hadn’t shown me only the most pitiful kind of mercy, by letting me live to just rot away out of their sight. Of course, I had done the same with Jacos, so I shouldn’t be surprised.

Maven.

The disembodied voice tingled in my head. I knew only my imagination could have created it, yet I was unable to decide who it belonged to, who I wanted or dreaded to hear. Once again, I wanted to dream, so I might see Thomas and hear him call my name, in fraud memories not created by my thoughts. But that was an illusion. Dreams were the same as every thought, memory or reaction, and wouldn’t prove anything. They weren’t more sincere than any other part of my mind. Maybe it was better without them, as Mother had always insisted. Dreams are deceptions, only that she was the greatest deceiver of all.

Was I truly empty? Had Mother taken away all that made me me, a person, as all of them said? Or was it the silent stone that addled my thoughts now, and deranged my mind?

I craved sleep, dark, dreamless sleep. I would like to sleep all day, because everything was so tiring.

The light changed; it had to be night now. But I was still awake. I laid down and closed my eyes. When I opened them again, I had no idea if I’d stayed awake or fallen asleep. Had the light changed again? No, I didn’t think so –

I woke up and choked. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see. My throat ached, and even after I found water, after painstakingly searching it for several minutes, I could hardly swallow. I didn’t want to lift my head, didn’t want to bare my face, the one that belonged to a murderer, a failure, a pitiful waste of a person.

I wouldn’t demean myself by crying.

The tears ran down my cheek the morning of November 6th, when the door opened again. Earlier than usual, as if someone had told my gaoler of my sorry state. At first, I felt a pat on my shoulder, then strokes on my back, once she’d sat down on the floor next to me. I was grateful for that.

For a while, she remained quiet, until I’d calmed myself. “Tiberias asked after you this morning,” she said eventually.

I snorted, disbelieving, although my pulse accelerated with sentiment. “And?” I groaned. “Does he want me to stay in here?”

“I told him that’s your decision.”

Then I cackled, my throat hurting with it. All the better. What reason did I have to live in freedom?

She waited. Still I didn’t know if her remarks about Cal weren’t white lies, nor whether I wanted to leave this place. It was a pain but one I’d learn to deal with, I was certain. And it worked. I was free of whispering voices, freer in a prison than when I wore a crown.

Did I want to risk that?

Cassandra Ives looked into my eyes and I read the doubts she harboured. This wasn’t good for me, we were both aware of it. And the alternative was the opposite of what I tried here.

It was visiting my mother’s grave on her death anniversary and looking Cal in the face.

But if the other option was to let Maven Calore waste away like a coward, so I had to dare it.

Didn’t I?

@moikorolrezni @mareshmallow @wrenskonos @runexandra @christineflame @warstoned @i-tried-mare @redqueenfandom @clarafarleybarrow @flameandshadowx @redqueenforever @caven-malore @inopinion @lilyharvord @artbooks-trash @selenbean-beany @ihnejgafa @sunnsummoner @scarletguardsource @hannaharies @samanthaslytherin @marecalrandomstuff

#red queen #war storm #maven calore #war storm spoilers #red queen fanfiction #cal calore #dark heart bright lightning #dhbl ch 3 #original character

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vennilavee · 6 years

Text

Every Step, Every Way Part II

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky comes home to you a little worse for wear and you do your best.... part II

Warnings: Cursing, kissing, adult situations, anxiety

Word Count: 5k+ lol oops

A/N: Read part 1 HERE Listen to Every Step Every Way by Majid Jordan!! Enjoy, and let me know what you think. Thanks for reading :)

You really contemplated calling out of work today. But you were above pulling the “My boyfriend’s an Avenger, I don’t care what you say” card. The temptation to just stay wrapped up in their warm little cocoon was too great. With a sigh, you rubbed your tired eyes and gingerly lifted Bucky’s arm off of you. He had managed to roll off of you and tuck you into his side in his sleep.

Your eyes burned from fatigue, goosebumps rose on your skin from the cold and you groaned when you saw the sun beginning to rise. I hate this, I hate this, I hate this.

By the time you got ready, made herself look like a person, made some coffee, ate something quick and left food for Bucky, you had 10 minutes to spare. Your under eye circles weren’t that noticeable under your concealer, and you had even opted for contacts rather than glasses. Despite getting only a few hours of sleep the night before, you felt a bead of sunshine in her heart that threatened to spill out- Bucky was finally home. You wrote a quick note for him and stuck it on the fridge, hoping that he would sleep for several more hours before making his way out of your bed.

“You don’t look as shitty as I thought you would,” Arden said bluntly as you both walked into the hospital together.

“Thanks, Arden,” You rolled your eyes, stuffing yours hands into your jacket’s pockets.

“I’m just saying, your man came home after weeks last night and you look well rested than I thought you would. I thought you wouldn’t be able to walk-” Arden smirked at her suggestively.

“I hate you,” You laughed with your friend and co-resident, “He came home at 3 AM, I just fed him and put him to bed. No time for mind-blowing sex on the agenda, unfortunately.”

“Maybe you’ll get laid tonight. God knows you need it. You’ve been a nightmare to the interns,” Arden held the entrance to the ED open for you and they walked towards their lockers.

“Have I really?” You said vaguely, “I haven’t been that bad…”

“They’re calling you Ultron,” Arden grinned, punching your shoulder.

“Seriously? They’re calling me the equivalent of a robot who was hellbent on killing almost everyone on the planet? I don’t know if I should be flattered or terrified,” You chugged your coffee quickly and tucked your pens and pocket notebook into your scrubs.

“I should go extra hard on them just for that,” You muttered.

“Whatever you say, Chief,” Arden rolled her eyes, “Shall we go?”

You nodded and made your way to the nurse’s station, ready for the 12-hour shift ahead of you.

The universe seemed to be working on her side today- nothing terribly crazy had been coming through the ED doors. Just the standard cases of pneumonia, sore throats, a chicken pox case, two car accidents, and an accidental stabbing. All, in all an average day. The day had gone quite quickly- in between keeping up your reputation of Ultron with the interns, treating patients, and finding time to eat lunch with Arden, you found herself energized.

You texted Bucky quickly when you had some down time: Hi, work is busy but I miss you already, see you soon with a few heart emojis. You couldn’t wait to leave the hospital and sit in the comfort of the Tower with your friends and a glass of wine (or seven).

Bucky smiled to himself when he saw your note on the fridge: “Morning, boo. Food and water is in the fridge, you better eat!!! See you soon! He really didn’t feel like leaving your apartment- exhaustion was still crawling around in his bones. Your apartment felt so much more cozy than his room at the tower. Your candles, pictures, books, decorations, and you furniture all had elements of you in each piece.

So, he decided to stay until you came back, shooting a quick text before wrapping himself with your blankets and turning the tv on.

You could barely keep the smile off your face or stop the bounce in your step as your shift ended. Arden raised an eyebrow at you.

“Doing anything tonight? Other than cumming over… and over… and over and over again?” Arden asked with a filthy look in her eyes.

“Honestly, I feel like I’m going to pass out before I can even think about pulling an all-nighter for sex,” You smirked.

“Yeah. I’m glad he’s back, maybe you’ll finally get some decent sleep,” She said earnestly with a small smile, “You win some, you lose some. It’s gotta be tough- he’s an Avenger- saving people, fighting true evil. You worry. About all of them. I don’t think I’d be able to sleep much either,” Arden mused as they made their way out of the hospital.

One of her favorite things about her was that she seemed to know what you were thinking even before you even said it.

“You wanna get drinks with me and Bucky this week or something?” You asked before they were about to depart ways. Normally, Arden would have said no- the thought of third wheeling any couple was enough to make her roll her eyes. But Bucky and you weren’t like that- they didn’t do PDA, the overt touches, make other people feel uncomfortable. They included everyone in their conversations, as if they were old friends. It was never a chore being with the two of them. Arden never felt bad about being single- they didn’t remind her of her singleness or make her wish she had someone to bring when they hung out. Sometimes Bucky and you felt like really close best friends rather than a couple to Arden, but then she would pick up on the way Bucky would go the extra effort to get to know your friends and the way you always made sure that Bucky was comfortable wherever he was.

Arden thought they were a strange couple at first- he was so quiet with reserved smiles and meaningful looks and you were so not. But then Arden began to see how you brought him out of his shell, how he smiled and laughed a little louder because of you, how your eyes were filled with adoration, how you had become wiser and more empathetic because of him. The give and take relationship that they had was beautifully unique and Arden felt a benign kind of jealousy towards her friend.

“Yeah, I’d love to. Text me details,” Arden said.

You nodded and bid her goodbye. Butterflies began to float around in your stomach in anticipation of being able to see Bucky properly, being able to hold him in your hands instead of imagining it. You walked towards the subway station with a giddy smile on your face, not caring about the cold wind whipping your face and making your eyes tear up slightly. All your could think about was Bucky, Bucky, Bucky- his hands, his smile, the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed at you, his veiny forearms, his thick thighs, how he completely covered you when he lay on top of you, how he had taken a fondness for horror movies because of you, how safe and warm he made you feel.

God, you were so whipped.

Bucky heard the keys jiggling softly from the other side of the door and you popped your head through before taking off your shoes.

“Hi,” You beamed at him, hanging up your coat. You looked radiant in your black scrubs, despite the tiredness he could see on your face. Your nose was slightly red from the cold and your brown eyes glittered for him.

“Hey, pretty girl,” Bucky made his way over to you and was about to kiss you before you protest.

“Let me wash my hands and face and change, Buck,” You ignored his pout and rolled your eyes, but not before lightly smacking his ass.

You had taken your make up off, switched her contacts for glasses and walked out of your room in your favorite flannel and yoga pants. Bucky was seated on the couch and he waited for you to join him.

“C’mere, you’re killing me,” Bucky groaned, itching to have you in his arms.

“A girl is thirsty, damn,” You muttered. You grabbed a water bottle and sat in Bucky’s lap, humming contentedly when his hands immediately went under your shirt, roaming the expanse of your back.

“Did you eat? Did you sleep well? Did you drink enough water? Are you tir-?” You interrogated him but he cut you off with a searing kiss that startled you.

“You can’t just kiss me to shut me up,” You said without any conviction.

“Seems to work every other time,” Bucky smirked, holding you chin in his large hands, “And yes, I ate, slept well, drank enough water. I should be asking you if you’re tired.”

“Nah, I’m okay,” You shook your head, shifting a little so that you were straddling his hips, your fingers dancing in his hair.

“Sorry I kept you up last night, princess,” He murmured, his hands still roaming under your shirt. Bucky managed to get you out of her flannel, leaving you only in you black tank top.

“Stop, don’t do that. I’ll always be here to welcome you home,” You said softly but firmly. He nodded against the column of your neck and looked up at you, blue eyes boring into brown.

“You didn’t want to go back to the tower? You were all alone here all day,” You noted, feeling him start to play with the clasp of your bra.

“I wanted to be here when you came back,” Bucky said, “I missed you too much.” You giggled at the pink that bloomed on his cheeks.

“You’re sweet, you’re gonna rot my teeth,” You brushed your hair out of your face. Bucky rolled his eyes at your cheesiness but pulled you down to him and finally, finally pressed his longing lips to yours. You tasted like your mango flavored chapstick, some remnants of coffee and like home. You deepened the kiss eagerly, pushing him back on the pillows of the couch and rocking your hips into his. He heard you squeak in surprise when he gripped your ass aggressively, pulling you into him even more. You pulled away with hooded eyes, pressing your lips to his stubbled neck, biting and sucking lightly. He inhaled sharply when your hand accidentally pressed against a still smarting bruise on his chest. You almost jumped off of him in alarm with accusing eyes.

“That’s what happens when you don’t let me take care of you,” You sassed him, pulling his shirt off of his torso. He was about to protest- it’s fine, it’ll be gone soon- remember? I’m a super soldier- but you sent him a glare that silenced him.

“You’re not invincible, baby. You and Steve forget ‘cause you both are two stubborn ass peas in a pod,” You murmured, gingerly touching the area around his large, purple bruise, “Stupid Brooklyn boys.”

“Hey!”

You rolled her eyes at him again, clambering off of him and going to find ointment and gauze. Bucky sighed, fiddling with his thumbs. He would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy this- enjoy you scolding him for being reckless, fretting with his bumps and bruises, your fleeting touches doing more for him than the serum ever could. He remembered the one time he had shown up with a large gash on his shoulder and his lower abdomen and you had almost cried when he barely flinched as you meticulously stitched him up without anesthetic in the tower’s med bay. The scar healed nicely but you couldn’t stop thinking about how much pain he had endured for stitches to barely phase him.

The purpling bruise seemed to come alive with her touch and you found some already healing welts littering his right hip. He bit his bottom lip, wishing you would stop trying to fix him and instead press your lips to his, grind your hips into his, run your nimble fingers through his hair.

“What happened here?” your breath fanned out across his skin and he wanted to shiver. You were pointing to his hip, dabbing ointment on it with your other hand.

“I don’t remember, probably scraped across something,” Bucky said nonchalantly.

“What am I going to do with you, Barnes?” You patted his shoulder affectionately before settling on his lap again so as to not press against his bruise.

“Hopefully something that involves your clothes off,” Bucky waggled his eyebrows at you and squeezed your ass.

“Such a charmer,” You rolled your eyes. Bucky flipped you over easily, his hands were already roaming your sides, pushing her hair out of your face and he crashed his lips into yours. He was fiddling with your tank top, trying to get it off your head without breaking the kiss. Bucky almost ripped it off and then glued his lips to your neck, humming at your soft calls of his name. A hiss left your lips when he sucked on her skin a little too hard and he gave you a half-hearted apologetic glance. His pretty, red mouth was making its way down your chest, giving your breasts the attention they deserved.

And then his phone was ringing, breaking their cozy, little bubble and springing them into reality. Bucky cursed and you groaned, already feeling goosebumps rising on your bare skin when he stood up to grab the offending device. You wrapped yourself around him when he sat back down and kissed his neck absent-mindedly as he spoke to Steve on the phone, sounding a little annoyed.

“Don’t be rude, baby,” You whispered in his ear before licking it lightly. He fake-glared at you and hung up the phone, bidding his best friend goodbye with a promise that they’d be there soon. Bucky leaned over and attacked your neck with his lips, making you squeal with laughter. His arms went under your legs to pull you into his lap, and then suddenly you were in the air. Your legs wrapped around his waist, hands in his chestnut hair all while he walked you to the bedroom- his metal hand cool against your thigh and his flesh hand warm against your other thigh, without breaking the kiss.

“We have to be fast, we should go soon,” You pulled away with hooded eyes, feeling your knees buckle. Bucky held you against the wall, somehow always knowing when you needed to be held steady. He wanted to take his time with you and revisit all the places he knew you loved. But he also knew you wanted to see everyone at the tower as well. So, he nodded against your hair. You bite your lip, not breaking eye contact with him. Your stomach rolled at the predatory look in his eyes, knowing that if he could have his way, you wouldn’t have left this bed all night.

With a delicious ache in between your legs and a content smile on your face, you forced Bucky to lay with you for a few minutes before they had to leave to go to the Tower. They were already running late- as evidenced by the onslaught of texts on both of their phones. You loved feeling his strong arms around you, his fingers drawing mindless patterns on your skin, your legs hooked around his and your chest against his. Seeing the spent look and lazy smile on her face did wonders for him.

“We should get up, princess. Before everyone at the tower has an aneurysm,” Bucky pressed his lips to your hair and you groaned, pushing your face further into his shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah. I could pass out right here,” You mumbled hoarsely. You rubbed her eyes and yawned, pushing herself out of bed and dragging on your underwear and clothes with fatigue running through your bones. Bucky stood up and helped her into your clothes, noticing your half asleep eyes.

“We could stay. You look like you’re gonna fall asleep standing up,” Bucky took your chin in his hands.

“I wanna see everyone,” You protested, shaking your head. Bucky nodded and got dressed himself, searching your closet for his sweater.

“Do we smell like sex?” Bucky asked, not wanting to hear Sam’s teasing. You shrugged and handed him his cologne, motioning to spray it on both of them. You handed him his coat and you put your coat on, along with your beanie. Bucky grabbed his car keys, your purse, and your hand and walked them out the door and towards the elevator.

You had taken a seat on the couch with Natasha and Wanda as they discussed their future plans for brunch. You wouldn’t have taken either of them for brunch gals when you had first met them, but who could resist the temptation of endless mimosas and bloody Mary’s?

Definitely not you.

Tony began playing the movie and everyone got situated. You shot Bucky an apologetic glance, wanting to sit next to him so you could fall asleep on him. You had no plans to watch any of this movie- despite it being a horror film- your favorite type of movie. He shrugged and sat on the other end of the couch with Sam and Steve. Sam protested indignantly when the lights went down and he realized that they were watching The Conjuring. You stifled her yawns and your heart felt full as you glanced around, knowing that all of them were tired, worn out, but safe.

You caught yourself falling asleep and blinking your eyes awake to focus on the movie. Natasha moved to the floor- her shoulders were starting to ache and Wanda went to bed, rolling her eyes at the movie. Tony sat next to her after getting more popcorn and you rested your head on his shoulder. You draped the blanket over Tony and tucked your feet under your legs, trying to warm them up. Tony was so warm, so inviting for you to fall asleep on.

Bucky watched you doze off, only to force yourself awake again. Your head lolled onto Tony’s shoulder and he wondered if he should put you to bed. Bucky thought better of it when Tony shifted a little, allowing you to rest comfortably against him.

If it was anyone else, he would’ve seen red, he would have been breathing fire and he would have thrown punches. But your relationship with Tony was different- he was your unofficial official big brother and Bucky wouldn’t take that away. Bucky hardly watched the movie though, itching to have you in his arms again. Your eyebrows furrowed in your sleep before you opened your eyes blearily, muttering a soft apology to Tony and searching out for Bucky. You said goodnight to Tony, unable to keep your eyes open any longer, and stood up, silently asking if Bucky was going to join you.

Tony looked like he wanted to make a smartass comment but thought better of it when he saw lines of fatigue on your face. Bucky nodded and stood up, leading you to his room with his hand on the small of your back

“I’m so sleepy,” You whined at him, placing her glasses on his nightstand. You stood in front of his closet, looking for a shirt to sleep in and quickly left your clothes on a chair in the corner of his room. Bucky wrapped his arms around your waist after he discarded his shirt and sweats. He buried his nose in your neck and you sighed contentedly as he walked them to his bed. Your eyes were barely open when you crawled into his bed, disappearing under the covers.

“Come here, baby. Cuddle with me,” Your voice came out muffled. Your brown eyes peeked out at him and your arms were held out, like you was a child. Your legs immediately wrapped around his own once he laid next to you, your arms around his waist and your warm lips at the back of his neck. Guilt began to seep into his blood when he realized that he hadn’t even asked you about you day, about why you were so tired, about your plans, about anything. But he could barely stay awake with your hands weaving through his hair and your legs cocooning him against you.

Despite your fatigue, you stayed awake until you were sure Bucky’s breaths evened out in your arms, whispering in his ear about how much you adored him, about how you were so glad they were all safe, about how he was safe. It always took a little longer for his mind to quiet down after long missions. You would always cut him off mid apology after these missions, telling him fiercely that this is what they were- a couple, a relationship, who gave and took without thank yous or I’m sorry’s.

You played with his hair even after he had fallen asleep, sighing lightly when you realized he probably wouldn’t talk about this mission with you for a while. You hadn’t missed the sympathetic, worn out look in Steve’s normally tranquil eyes, the slow drag of Sam’s feet or the quiet, unspoken need that came from Nat for her to discuss anything besides the mission.

You decided that you would make breakfast for them tomorrow morning- pancakes and waffles, sausage, egg, bacon, fresh fruit. Mimosas? You almost laughed at yourself and closed your eyes, pictures of waffles and fruit floating around across your eyelids.

The first thing that woke you up was the sudden chill you felt against your skin. You felt around the bed for Bucky and your eyes popped open when you realized he wasn’t in bed. You were a heavy sleeper, something you had been trying to grow out of for him, so you must have missed him peeling out of your grip and leaving his room.

You groped around for your glasses and threw on one of Bucky’s hoodies that went down to your mid-thigh, not bothering with pants. She hoped that nobody would be up at this hour- 1:36 AM- and trekked your way to the living room where your found Bucky mindlessly staring at the television, watching reruns of Friends.

“Buck?” You asked hoarsely, rubbing sleep out of your eyes with a yawn. You sat down next to him, drawing your knees up to your chest and rested your head against his bicep.

“Can’t sleep?” You asked softly, fingers lightly tracing his jaw. His eyes were steely, still not quite looking at you. You didn’t expect a verbal answer and instead stroke his metal arm tenderly. A bubble of helplessness bloomed in your chest but you squashed it quickly. Sometimes you didn’t know what to do when he got like this- you didn’t know how to help him or even if you helped him at all. Youwanted to- you wished you could ease his pain. You hated that you felt so insecure- he deserved someone who could help him, who knew how to help him. You knew there was so much he shielded you from about himself, about what he’d done, about his past.

Bucky finally looked at you and felt his throat choke up when he saw the concerned frown on your pretty face. You looked younger, with your messy ponytail, glasses and his too big hoodie. It was true, he couldn’t sleep- because he’d had a nightmare. It wasn’t one of his usual nightmares that woke him up in a sweat, that left him paranoid and reeling, usually reaching out for your simple touch. It was a nightmare that he couldn’t fully recall- but he knew it involved you. It involved him hurting you, physically and mentally- the sound of your bloodcurdling screams still echoing in his head, his metal hand wrapped around your neck, the spattering of blood on your neck haunting him, the dead look in your eyes refusing to leave- and that was enough for him to resist reaching out for you once he had woken up. It was enough to force himself away.

You resisted the urge to feel hurt when he yanked his hand out from your grasp and moved his jaw out of your reach. He looked away again, not allowing you to see into the storm that was raging behind his blue eyes. You couldn’t help your throat from going slightly dry. You found herself wishing she could ask Steve what to do right now.

He was rigid next to you, not uttering a word, his breaths come out in low, shallow breaths. You stared at him for a moment, willing yourself to reach out to him again and knowing that he was pushing you away because he was scared. Bucky just wanted you to go back to sleep so you wouldn’t see him breakdown. It wasn’t fair to you that he was projecting his fears onto you and pushing you away at the same time. He heard your teeth beginning to chatter from the cold despite his hoodie and he resisted the urge to pull you into him and bury you under him.

“Go to bed, you’re cold,” Bucky almost snapped. He still didn’t look at you and he tensed up when you took his hands in your own. “Come back to bed with me,” You said earnestly. Bucky brought his eyes to yours reflexively and cursed internally when he saw the look of adoration in them. He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t even deserve to stand in the same room as her, let alone sleep in the same bed as her.

“Go to bed, please,” He all but begged you. He pushed your hands away again, ignoring the look of hurt that flashed across your face. A knot began to form in his chest- he was hurting your and he couldn’t do anything to stop it.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” You asked softly, resisting the urge to take his chin into your hands and bring his face down to yours. She wasn’t used to this. Your heart began to ache nervously but you pushed it away, trying to get him to look at you. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants and still didn’t look at you.

“Please, just go,” Bucky found himself saying quietly, meeting your eyes. He fidgeted with the hem on his shirt as he bounced his leg up and down.

“Don’t push me away, James,” You said, “You can talk-”

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and couldn’t stop the knot in his chest from growing larger. He felt like he couldn’t breathe all of a sudden- like the walls around him were becoming smaller and smaller, like you was getting further and further away from him, like he was shrinking into the floor. He didn’t even realize his breathing start to get more rapid. You felt your heart break a little bit before taking his face in your careful hands, pressing his face into your shoulder and whispering to him to just breathe, that he was okay and that you was here for him. You felt his tears on your skin and had to choke your own tears away. His arms were tight around you, as if she would disappear if he let go.

“I had a bad dream,” He breathed into your neck, “I-I hurt you. I hurt you - you were screaming a-and crying, I was choking you- I don’t know- I can’t- I’m sorry- I’m so sorry- You deserve better, I’m only going to hurt you-I’m going to ruin you-”

You tightened your grip on him and brought his chin up to look at you. The broken look in his watery eyes was enough to bring you to tears as well. He expected you to pull away in fear or disgust, but instead you looked at him like he had hung the moon itself.

“James,” You said barely above a breath but he could hear the emotion in your voice regardless, “I know you’ll never hurt me. Because I trust you. And I know you. I trust you so goddamn much- you just have to trust yourself. Which is something we’ll work on together. I just-want you to know, you never have to push me away-”

He cut you off abruptly, pulling you into his lap and pushing his lips to yours fiercely. You squeaked in surprise but nevertheless, pushed back against him, pouring your love into him.

God, he didn’t deserve you. You hadn’t even flinched when he told you he had dreamed of basically killing you- instead showering him with kisses and adoration. Was this love? He didn’t even know, but he wanted it to be.

“Baby,” You crooned, batting your lashes with a small smile, “Let’s go back to bed?”

Why were you smiling at him? Why were you looking at him like he was your sun, like he was the reason that the stars shone brightly? All he knew was that he never wanted her to stop. He nodded, kissed your cheek, and carried you to his room.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you, princess,” Bucky said softly once you were tucked against his side, feeling your fingers dancing up and down his metal arm. You shook your head at him with a smile, reassuring him that it was okay, that you was okay.

You always seemed to somehow bring him back down to earth and center him.

tag list: @coal000

#bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky x reader #tw: anxious thoughts #tw: anxiety #my writing

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writing-contests · 6 years

Text

Here is the winner of Writing Contest #3!

“Plenty of fish in the sea” by @the_erickson_labyrinthian

I don’t know why I went to the mall, to be honest. I was bored, I believe, and tired beyond belief, like always. I had so many notions in my head about what would happen if I went. I had it in my mind that if I went, maybe I would accidentally run into some boy and knock all of his bags down, and as I helped him pick them up I would look into his eyes and we would be bound for life. All the cheesy garbage, the fairy tales I deluded myself with, they were what I think dragged me to that mall most.

I went inside in the afternoon. The mall was at its peak then, I remember. It was Friday, after all, the last day of a week full of sales before closing during a weekend for the upcoming holidays. I didn’t have any money though, especially for haphazardly made products. I felt like an outcast as each person walked into a store while I looked around. Everytime I passed by some boy near my age I tried to not stare, not shoot a look too aggressive, but I couldn’t help it, and each one pulled his head down and kept walking. After a dozen awkward failures I slapped myself on the head and flopped down onto a nearby bench. Suddenly a yawn fell out of my mouth.

I hadn’t slept the night before. Term papers were Hell, homework was piling, I had three dungeons left of Zelda’s latest installment, there was just no time left in the day to ease myself into the wonders of my dreams, the ones where boys didn’t bother to look away. That night I reassured myself that I could handle the lack of sleep. I was a college student, this was just the way things worked, I could handle a little sleep deprivation. After all, I needed to work hard, and on times like this, relax.

On that bench, I started to ease my worries, my tensions, my fears of never being loved, the idiotic anxiety of my life, and yawned again. As I looked up, I swore there were less people. That the night was dimmer. My world started to blur, and I could barely even tell. That was what sleep deprivation, and it was consuming me as an ever-growing shadow that lurched onto my back and curled tightly around my head, looking with its hypnotic eyes onto mine and forcing me into a dance, a syncopation I bobbed to perfectly as my eyes dropped, lower and lower, into the black warmth of slumber. It wasn’t a bad sleep.

No, I had a nice sleep, but I only remember vague slivers of the dream. I know I wasn’t alone. I know I was at the mall for at least a brief second, and I could’ve possibly lived the fantasy that played in my head endlessly of the boy and the bags, but nothing was certain except I had a nice, long rest, and when I woke up, my whole world flipped on its head.

I woke up in the same darkness I fell into, and it was startling. I jumped up immediately and scanned the area. No life in sight. Dim lights were still on, enough for me to make out where I was, but that was it. The stores were all dark. I could tell I was alone. I realized I still had my phone in my pocket and checked it, but it was dead, like I was in a horror movie. I shoved it back into my pocket and ran straight to the entrance, my heart racing at the thought of being away from my apartment for so long, but once I reached it I collapsed. The entrance was sealed shut by a large steel garage-like door. I got angry, like, angry angry, and tried to ram into the door. No luck. I didn’t seem to trigger an alarm either. I was stuck, and I knew it, and I almost started crying.

What was I going to do? I had so much homework that I delayed to go on a stupid walk. I had so many things to do, work on my career, pay my monthly bills, help my mother with her house, and it was all going to sit and rot while I festered in a mall for two whole days. I started smacking my knee, how was I going to eat? To bathe? To live like this for two whole days? I decided I wasn’t going to. I decided I was going to search high and low for some way out. I knew that somewhere around the giant labyrinth of cheaply made products and uncanny mannequins, there had to be something.

For what I assumed was about two hours, I went across to each store of the mall to see if there was a way out, or some security guard to help me. Every store was sealed by the same gate. And, there was no one to be seen. The mall had such grand security, they probably thought they didn’t need extra muscle. After all, I couldn’t break through one gate. My shoulders would’ve bled if I kept trying. I slid to the ground in front of Le Chat Noir Jewelry and yawned. Then, I shoved my hands into my face. In my mind all I could think of were the things I knew wouldn’t get done. I was already behind. Behind on my education, my social life, my love life. I went to the mall to relax from all of this and I ended up sealed away from any chance of fixing it. How was I going to make it? Get a house? A car? College? My career?

What I hated was how slow my life went. No matter what I did, I felt like there were miles still to go, and this triggered something deep in me, making me think that instead of miles, I was light years away.

I remember screaming, “What am I going to do?” over and over as I knocked my head against the door. There was no way out, and I didn’t seem to have access to food. I lost hope, but just before I laid down on the ground and resigned in my fate, something out of the corner of my eye made me jump. I ran to it, tears in my eyes, it was an open door. Well, mostly open, it looked like something jammed the system before it finished. There was one open store, one light at the end of the tunnel, and that saving grace was… Alan’s Pet Supply Shop. I nearly ripped out all of my hair.

The store was dark. The lone green light in front of the register was the only one on. I crawled over the counter and looked under for any sort of light switch. Nothing. I rummaged through the drawers for something, and to my luck was a small pocket-sized flashlight. I turned it on and shouted, “Success!”

Once I had the light in my hands I looked around. The first good thing to note was that I had food in the form of all the small snacks they put in front of the register to trick stupid parents into getting something last second to shut their kids up. There was candy, a few small bags of crackers, but the thing that caught my eye the most was a long stick of jerky. I ripped one out of its package and dug into it like a wolf. The salt delighted my tongue, and for a brief moment I felt my problems wash away. I searched around the rest of the store.

Most of the store was filled with supplies for cats and dogs, food, treats, toys, and more. It was all useless. Every aisle was full of expensive garbage, and I didn’t like any of it. I never wanted a pet. I thought they were a waste of time, and useless. I hated them, and hated that they could do whatever they wanted while humans like me had to get jobs and pay rent. I thought it wasn’t fair.

In the back of the store was something out of the ordinary, a wall lined with rows of fish tanks that were about a foot above me. Filled with water, fully decorated, but with no light, and no fish. It looked like a hazard. I shook my head and was going to walk away, but a bit of movement from the top row caught my attention. I shined my light up and stood on my toes. It was a fish (obviously, given it was in a fish tank). The fish didn’t run when the light shined on it, instead it lost almost all movement, staring dead forward with a glazed look.

“Huh, like my light?” I asked, “Of course you do, you’re a stupid fish.”

The fish was light blue, with a yellow stripe along the top of its body, and a grey circle along all sides of it. The eyes were fully black now as it looked into the light, entranced by the overwhelming presence it couldn’t understand. I started to realize I was overanalyzing a stupid fish that liked a pretty light.

“Why are you the only one here? You didn’t kill your buddies, did’ja?”

The fish kept its expression, or lack thereof.

“Of course all the life I could find in this stupid mall is a brain-dead fish. I wanted a brain-dead person! How am I supposed to get out now?” I said as I took a bite from my jerky, “I mean, I knew they were stupid, they didn’t bother to look to make sure people weren’t sleeping on all of their benches, but so stupid as to not have a guard? As to only have one fish? Why are you the only frickin’ fish here?”

I started to look around for answers. I went to a door that wouldn’t open, it was the back room. On the door though was a checklist.

Clean up.

Find the missing mop.

Make our $4000 goal

Set up the fish for transfer to second location.

There was a new location, as if a pet store, no, a pet supply store, needed a second location, and all of the new fish were going there, apparently. I went back to the fish, “They missed you. How did they miss you?” I scanned the tank with my flashlight until I saw a small castle.

“You were hiding… and they missed you. You doomed yourself you idiot fish,” I sighed, “You must be new, otherwise you’d be dead by now, with that kind of brain.”

The fish did nothing but continue to gaze, because it was a fish, and it couldn’t hear me, as most fish couldn’t, but I kept talking, “You and me in this whole dark place, huh? Well at least I have food,” I yawned again, “Still tired. Of course. Listen fish, well, you can't… you know what? Listen anyways. I’m going to bed so I don’t have to think about everything after this, you have fun… goodnight, you idiot.”

I turned off the light and nestled into a corner, pulling a nearby doggy blanket to me and using it as a pillow as I fell back into slumber.

I don’t remember if I dreamed that night, but in the morning I woke up to unfulfillment as I realized where I was. I lifted myself up and looked around. Darkness, still. I turned on my flashlight and pointed it back to the tank, and the fish immediately raced back to its position. “Psh,”I dismissed as I walked out of the store. I was going to explore with the new flashlight and see if I could find a way out.

I found nothing, to be blunt, I went to every nook of every floor, but there was nothing. There were no windows in the mall other than on the roof. None of the other doors would open, with even the elevators not seeming to work. Even the cameras, on closer inspection, I found out were hollow. There was nothing. I went back to the pet store and grabbed more jerky.

I took a chair from behind the register and moved it to the tank, and then sat down and turned on my light, watching as the fish came towards it. “I hate you, ya’ know. You’re just looking at me, begging me to pay attention to you, just like every pet in the world. I don’t have time for this. I don’t have time for anything! Do you know how many papers I’ll miss? How much crap I’ll be in once I go home? Of course you don’t,” I pulled on my hair, “I mean, I just wanted to relax, maybe see someone who understands me, and what did I get? What is this? A waste of time, just like you.”

The fish bobbed up and down and held its gaze.

“You know… I just want someone to like me. I’m getting older every day. I lose a bit more youth. Lose a bit more energy. I was already an ugly loser, so I know if I don’t find someone soon I’ll… I’ll never enjoy life. And it’s the same with everything. Work, school, life. I.. I’m just so scared…” I looked back at the fish again, “You wouldn’t understand...”

As crazy at it sounded, when I looked back at that fish, I thought for a moment that it did understand. I looked at that fish, and everything seemed okay. No, right.

“Maybe you and I, aren’t so different after all? That sounds cheesy. I mean, we’re both tired… alone… hungry… have you been fed?”

I searched around the store for a bottle of fish food. I found a nice small can and ripped open the three layers of plastic on it (which was a ridiculous amount) and went back to the tank. I stood on my chair and sprinkled a few flakes in.

“There you go. Have fun continuing to live. Now you’re stuck here with me, and you have to listen.”

I spent the weekend talking to a fish. I told it my boy problems, life problems, everything I had to deal with, and it responded with nothing, and yet, that was everything. I had everything. It felt nice for me to be able to let out all of my hate and spit onto something that couldn’t get mad at me for it, something without an opinion, that would stare intently at the light and do nothing else. By the end, I gave the fish a name, Eyeball.

Late into Sunday, I was getting more food when a loud alarm sound rang. I looked out the door to see the doors to the other stores opening, and to see the big front door completely open, with several people walking in. I turned around and hid behind the wall. They were here, but there was no way enough time had passed for it to be customers. I assumed it was the employees preparing for Monday. They were going to find me. I was going to be saved, but then I looked at the empty places on the counter where I had stolen food and realized if they caught me, I’d be in trouble, and they’d blame everything on me. I had to leave without being seen, but there was a problem. The problem was a little fish named Eyeball.

I ran to Eyeball and shined my flashlight, and like always, he came. “What am I going to do, buddy? I… I can’t just take you home… and, I can’t just waltz out with you. But I can’t leave you, like this…”

I started to hear the murmuring of others from across the mall. I couldn’t be seen. I looked back at Eyeball, and his eyes seemed to cut through me. I had to help him, and make sure the idiots of the store took care of him. I ran back to the drawers under the register and pulled out tape, a pen and paper. The noise started to grow. I finished my scribbles and posted a note on the door before I ran out of the store. I slid along the wall and hid by the bathrooms. When the employees of each store went away and there was an open spot, I ran out.

It was dead night. I walked back to my apartment and plugged my phone in. When I turned it on I had over a hundred missed notifications. I sighed and set my phone down. I went and took a shower, sitting in that tub for a long time, thinking about Eyeball, and about the employees who never saw me, but would see evidence of me, along with a note…

“Take care of this fish. You idiots forgot to transport him. His name is Eyeball, and he liked that flashlight. You better make sure he brings it with him. And you better make sure he never goes hungry again. We all know what that feels like. Keep him safe.

-The guy you locked in your mall for two days.”

I remember those few days for a reason. That fish who never said a word spoke to me. He told me to slow down, and stop trying to figure out the world today. I can enjoy my time, without worrying about my future. A few weeks after the ordeal, I bought another fish, and he became Eyeball II. He’s my best friend now, and just like the person he’s named after, he helps me when I need it, and he makes sure I never misjudge an animal again. He also makes sure that I stop worrying about silly things like love. After all, there’s plenty of fish in the sea.

#writing contest

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rhetoricandlogic · 6 years

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The Dragonslayer of Merebarton

— by K.J. PARKER —

AUDIO VERSION

I was mending my chamber pot when they came to tell me about the dragon.

Mending a pot is one of those jobs you think is easy, because tinkers do it, and tinkers are no good or they’d be doing something else. Actually, it’s not easy at all. You have to drill a series of very small holes in the broken pieces, then thread short lengths of wire through the holes, then twist the ends of the wires together really tight, so as to draw the bits together firmly enough to make the pot watertight. In order to do the job you need a very hard, sharp, thin drill bit, a good eye, loads of patience, and at least three pairs of rock-steady hands. The tinker had quoted me a turner and a quarter; get lost, I told him, I’ll do it myself. It was beginning to dawn on me that some sorts of work are properly reserved for specialists.

Ah, the irony.

Stupid of me to break it in the first place. I’m not usually that clumsy. Stumbling about in the dark, was how I explained it. You should’ve lit a lamp, then, shouldn’t you, she said. I pointed out that you don’t need a lamp in the long summer evenings. She smirked at me. I don’t think she quite understands how finely balanced our financial position is. We’re not hard up, nothing like that. There’s absolutely no question of having to sell off any of the land, or take out mortgages. It’s just that, if we carry on wasting money unnecessarily on lamp-oil and tinkers and like frivolities, there’ll come a time when the current slight reduction in our income will start to be a mild nuisance. Only temporary, of course. The hard times will pass, and soon we’ll all be just fine.

Like I said, the irony.

“Ebba’s here to see you,” she said.

She could see I was busy. “He’ll have to come back,” I snapped. I had three little bits of wire gripped between my lips, which considerably reduced my snapping power.

“He said it’s urgent.”

“Fine.” I put down the pot—call it that, no way it was a pot anymore. It was disjointed memories of the shape of a pot, loosely tied together with metal string, like the scale armor the other side wore in Outremer. “Send him up.”

“He’s not coming up here in those boots,” she said, and at once I realized that no, he wasn’t, not when she was using that tone of voice. “And why don’t you just give up on that? You’re wasting your time.”

Women have no patience. “The tinker—”

“That bit doesn’t go there.”

I dropped the articulated mess on the floor and walked past her, down the stairs, into the great hall. Great, in this context, is strictly a comparative term.

Ebba and I understand each other. For a start, he’s practically the same age as me—I’m a week younger; so what? We both grew up silently ashamed of our fathers (his father Ossun was the laziest man on the estate; mine—well) and we’re both quietly disappointed with our children. He took over his farm shortly before I came home from Outremer, so we both sort of started off being responsible for our own destinies around the same time. I have no illusions about him, and I can’t begin to imagine he has any about me. He’s medium height, bald and thin, stronger than he looks and smarter than he sounds. He used to set up the targets and pick up the arrows for me when I was a boy; never used to say anything, just stood there looking bored.

He had that look on his face. He told me I wasn’t going to believe what he was about to tell me.

The thing about Ebba is, he has absolutely no imagination. Not even when roaring drunk—whimpering drunk in his case; very rare occurrence, in case you’ve got the impression he’s what she calls basically-no-good. About twice a year, specific anniversaries. I have no idea what they’re the anniversaries of, and of course I don’t ask. Twice a year, then, he sits in the hayloft with a big stone jar and only comes out when it’s empty. Not, is the point I’m trying to make, prone to seeing things not strictly speaking there.

“There’s a dragon,” he said.

Now Ossun, his father, saw all manner of weird and wonderful things. “Don’t be bloody stupid,” I said. He just looked at me. Ebba never argues or contradicts; doesn’t need to.

“All right,” I said, and the words just sort of squeezed out, like a fat man in a narrow doorway. “Where?”

“Down Merebarton.”

A brief digression concerning dragons.

There’s no such thing. However, there’s the White Drake (its larger cousin, the Blue Drake, is now almost certainly extinct). According to Hrabanus’ Imperfect Bestiary, the White Drake is a native of the large and entirely unexpected belt of marshes you stumble into after you’ve crossed the desert, going from Crac Boamond to the sea. Hrabanus thinks it’s a very large bat, but conscientiously cites Priscian, who holds that it’s a featherless bird, and Saloninus, who maintains that it’s a winged lizard. The White Drake can get to be five feet long—that’s nose to tip-of-tail; three feet of that is tail, but it can still give you a nasty nip. They launch themselves out of trees, which can be horribly alarming (I speak from personal experience). White Drakes live almost exclusively on carrion and rotting fruit, rarely attack unless provoked, and absolutely definitely don’t breathe fire.

White Drakes aren’t found outside Outremer. Except, some idiot of a nobleman brought back five breeding pairs about a century ago, to decorate the grounds of his castle. Why people do these things, I don’t know. My father tried to keep peacocks once. As soon as we opened the cage they were off like arrows from the bowstring; next heard of six miles away, and could we please come and do something about them, because they were pecking the thatch out in handfuls. My father rode over that way, happening to take his bow with him. No more was ever said about peacocks.

Dragons, by contrast, are nine to ten feet long excluding the tail; they attack on sight, and breathe fire. At any rate, this one did.

Three houses and four barns in Merebarton, two houses and a hayrick in Stile. Nobody hurt yet, but only a matter of time. A dozen sheep carcasses, stripped to the bone. One shepherd reported being followed by the horrible thing: he saw it, it saw him, he turned and ran; it just sort of drifted along after him, hardly a wingbeat, as if mildly curious. When he couldn’t run any further, he tried crawling down a badger hole. Got stuck, head down the hole, legs sticking up in the air. He reckoned he felt the thump as the thing pitched down next to him, heard the snuffling—like a bull, he reckoned; felt its warm breath on his ankles. Time sort of stopped for a while, and then it went away again. The man said it was the first time he’d pissed himself and felt the piss running down his chest and dripping off his chin. Well, there you go.

The Brother at Merebarton appears to have taken charge, the way they do. He herded everyone into the grain store—stone walls, yes, but a thatched roof; you’d imagine even a Brother would’ve watched them making charcoal some time—and sent a terrified young kid off on a pony to, guess what. You’ve got it. Fetch the knight.

At this point, the story recognizes (isn’t that what they say in Grand Council?) Dodinas le Cure Hardy, age fifty-six, knight, of the honors of Westmoor, Merebarton, East Rew, Middle Side, and Big Room; veteran of Outremer (four years, so help me), in his day a modest success on the circuit—three second places in ranking tournaments, two thirds, usually in the top twenty out of an average field of forty or so. Through with all that a long time ago, though. I always knew I was never going to be one of those gaunt, terrifying old men who carry on knocking ’em down and getting knocked down into their sixties. I had an uncle like that, Petipas of Lyen. I saw him in a tournament when he was sixty-seven, and some young giant bashed him off his horse. Uncle landed badly, and I watched him drag himself up off the ground, so desperately tired. I was only, what, twelve; even I could see, every last scrap of flesh and bone was yelling, don’t want to do this anymore. But he stood up, shamed the young idiot into giving him a go on foot, and proceeded to use his head as an anvil for ten minutes before graciously accepting his surrender. There was so much anger in that performance—not at the kid, for showing him up, Uncle wasn’t like that. He was furious with himself for getting old, and he took it out on the only target available. I thought the whole thing was disturbing and sad. I won’t ever be like that, I told myself.

(The question was, is: why? I can understand fighting. I fought—really fought—in Outremer. I did it because I was afraid the other man was going to kill me. So happens my defense has always been weak, so I compensate with extreme aggression. Never could keep it going for very long, but on the battlefield that’s not usually an issue. So I attacked anything that moved with white-hot ferocity fueled entirely and exclusively by ice-cold fear. Tournaments, though, jousting, behourd, the grand melee—what was the point? I have absolutely no idea, except that I did feel very happy indeed on those rare occasions when I got a little tin trophy to take home. Was that enough to account for the pain of being laid up six weeks with two busted ribs? Of course it wasn’t. We do it because it’s what we do; one of my father’s more profound statements. Conversely, I remember my aunt: silly woman, too soft for her own good. She kept these stupid big white chickens, and when they got past laying she couldn’t bear to have their necks pulled. Instead, they were taken out into the woods and set free, meaning in real terms fed to the hawks and foxes. One time, my turn, I lugged down a cage with four hens and two cocks squashed in there, too petrified to move. Now, what draws in the fox is the clucking; so I turned them out in different places, wide apart, so they had nobody to talk to. Released the last hen, walking back down the track; already the two cock birds had found each other, no idea how, and were ripping each other into tissue scraps with their spurs. They do it because it’s what they do. Someone once said, the man who’s tired of killing is tired of life. Not sure I know what that means.)

A picture is emerging, I hope, of Dodinas le Cure Hardy; while he was active in chivalry he tried to do what was expected of him, but his heart was never in it. Glad, in a way, to be past it and no longer obliged to take part. Instead, prefers to devote himself to the estate, trying to keep the ancestral mess from collapsing in on itself. A man aware of his obligations, and at least some of his many shortcomings.

Go and fetch the knight, says the fool of a Brother. Tell him—

On reflection, if I hadn’t seen those wretched White Drakes in Outremer, there’s a reasonable chance I’d have refused to believe in a dragon trashing Merebarton, and then, who knows, it might’ve flown away and bothered someone else. Well, you don’t know, that’s the whole point. It’s that very ignorance that makes life possible. But when Ebba told me what the boy told him he’d seen, immediately I thought; White Drake. Clearly it wasn’t one, but it was close enough to something I’d seen to allow belief to seep into my mind, and then I was done for. No hope.

Even so, I think I said, “Are you sure?” about six or seven times, until eventually it dawned on me I was making a fool of myself. At which point, a horrible sort of mist of despair settled over me, as I realized that this extraordinary, impossible, grossly and viciously unfair thing had landed on me, and that I was going to have to deal with it.

But you do your best. You struggle, just as a man crushed under a giant stone still draws in the last one or two desperate whistling breaths; pointless, but you can’t just give up. So I looked him steadily in the eye, and I said, “So, what do they expect me to do about it?”

He didn’t say a word. Looked at me.

“The hell with that,” I remember shouting. “I’m fifty-six years old, I don’t even hunt boar anymore. I’ve got a stiff knee. I wouldn’t last two minutes.”

He looked at me. When you’ve known someone all your life, arguing with them is more or less arguing with yourself. Never had much joy with lying to myself. Or anyone else, come to that. Of course, my mother used to say: the only thing I want you not to be the best in the world at is lying. She said a lot of that sort of thing; much better written down on paper rather than said out loud in casual conversation, but of course she couldn’t read or write. She also tended to say: do your duty. I don’t think she ever liked me very much. Loved, of course, but not liked.

He was looking at me. I felt like that poor devil under the stone (at the siege of Crac des Bests; man I knew slightly). Comes a point when you just can’t breathe anymore.

We do have a library: forty-seven books. The Imperfect Bestiary is an abridged edition, local copy, drawings are pretty laughable, they make everything look like either a pig or a cow, because that’s all the poor fool who drew it had ever seen. So there I was, looking at a picture of a big white cow with wings, thinking: how in God’s name am I supposed to kill something like that?

White Drakes don’t breathe fire, but there’s this stupid little lizard in Permia somewhere that does. About eighteen inches long, otherwise completely unremarkable; not to put too fine a point on it, it farts through its mouth and somehow contrives to set fire to it. You see little flashes and puffs of smoke among the reed beds. So it’s possible. Wonderful.

(Why would anything want to do that? Hrabanus, who has an answer for every damn thing, points out that the reed beds would clog up the delta, divert the flowing water and turn the whole of South Permia into a fetid swamp if it wasn’t for the frequent, regular fires, which clear off the reed and lay down a thick bed of fertile ash, just perfect for everything else to grow sweet and fat and provide a living for the hundreds of species of animals and birds who live there. The fires are started by the lizards, who appear to serve no other function. Hrabanus points to this as proof of the Divine Clockmaker theory. I think they do it because it’s what they do, though I’m guessing the lizards who actually do the fire-starting are resentful younger sons. Tell you about my brother in a minute.)

She found me in the library. Clearly she’d been talking to Ebba. “Well?” she said.

I told her what I’d decided to do. She can pull this face of concentrated scorn and fury. It’s so intensely eloquent, there’s really no need for her to add words. But she does. Oh, she does.

“I’ve got no choice,” I protested. “I’m the knight.”

“You’re fifty-six and you get out of breath climbing the stairs. And you’re proposing to fight dragons.”

It’s a black lie about the stairs. Just that one time; and that was the clock-tower. Seventy-seven steps to the top. “I don’t want to do it,” I pointed out. “Last bloody thing I want—”

“Last bloody thing you’ll ever do, if you’re stupid enough to do it.” She never swears, except when quoting me back at myself. “Just think for a minute, will you? If you get yourself killed, what’ll happen to this place?”

“I have no intention of getting myself—”

“Florian’s too young to run the estate,” she went on, as though I hadn’t spoken. “That clown of a bailiff of yours can’t be trusted to remember to breathe without someone standing over him. On top of which, there’s heriot and wardship, that’s hundreds and hundreds of thalers we simply haven’t got, which means having to sell land, and once you start doing that you might as well load up a handcart and take to the roads, because—”

“Absolutely no intention of getting killed,” I said.

“And for crying out loud don’t shout,” she shouted. “It’s bad enough you’re worrying me to death without yelling at me as well. I don’t know why you do this to me. Do you hate me, or something?”

We were four and a quarter seconds away from tears, and I really can’t be doing with that. “All right,” I said. “So tell me. What do I do?”

“I don’t know, do I? I don’t get myself into these ridiculous messes.” I wish I could do that; I should be able to. After all, it’s the knight’s move, isn’t it? A step at right angles, then jump clean over the other man’s head. “What about that useless brother of yours? Send him.”

The dreadful thing is, the same thought had crossed my mind. It’d be—well, not acceptable, but within the rules, meaning there’s precedents. Of course, I’d have to be practically bedridden with some foul but honorable disease. Titurel is ten years younger than me and still competing regularly on the circuit, though at the time he was three miles away, at the lodge, with some female he’d found somewhere. And if I really was ill—

I was grateful to her. If she hadn’t suggested it, I might just have considered it. As it was; “Don’t be ridiculous,” I said. “Just think, if I was to chicken out and Titurel actually managed to kill this bloody thing. We’ve got to live here. He’d be insufferable.”

She breathed through her nose; like, dare I say it, one of the D things. “All right,” she said. “Though how precisely it’s better for you to get killed and your appalling brother moves in and takes over running the estate—”

“I am not going to get killed,” I said.

“But there, you never listen to me, so I might as well save my breath.” She paused and scowled at me. “Well?”

Hard, sometimes, to remember that when I married her, she was the Fair Maid of Lannandale. “Well what?”

“What are you going to do?”

“Oh,” he said, sort of half-turning and wiping his forehead on his forearm. “It’s you.”

Another close contemporary of mine. He’s maybe six months older than me, took over the forge just before my father died. He’s never liked me. Still, we understand each other. He’s not nearly as good a tradesman as he thinks he is, but he’s good enough.

“Come to pay me for those harrows?” he said.

“Not entirely,” I replied. “I need something made.”

“Of course you do.” He turned his back on me, dragged something orange-hot out from under the coals, and bashed it, very hard, very quickly, for about twenty seconds. Then he shoved it back under the coals and hauled on the bellows handle a dozen times. Then he had leisure to talk to me. “I’ll need a deposit.”

“Don’t be silly,” I said. There was a small heap of tools piled up on the spare anvil. I moved them carefully aside and spread out my scraps of parchment. “Now, you’ll need to pay attention.”

The parchment I’d drawn my pathetic attempts at sketches on was the fly-leaf out of Monomachus of Teana’s Principles of Mercantile Law. I’d had just enough left over to use for a very brief note, which I’d folded four times, sealed, and sent the stable boy off to deliver. It came back, folded the other way; and under my message, written in big crude handwriting, smudged for lack of sand—

What the hell do you want it for?

I wasn’t in the mood. I stamped back into the house (I’d been out in the barn, rummaging about in the pile of old junk), got out the pen and ink and wrote sideways up the margin (only just enough room, writing very small)—

No time. Please. Now.

I underlined please twice. The stable boy had wandered off somewhere, so I sent the kitchenmaid. She whined about having to go out in her indoors shoes. I ask you.

Moddo the blacksmith is one of those men who gets caught up in the job in hand. He whinges and complains, then the problems of doing the job snag his imagination, and then your main difficulty is getting it away from him when it’s finished, because he’s just come up with some cunning little modification which’ll make it ever so slightly, irrelevantly better.

He does good work. I was so impressed I paid cash.

“Your design was useless, so I changed it,” he’d said. A bit of an overstatement. What he’d done was to substitute two thin springs for one fat one, and add on a sort of ratchet thing taken off a millers’ winch, to make it easier to wind it up. It was still sticky with the oil he’d quenched it in. The sight of it made my flesh crawl.

Basically, it was just a very, very large gin trap, with an offset pressure plate. “It’s pretty simple,” I said. “Think about it. Think about birds. In order to get off the ground, they’ve got very light bones, right?”

Ebba shrugged: if you say so.

“Well,” I told him, “they have. And you break a bird’s leg, it can’t get off the ground. I’m assuming it’s the same with this bastard. We put out a carcass, with this underneath. It stands on the carcass, braces it with one foot so it can tear it up with the other. Bang, got him. This thing ought to snap the bugger’s leg like a carrot, and then it won’t be going anywhere in a hurry, you can be sure of that.”

He frowned. I could tell the sight of the trap scared him, like it did me. The mainspring was three eighths of an inch thick. Just as well Moddo thought to add a cocking mechanism. “You’ll still have to kill it, though,” he said.

I grinned at him. “Why?” I asked. “No, the hell with that. Just keep everybody and their livestock well away for a week until it starves to death.”

He was thinking about it. I waited. “If it can breathe fire,” he said slowly, “maybe it can melt the trap off.”

“And burn through its own leg in the process. Also,” I added—I’d considered this very point—“even without the trap it’s still crippled, it won’t be able to hunt and feed. Just like a bird that’s got away from the cat.”

He pulled a small frown that means, well, maybe. “We’ll need a carcass.”

“There’s that sick goat,” I said.

Nod. His sick goat. Well, I can’t help it if all my animals are healthy.

He went off with the small cart to fetch the goat. A few minutes later, a big wagon crunched down to the yard gate and stopped just in time. Too wide to pass through; it’d have got stuck.

Praise be, Marhouse had sent me the scorpion. Rather less joy and happiness, he’d come along with it, but never mind.

The scorpion is genuine Mezentine, two hundred years old at least. Family tradition says Marhouse’s great-great-and-so-forth-grandfather brought it back from the Grand Tour, as a souvenir. More likely, his grandfather took it in part exchange or to settle a bad debt; but to acknowledge that would be to admit that two generations back they were still in trade.

“What the hell,” Marhouse said, hopping down off the wagon box, “do you want it for?”

He’s all right, I suppose. We were in Outremer together—met there for the first time, which is crazy, since our houses are only four miles apart. But he was fostered as a boy, away up country somewhere. I’ve always assumed that’s what made him turn out like he did.

I gave him a sort of hopeless grin. Our kitchenmaid was still sitting up on the box, hoping for someone to help her down. “Thanks,” I said. “I’m hoping we won’t need it, but—”

A scorpion is a siege engine; a pretty small one, compared to the huge stone-throwing catapults and mangonels and trebuchets they pounded us with at Crac des Bests. It’s essentially a big steel crossbow, with a frame, a heavy stand, and a super-efficient winch. One man with a long steel bar can wind it up, and it shoots a steel arrow long as your arm and thick as your thumb three hundred yards. We had them at Metouches. Fortunately, the other lot didn’t.

I told Marhouse about the dragon. He assumed I was trying to be funny. Then he caught sight of the trap, lying on the ground in front of the cider house, and he went very quiet.

“You’re serious,” he said.

I nodded. “Apparently it’s burned some houses out at Merebarton.”

“Burned.” Never seen him look like that before.

“So they reckon. I don’t think it’s just a drake.”

“That’s—” He didn’t get around to finishing the sentence. No need.

“Which is why,” I said, trying to sound cheerful, “I’m so very glad your granddad had the foresight to buy a scorpion. No wonder he made a fortune in business. He obviously knew good stuff when he saw it.”

Took him a moment to figure that one out, by which time the moment had passed. “There’s no arrows,” he said.

“What?”

“No arrows,” he repeated, “just the machine. Well,” he went on, “it’s not like we use the bloody thing, it’s just for show.”

I opened and closed my mouth a couple of times. “Surely there must’ve been—”

“Originally, yes, I suppose so. I expect they got used for something around the place.” He gave me a thin smile. “We don’t tend to store up old junk for two hundred years on the off chance in my family,” he said.

I was trying to remember what scorpion bolts look like. There’s a sort of three-bladed flange down the butt end, to stabilize them in flight. “No matter,” I said. “Bit of old rod’ll have to do. I’ll get Moddo to run me some up.” I was looking at the machine. The lead screws and the keyways the slider ran in were caked up with stiff, solid bogeys of dried grease. “Does it work?”

“I assume so. Or it did, last time it was used. We keep it covered with greased hides in the root store.”

I flicked a flake of rust off the frame. It looked sound enough, but what if the works had seized solid? “Guess I’d better get it down off the cart and we’ll see,” I said. “Well, thanks again. I’ll let you know how it turns out.”

Meaning: please go away now. But Marhouse just scowled at me. “I’m staying here,” he said. “You honestly think I’d trust you lot with a family heirloom?”

“No, really,” I said, “you don’t need to trouble. I know how to work these things, remember. Besides, they’re pretty well indestructible.”

Wasting my breath. Marhouse is like a dog I used to have, couldn’t bear to be left out of anything; if you went out for a shit in the middle of the night, she had to come too. Marhouse was the only one of us in Outremer who ever volunteered for anything. And never got picked, for that exact reason.

So, through no choice or fault of my own, there were nine of us: me, Ebba, Marhouse, the six men from the farm. Of the six, Liutprand is seventeen and Rognvald is twenty-nine, though he barely counts, with his bad arm. The rest of us somewhere between fifty-two and sixty. Old men. We must be mad, I thought.

We rode out there in the flat-bed cart, bumping and bouncing over the ruts in Watery Lane. Everybody was thinking the same thing, and nobody said a word: what if the bugger swoops down and crisps the lot of us while we’re sat here in the cart? In addition, I was also thinking: Marhouse is his own fault, after all, he’s a knight too, and he insisted on butting in. The rest of them, though—my responsibility. Send for the knight, they’d said, not the knight and half the damn village. But a knight in real terms isn’t a single man, he’s the nucleus of a unit, the heart of a society; the lance in war, the village in peace, he stands for them, in front of them when there’s danger, behind them when times are hard, not so much an individual, more of a collective noun. That’s understood, surely; so that, in all those old tales of gallantry and errantry, when the poet sings of the knight wandering in a dark wood and encountering the evil to be fought, the wrong to be put right, “knight” in that context is just shorthand for a knight and his squire and his armor-bearer and his three men-at-arms and the boy who leads the spare horses. The others aren’t mentioned by name, they’re subsumed in him, he gets the glory or the blame but everyone knows, if they stop to think about it, that the rest of them were there too; or who lugged around the spare lances, to replace the ones that got broken? And who got the poor bugger in and out of his full plate harness every morning and evening? There are some straps and buckles you just can’t reach on your own, unless you happen to have three hands on the ends of unnaturally long arms. Without the people around me, I’d be completely worthless. It’s understood. Well, isn’t it?

We set the trap up on the top of a small rise, in the big meadow next to the old clay pit. Marhouse’s suggestion, as a matter of fact; he reckoned that it was where the flightlines the thing had been following all crossed. Flightlines? Well yes, he said, and proceeded to plot all the recorded attacks on a series of straight lines, scratched in the dried splatter on the side of the cart with a stick. It looked pretty convincing to me. Actually, I hadn’t really given it any thought, just assumed that if we dumped a bleeding carcass down on the ground, the dragon would smell it and come whooshing down. Stupid, when you come to think of it. And I call myself a huntsman.

Moddo had fitted the trap with four good, thick chains, attached to eighteen-inch steel pegs, which we hammered into the ground. Again, Marhouse did the thinking. They needed to be offset (his word) so that if it pulled this way or that, there’d be three chains offering maximum resistance—well, it made sense when he said it. He’s got that sort of brain, invents clever machines and devices for around the farm. Most of them don’t work, but some of them do.

The trap, of course, was Plan A. Plan B was the scorpion, set up seventy-five yards away under the busted chestnut tree, with all that gorse and briars for cover. The idea was, we had a direct line of sight, but if we missed and he came at us, he wouldn’t dare swoop in too close, for fear of smashing his wings on the low branches. That bit was me.

We propped the poor dead goat up on sticks so it wasn’t actually pressing on the floorplate of the trap, then scampered back to where we’d set up the scorpion. Luitprand got volunteered to drive the cart back to Castle Farm; he whined about being out in the open, but I chose him because he’s the youngest and I wanted him well out of harm’s way if the dragon actually did put in an appearance. Seventy-five yards was about as far as I trusted the scorpion to shoot straight without having to make allowance for elevation—we didn’t have time to zero it, obviously—but it felt stupidly close. How long would it take the horrible thing to fly seventy-five yards? I had no idea, obviously. We spanned the scorpion—reassuringly hard to do—loaded Moddo’s idea of a bolt into the slider groove, nestled down as far as we could get into the briars and nettles, and waited.

No show. When it got too dark to see, Marhouse said, “What kind of poison do you think it’d take to kill something like that?”

I’d been thinking about that. “Something we haven’t got,” I said.

“You reckon?”

“Oh come on,” I said. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t keep a wide selection of poisons in the house. For some reason.”

“There’s archer’s root,” Ebba said.

“He’s right,” Marhouse said. “That stuff’ll kill just about anything.”

“Of course it will,” I replied. “But nobody around here—”

“Mercel,” Ebba said. “He’s got some.”

News to me. “What?”

“Mercel. Lidda’s boy. He uses it to kill wild pigs.”

Does he now?, I thought. It had occurred to me that wild boar were getting a bit hard to find. I knew all about smearing a touch of archer’s root on a bit of jagged wire nailed to a fencepost—boar love to scratch, and it’s true, they do a lot of damage to standing corn. That’s why I pay compensation. Archer’s root is illegal, of course, but so are a lot of useful everyday commodities.

“I’d better ask him,” Ebba said. “He won’t want to get in any trouble.”

Decided unanimously, apparently. Well, we weren’t doing any good crouching in the bushes. It did cross my mind that if the dragon hadn’t noticed a dead goat with a trap under it, there was no guarantee it’d notice the same dead goat stuffed full of archer’s root, but I dismissed the idea as unconstructive.

We left the trap and the scorpion set up, just in case, and rode in the cart back to Castle Farm. To begin with, as we came over the top of the Hog’s Back down Castle Lane, I assumed the pretty red glow on the skyline was the last blush of the setting sun. As we got closer, I hoped that was what it was. By the time we passed the quince orchard, however, the hypothesis was no longer tenable.

We found Luitprand in the goose pond. Stupid fool, he’d jumped in the water to keep from getting burned up. Of course, the mud’s three feet deep on the bottom. I could have told him that.

In passing: I think Luitprand was my son. At any rate, I knew his mother rather too well, seventeen years ago. Couldn’t ever say anything, naturally. But he reminded me a lot of myself. For a start, he was half-smart stupid, just like me. Hurling myself in the pond to avoid the flames was just the sort of thing I might have done at his age; and, goes without saying, he wasn’t there when we dug the bloody pond, twenty-one years ago, so how could he have known we’d chosen the soft spot, no use for anything else?

No other casualties, thank God, but the hay barn, the straw rick, the woodpile, all gone. The thatch, miraculously, burned itself out without taking the rafters with it. But losing that much hay meant we’d be killing a lot of perfectly good stock come winter, since I can’t afford to buy in. One damn thing after another.

Opito, Larcan’s wife, was hysterical, even though her home hadn’t gone up in flames after all. Larcan said it was a great big lizard, about twenty feet long. He got one very brief glimpse of it out of the corner of his eye, just before he dragged his wife and son under the cart. He looked at me like it was all my fault. Just what I needed after a long day crouched in a briar patch.

Luitprand played the flute; not very well. I gave him the one I brought back from Outremer. I never did find it among his stuff, so I can only assume he sold it at some point.

Anyway, that was that, as far as I was concerned. Whatever it was, wherever it had come from, it would have to be dealt with, as soon as possible. On the ride back from the farm, Marhouse had been banging on about flightlines again, where we were going to move the bait to; two days here, while the wind’s in the south, then if that’s no good, then another two days over there, and if that still doesn’t work, we’ll know for sure it must be following the line of the river, so either here, there, or just possibly everywhere, would be bound to do the trick, logically speaking. I smiled and nodded. I’m sure he was perfectly correct. He’s a good huntsman, Marhouse. Come the end of the season, he always knows exactly where all the game we’ve failed to find must be holed up. Next year, he then says—

Trouble was, there wasn’t time for a next year.

By midnight (couldn’t sleep, oddly enough) I was fairly sure how it had to be done.

Before you start grinning to yourself at my presumption, I had no logical explanation for my conclusions. Flightlines, patterns of behavior, life cycles, cover crops, mating seasons, wind directions; put them together and you’ll inevitably flush out the truth, which will then elude you, zig-zag running through the roots of the long variables. I knew.

I knew, because I used to hunt with my father. He was, of course, always in charge of everything, knew everything, excelled at everything. We never caught much. And I knew, when he’d drawn up the lines of beaters, given them their timings (say three Glorious Sun Ascendants and two Minor Catechisms, then come out making as much noise as you can), positioned the stillhunters and the hounds and the horsemen, finally blown the horn; I knew exactly where the wretched animal would come bursting out, so as to elude us all with the maximum of safety and the minimum of effort. Pure intuition, never failed. Naturally, I never said anything. Not my place to.

So: I knew what was going to happen, and that there was nothing much I could do about it, and my chances of success and survival were—well, not to worry about that. When I was in Outremer, I got shot in the face with an arrow. Should’ve killed me instantly; but by some miracle it hung up in my cheekbone, and an enemy doctor we’d captured the day before yanked it out with a pair of tongs. You should be dead, they said to me, like I’d deliberately cheated. No moral fiber. Ever since then—true, I shuddered to think how the estate would get on with my brother in charge, but it survived my father and grandfather, so it was clearly indestructible. Besides, everyone dies sooner or later. It’s not like I’m important.

Marhouse insisted on coming with us. I told him, you stay here, we’ll need a wise, experienced hand to take charge if it decides to burn out the castle. For a moment I thought he’d fallen for it, but no such luck.

So there were three of us: me, Ebba, Marhouse. The idea was, we’d follow the Ridgeway on horseback, looking down on either side. As soon as we saw smoke, Ebba would ride back to the castle and get the gear, meet us at the next likely attack scene. I know; bloody stupid idea. But I knew it wouldn’t happen like that, because I knew how it’d happen.

Marhouse had on his black-and-white—that’s breastplate, pauldrons, rerebraces, and tassets. I told him, you’ll boil to death in that lot. He scowled at me. He’d also fetched along a full-weight lance, issue. You won’t need that, I told him. I’d got a boar-spear, and Ebba was carrying the steel crossbow my father spent a whole year’s apple money on, the year before he died. “But they’re just to make us feel better,” I said. That got me another scowl. The wrong attitude.

Noon; nothing to be seen anywhere. I was just daring to think, perhaps the bloody thing’s moved on, or maybe it’d caught some disease or got itself hung up in a tree. Then I saw a crow.

I think Ebba saw it first, but he didn’t point and say, “Look, there’s a crow.” Marhouse was explaining some fine point of decoying, how you go about establishing which tree is the principal turning point on an elliptical recursive flight pattern. I thought: that’s not a crow, it’s just hanging there. Must be a hawk.

Ebba was looking over his shoulder. No, not a hawk, the profile’s wrong. Marhouse stopped talking, looked at me, said, “What are you two staring at?” I was thinking, Oh.

I’m right about things so rarely that I usually relish the experience. Not this time.

Oh, you may be thinking, is a funny way of putting it. But that was the full extent of it: no elation, no regret, not even resignation; to my great surprise, no real fear. Just: oh, as in, well, here we are, then. Call it a total inability to feel anything. Twice in Outremer, once when my father died, and now. I’d far rather have wet myself, but you can’t decide these things for yourself. Oh, I thought, and that was all.

Marhouse was swearing, which isn’t like him. He only swears when he’s terrified, or when something’s got stuck or broken. Bad language, he reckons, lubricates the brain, stops it seizing up with fear or anger. Ebba had gone white as milk. His horse was playing up, and he was having to work hard to keep it from bolting. Amazing how they know.

On top of the Ridgeway, of course, there’s no cover. We could gallop forward, or turn around and gallop back; either case, at the rate the bloody thing was moving, it’d be on us long before we could get our heads down. I heard someone give the order to dismount. Wasn’t Marhouse, because he stayed mounted. Wouldn’t have been Ebba, so I guess it must’ve been me.

First time, it swooped down low over our heads—about as high up as the spire of Blue Temple—and just kept on going. We were frozen solid. We watched. It was on the glide, like a pigeon approaching a laid patch in a barley field, deciding whether to pitch or go on. Very slight tailwind, so if it wanted to come in on us, it’d have to bank, turn up into the wind a little bit to start to stall, then wheel and come in with its wings back. I honestly thought: it’s gone too far, it’s not going to come in. Then it lifted, and I knew.

Sounds odd, but I hadn’t really been looking at it the first time, when it buzzed us. I saw a black bird shape, long neck like a heron, long tail like a pheasant, but no sense of scale. As it came in the second time, I couldn’t help but stare; a real dragon, for crying out loud, something to tell your grandchildren about. Well, maybe.

I’d say the body was about horse-sized, head not in proportion; smaller, like a red deer stag. Wings absurdly large—featherless, like a bat, skin stretched on disturbingly extended fingers. Tail, maybe half as long again as the body; neck like a swan, if that makes any sense. Sort of a gray color, but it looked green at a distance. Big hind legs, small front legs looking vaguely ridiculous, as if it had stolen them off a squirrel. A much rounder snout than I’d expected, almost chubby. It didn’t look all that dangerous, to be honest.

Marhouse is one of those people who translate fear into action; the scareder he is, the braver. Works against people. No warning—it’d have been nice if he’d said something first; he kicked his horse hard enough to stove in a rib, lance in rest, seat and posture straight out of the coaching manual. Rode straight at it.

What happened then—

Marhouse was five yards away from it, going full tilt. The dragon probably couldn’t have slowed down if it had wanted to. Instead—it actually made this sort of “pop” noise as it opened its mouth and burped up a fat round ball of fire, then lifted just a little, to sail about five feet over Marhouse’s head. He, meanwhile, rode straight into the fireball, and through it.

And stopped, and fell all to pieces; the reason being, there was nothing left. Horse, man, all gone, not even ash, and the dozen or so pieces of armor dropping glowing to the ground, cherry-red, like they’d just come off the forge. I’ve seen worse things, in Outremer, but nothing stranger.

I was gawping, forgotten all about the dragon. It was Ebba who shoved me down as it came back. I have no idea why it didn’t just melt us both as it passed, unless maybe it was all out of puff and needed to recharge. Anyway, it soared away, repeated the little lift. I had a feeling it was enjoying itself. Well, indeed. It must be wonderful to be able to fly.

Ebba was shouting at me, waving something, the crossbow, he wanted me to take it from him. “Shoot it,” he was yelling. Made no sense to me; but then again, why not? I took the bow, planted my feet a shoulders’ width apart, left elbow tucked in tight to the chest to brace the bow, just the fingers on the trigger. A good archery stance didn’t seem to have anything to do with the matter in hand—like playing bowls in the middle of an earthquake—but I’m a good archer, so I couldn’t help doing it properly. I found the dragon in the middle of the peep-sight, drew the tip of the arrow up to find it, and pressed the trigger.

For the record, I hit the damn thing. The bolt went in four inches, just above the heart. Good shot. With a bow five times as strong, quite possibly a clean kill.

I think it must’ve hurt, though, because instead of flaming and lifting, it squirmed—hunched its back then stretched out full-length like a dog waking up—and kept coming, straight at me. I think I actually did try and jump out of the way; just rather too late. I think what hit me must’ve been the side of its head.

I had three ribs stoved in once in Outremer, so I knew what was going on. I recognized the sound, and the particular sort of pain, and the not quite being able to breathe. Mostly I remember thinking: it won’t hurt, because any moment now I’ll be dead. Bizarrely reassuring, as if I was cheating, getting away with it. Cheating twice; once by staying alive, once by dying. This man is morally bankrupt.

I was on my back, not able or minded to move. I couldn’t see the dragon. I could hear Ebba shouting; shut up, you old fool, I thought, I’m really not interested. But he was shouting, “Hold on, mate, hold on, I’m coming,” which made absolutely no sense at all—

Then he shut up, and I lay there waiting. I waited, and waited. I’m not a patient man. I waited so long, those crunched ribs started to hurt, or at least I became aware of the pain. For crying out loud, I thought. And waited.

And thought: now just a minute.

It hurt so much, hauling myself onto my side so I could see. I was in tears.

Later, I figured out what had happened. When Ebba saw me go down, he grabbed the boar-spear and ran towards me. I don’t imagine he considered the dragon, except as an inconvenience. Hold on, I’m coming; all his thoughts in his words. He got about half way when the dragon pitched—it must’ve swooped off and come in again. As it put its feet down to land, he must’ve stuck the butt of the spear in the ground and presented the point, like you do with a boar, to let it stick itself, its momentum being far more effective than your own puny strength. As it pitched, it lashed with its tail, sent Ebba flying. Whether or not it realized it was dead, the spear a foot deep in its windpipe before the shaft gave way under the pressure and snapped, I neither know nor care. By the marks on the ground, it rolled three or four times before the lights went out. My best estimate is, it weighed just short of a ton. Ebba—under it as it rolled—was crushed like a grape, so that his guts burst and his eyes popped, and nearly all his bones were broken.

He wouldn’t have thought: I’ll kill the dragon. He’d have thought, ground the spear, like boar-hunting, and then the tail hit him, and then the weight squashed him. So it wouldn’t have been much; not a heroic thought, not the stuff of song and story. Just: this is a bit like boar-hunting, so ground the spear. And then, perhaps: oh.

I think that’s all there is; anywhere, anytime, in the whole world.

I tried preserving the head in honey. We got an old pottery bath and filled it and put the head in; but eight weeks later it had turned green and it stank like hell, and she said, for pity’s sake get rid of it. So we boiled it out and scraped it, and mounted the skull on the wall. Not much bigger than a big deer; in a hundred years’ time, they won’t believe the old story about it being a dragon. No such thing as dragons, they’ll say.

Meanwhile, for now, I’m the Dragonslayer; which is a joke. The duke himself threatened to ride over and take a look at the remains, but affairs of state supervened, thank God. Entertaining the duke and his court would’ve ruined us, and we’d lost so much already.

Twice I’ve cheated. Marhouse was straight as a die, and his end, I’m sorry, was just ludicrous. I keep telling myself, Ebba made a choice, you must respect that. I can’t. Instead of a friend, I have a horrible memory, and yet another debt I can’t pay. People assume you want to be saved, no matter what the cost; sometimes, though, it’s just too expensive to stay alive. Not sure I’ll ever forgive him for that.

And that’s that. I really don’t want to talk about it anymore.

#K.J. Parker #The Dragonslayer of Merebarton #short story

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