#art note: i tried to make his skin metallic here. it... kind of worked

[monster-crave]

Happy Birthday

Dax x Lucy [m!Lizardman x f!Human]

Note: Lucy and Dax are characters from a longer story and art series we are working on but we wanted to share some of the fun they have. If you want to see artwork of them, You can check Lucy here and Dax here. 

Warnings/Tags: NSFW, monster x human story, dom/sub undertones, alien anatomy, size difference, domination, non-human genitalia, double penetration

Word Count: 1673

Dax walked into his room, it was already late, and the coldness of the night was wearing him out more than the long day he had. It was rare for him to feel that way, but right now, he only wanted to lie in bed and sleep until the sun was up. His kin didn’t take light to low temperatures, which was frustrating given their superior physical strength.  

As he stepped into the space lit only by a handful of candles, he noticed Lucy standing by the bed, holding a huge platter. He could smell the raw meat and fruit from where he was standing. Her small frame looked even more petite in front of the frame of the huge bed, her red hair running down her back and the flames from the candle making it look like a reflection of sire.

“What is that?” He approached the small woman and tilted his head, observing the image before him. He wasn’t sure what was more appetizing, the dinner she was holding or her fragile body dressed in nothing but golden chains and jewelry. 

“A birthday cake.” She responded with a smile, but a blush crept down her suntanned cheeks. 

“A birthday cake?” Dax understood the concept of a birthday. It was when humans celebrated the day they were born. Xant’lians didn’t celebrate that. First, none of them knew when they were hatched, and no one kept track of that. Second, having a day that was somewhat supposed to be unique due to becoming a year old was a bit silly. Now there was a birthday cake?

“It’s a…when someone has a birthday…and we bake them this thing with flour and sweets to celebrate.” He could see she was feeling even more embarrassed. It all amused Dax a lot. Lucy worshiped their kind as if they were some gods. The woman would wear nothing but jewelry decoration, which would not bother her even one bit, but when she had to talk to him, she was suddenly closing up in that shell. “You don’t eat flour…or sweets…so I made a pile of meat and fruits.”

“I don’t have a birthday.” Dax laughed now. It was too much. His surprise and amusement were turning that into a comedy in his head. 

“I know…but I thought it might be nice.” Her eyes pinned further down, and she pushed the platter toward him. 

Dax considered all of it for a second. While he wasn’t hungry for food, there was another type of craving in him she could satisfy, and that probably made more sense to both of them. 

“How about you give me that,” he took the massive plate off her hands. “And take everything you are wearing off. 

Lucy did as she was asked without a second of hesitation. She gave him the platter and slowly took the golden chains, wrapping her body off and exposing her even more. 

“Lie down,” Dax commanded, and she obeyed, pushing her petite body onto the bed. The pale sheets and the dim light from the candles in the room reflected nicely on her darker skin, but her green eyes sparkled. 

Dax threw the meat on the floor and pulled a grape, placing it on her belly. He then grabbed a strawberry, putting it right under it. Dax did this with different fruits, balancing them on different parts of her torso. He could see Lucy’s breathing picking up with every step he made.

“If one of them falls because of you….” He didn’t need to finish that sentence as she tried to steady her breathing.

Once done, he climbed on the bed, careful not to move it too much. Dax showed her his long thick tongue, the four piercings on its tip reflecting the dim lights. He directed it first to that grape he had placed but then suddenly moved it between her legs, the metal studs rubbing against her clit. 

Lucy did her best to stay calm and not to move, but it was so hard. Dax’s tongue was running against her, and all she wanted to do was moan and arch her body. She curled her toes and gripped the sheets with her hands doing her best to stay stable. 

Eventually, Dax pulled away. She was frustrated but grateful because that was almost as much as she could take. His mouth moved to her belly, and he ate the fruit there, his sharp teeth rubbing against her tender skin. A moment later, he continued his pleasant torture, making it so hard for her to stay still. He repeated that same move several times, driving her so close to release, making it so hard for her to stay still, but she was also aware she was at his mercy, and if she moved in a way he didn’t like the game was over, or at least for her. 

Dax climbed on top of her when all the fruit was gone from her body. His yellow eyes fixed on her face as his tongue reached down and started caressing her breasts and nipples. She could feel the warmth, the saliva, the slightly sticky substance that covered it, and the metal piercing rubbing against her pleasantly. His large body completely covered her, making her almost disappear between him and the bed.

“You might deserve a reward.” He positioned himself better, and Lucy looked between his legs. 

Xant’lians were different and larger than humans in every aspect. Their scale-covered bodies were always cold, and their torsos and limbs were thicker and more powerful. But one of the most significant differences came between their legs. Xant’lians had two phalluses showing between their legs when aroused, and the shapes and sizes differed. Dax was probably one of the thickest she had ever seen, but his length was also covered with bumps, and parts of it were significantly enlarged than the rest. 

Lucy had been with him for years, and she still couldn’t get over the feeling she experienced when with him. He pressed the sharper tip, one of his cocks against her entrance and the other against her ass. She could feel the natural lubrication coming from the two of them as he pushed, her body, this time arching against his big shape. Dax went slowly on her today, the first bump on his cocks entering both her holes simultaneously, making her feel even tighter. She felt a couple of inches of relief when she felt the next ridge, making her scream in pleasure, some more relief and then another. 

Dax leaned on top of her, his heavy body pressing her hard against the sheets, his scales scratching her skin as his hips started moving, pulling his lengths out of her and then shoving them back again, this time faster, making the sensations even more intense. Lucy wrapped her arms around him, wanting to feel more of him but also unable to do anything else but moan and enjoy the sensation of having both of her holes filled. 

His pace was fast, but he was also going almost all the out with every move, his skin rubbing against her clit, driving her to her first orgasm quickly. As he felt her shiver in his arms, he suddenly stopped, his length still in her, stretching her to her limit, but he didn’t move for a long moment. To her surprise, he slowly pulled out again, making her feel every bump and shape of his cocks, until he was completely free, and she felt empty. 

“Come on top of me,” Dax commanded as he rolled on his back. Lucy obeyed, pushing herself up, already missing his massive body on top of her. “Not like that, with your back toward me.” 

She obeyed again. Her legs straddled him, her back turned toward his face, and her long red hair ran down her spine.  

“Do I need to tell you what to do?” Lucy felt the annoyance in his voice and realized he was expecting her to do it. 

She moved up, positioning her petite body over his length. It wasn’t the first time she would slide her tiny frame on top of him, but it was always much more manageable when he did it. Lucy found the right angle, so both of his tips pointed at her holes and pushed herself down. Although he was in her a moment ago, she still felt her body's stretch and resistance to accommodate his unusual shape. Inchy by inch, she slid down, moaning and twisting her body to make the angle work. She started moving, but he was too big under her, and it was hard for her small frame to sustain any reasonable pace. 

Dax must have been enjoying that, seeing her struggle as she was trying to please him, but then she felt his big cold hands on her body, pulling her, so her back pressed against his scaly chest. His tongue licked her neck as he started thrusting in her, slightly changing the angle for her and making her moan louder as he drove her into orgasm. 

Dax didn’t care she had come. He continued the savage moves. Now that her body was even more sensitive and overstimulated, she was like a doll in his grip, every part of her body exposed for his hands to grab, and her tongue was mercilessly licking her neck and reaching for her mouth. She knew he could go for a long time, and so he did. Not changing the position, just the pace, but making sure she could feel every bump and ridge on him as she came twice on top of him before he finally found his release filling both of her holes with a sticky hot liquid. 

Dax helped her move from him once he was finally pleased. She felt so weak but in a pleasant way, her powerful arms placing her on the bed next to him as if she was light as a father.

“Do that instead of cake next time.” He laughed as he said that.

#monster x fem #monster lover #monster love #monster march #monster romance #monster x human #lizardman x human #monsterfucking #monster smut #terato #oc #original story

[yukipri]

Shriek Hawk Wing Muscles Take Flight, Brothers All - A Winged!Clones AU

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Text version of what's on the images + additional comments beneath the cut!

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PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, EDIT, TRANSLATE, OR OTHERWISE USE MY ART. To share, please reblog! Reblogs and comments greatly appreciated!!!

❀ You can see the rest of my art including the rest of this AU through the Masterpost pinned to the top of my blog!

~~

Text on the images:

1) Human Clone Body (non AU)

Here we have Cody as an example of a human clone to establish our baseline.

We'll be using him to see how winged clones, or "Shriek Hawks," have different physiology.

(Thank you for your assistance, Cody!)

2) Human Clone + Wings

This is how Cody would look if we just tacked wings onto him, perhaps how we'd expect him to look.

But his torso only shows the muscles that a standard human would have, so this doesn't really work.

Let's take a closer look.

3) Featherless Wing: Approximate Wing Muscles

Rough base musculature of the wing under the feathers (Cody's arm has been removed for better visibility).

The base of wings are both thicker and longer than legs.

(Cursed image, I'm so sorry Cody.)

4) Wing Muscles on Chest

An example of roughly where wing muscles may extend.

*DISCLAIMER: These images are for artistic exploration only. The artist is fully aware this would not work either, and is prioritizing "what looks cool and hot" over "how to make this dude actually look like he could fly."

5) Shriek Hawk Torso Muscles

As a result of the massive wings on their backs, Shriek Hawks must therefore necessarily have extra muscles on their chests. Here, the wing muscles go under his chest muscles for his arms, creating an extra ridge along his ribs. His chest muscles are pushed outwards due to the extra layer of muscles underneath.

In some ways, Shriek Hawks are closer in physiology to other 6-limbed species like Besalisks than humans.

(You can have your arm back.)

(Also this super doesn't work but we're ignoring that.)

6) Human vs Shriek Hawk

Torso Comparison

7) Wing Feathers Extended Onto the Torso

In addition to their wing muscles, Shriek Hawks also have feathers that extend from their wings, onto their backs, and across their torsos.

These feathers serve dual purposes:

1) The "living beskar" properties of the feathers help provide additional protection on their bodies.

2) Shriek Hawks were hunted to near extinction for their valuable wings. The living beskar feathers wrapping onto their torsos makes it almost impossible to remove a Shriek Hawk's wings without first killing them, as like metal beskar, living beskar cannot be cut while Shriek Hawks are alive. Because killing a  Shriek Hawk will cause their feathers to automatically lose the properties that make them valuable in the first place, this discouraged hunters from going after them.

*Some Shriek Hawks, like Jango Fett, are from a sub-species that lose beskar qualities in their feathers even when alive if their feathers are taken without consent. However, knowledge of this quirk of their feathers is limited, and after the start of the Clone Wars, many hunters tried and failed to cut the wings off from living clones.

**Not in the image, but: these feathers are extensions of the wing feathers, and are therefore different from "body feathers" that take the place of human body hair. These feathers will therefore reflect the diverse colors and patterns present in their wings.

~~

Additional Notes:

The feathers on Cody's torso are a bit difficult to see, because the colors of his feathers are close to his skin tone when not hit by light. Many other clones have far more visible feathers, like Waxer (cream) or Rex (dark blue).

If you look at bird physiology, most flying birds have rib cages that are very deep front-back (vs humans who have more horizontally wide rib cages). This is kind of needed in order to support their massive chest muscles for their wings. If I actually wanted to make it look like the Shriek Hawks could fly, I would change their rib cage shape (and probably make their arms tiny like T-Rex arms, and make their legs skinny and light like crane legs, and make their torsos and spines shorter, etc), but this would really start veering away from "humanoid," so I didn't.

Likewise, the "layered muscles" thing wouldn't work at all, they'd get in the way of each other! Really, they should have a whole additional chest for their wings. But that would kinda make them start looking like insects, and again my priority is "keep them looking hot" and less super realistic muscles, so eh. Please ignore. In the SW universe, species like Toydarians can fly too and they definitely don’t make anatomical sense, so whatever ahahahah.

After drawing the cursed plucked Cody wing, I also thought a lot about how terribly unbalanced they would be. The key that made me really think about it is to think of wings like a pair of legs stuck to your back, except they're even bigger, longer, and more muscular than your actual legs. That would not only be heavy as fuck, they'd probably constantly have back pain and be falling over backwards unless they're constantly leaning forward. Their bodies can't be too light or their wings will tip them backwards, but at the same time, their bodies can't be too heavy either or they won't be able to fly. Again this is another one of those things where we just smile and nod and move along :)

Another thing I thought about while drawing this is if they're really more bird-like than mammal-like, they really shouldn't have nipples or belly buttons, assuming they come from eggs. But I suppose the fact that I want to draw nips and buttons states that they're closer to human in that regard, which is fine, because they have interbred with humans, so it would make more sense for near-mammal to be more compatible with humans. This is the SW universe, and I expect creature categories to be more diverse than what we have on Earth anyway.

I also wanted to make another comment about the wing feathers extending onto their torsos. The non-wing "hair-like" body feathers do provide some protection, but not as much as these flatter more "feather-like" feathers that actually completely cover and hide their skin. So then you may ask, wouldn't it be better, from an evolutionary standpoint, if their bodies were also covered in feathers?

And the answer is yes, absolutely! The ancestors of our clones were once very much entirely covered in colorful feathers like that on their wings. However, going back to the history of Shriek Hawks, they're native to Mandalore and were hunted by humans. In order to survive, many of them joined the Mandalorians, thus interbreeding with humans and other non-Shriek Hawk species. Jango's ancestors also bred with Mandalorians. This is significant because it means that the Shriek Hawks relevant to this AU co-evolved with Mandalorians who, surprise surprise! wear beskar armor. Having both living beskar + beskar armor is redundant, and Shriek Hawks began to lose their heavier plumage in the areas where they would wear armor, aka their "human" parts. The only really exposed parts would have been their wings, and again, enough feathers on their backs/around their bodies to prevent hunters from attempting to hack off their wings at the root. So in many ways, how "human" our boys look is a direct result of their Mandalorian ancestry, and I think that's neat!

Kinda relatedly, you'd think that growing out hair (feathers) and facial hair (feathers) would be more protective, and sure, it would, but again the boys' buckets are already stuffed with feathers and I guess feathers rubbing on feathers is kind of uncomfortable. Usually, in combat situations they're fully armored, so it's fine (Looking at u, bald as an egg Waxer).

Also wanted to mention that I deeply contemplated just drawing Cody without undies, because I mean, again he has pubic feathers that cover his dick and all. But I wimped out LMAO!

~~

For full context, please check out the AO3 Compilation for this AU, which not only has the images, but the fics as well!

Thanks for reading!

#TakeFlightBrothersAll #Commander Cody #Winged!Clones #wingfic #YukiPri art #Artists on Tumblr #clone troopers #Shriek Hawks #Star Wars #world building #anatomy

[hollyethecurious]

CS AU: In the Company of Demons (12/12)

Summary: After being in the wrong place at the wrong time, bounty hunter Emma Swan finds herself conscripted into working for one of Storybrooke’s most notorious crime families. Tasked with finding a rat that has infiltrated the Jones family enterprise, Emma tries to keep things just business between herself and the all-too-tempting Killian Jones. If she can unmask the rodent, she’ll receive not just a reprieve from the family, but her freedom and a hundred grand to start a new life. But what kind of life? One that exists in black and white, where there is a right way to do things and one must overcome their demons? Or the kind Killian can offer her, where one can revel in the grey areas while enjoying the company of demons?

A/N: I can’t believe we are at the end!! Thank you all so much for all the love you’ve shown this fic. I will have an author’s note at the end, but for now... THANK YOU and enjoy the conclusion!

**This chapter contains whump and aftercare. Obligatory tag to @killian-whump​ because of the chapter content ;o)

Shout out to @artistic-writer for creating the amazing cover art for this fic. Also major flails to @itsfabianadocarmo and @cocohook38 for also creating some incredible art inspired by this fic. You can check out Fabiana’s aesthetics here and here, and Jules’ mob Killian rendering here. Please go flail at all of them for their awesomeness!!

Much love to @kmomof4 and @artistic-writer for being my sounding boards and cheerleaders for this, as well as the fantastic @elizabeethan and @thejollyroger-writer for being my kick-ass betas!

Rated E (finally) / Available on ao3 and ff.net / add to tag list / buy me a coffee / Prologue / Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four / Chapter Five / Chapter Six / Chapter Seven / Chapter Eight / Chapter Nine / Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Another muffled scream slipped past the strip of leather gripped between Killian’s teeth, his forehead beaded with sweat and slipping against Emma’s collarbone as she tried to brace him while Whale dug out the bullet lodged in his side.

When they’d first arrived Whale had assessed Killian’s shoulder first - You are one lucky bastard, Captain. If you’re gonna get shot in the shoulder, this is the way to do it - then set up an IV and started transfusing blood to make up for the volume he’d lost. Needing to save the limited anesthetics he had in case Killian needed surgery on the shoulder later, they’d opted to dig out the ricocheted bullet, caught in one of his ribs, the old-fashioned way. Propped up on an elevated surface, Killian sat with Emma standing between his knees so she could help support him while Whale went to work.

Killian’s fingers were gripping her hips painfully, sure to leave bruises, but Emma didn’t care. Every pained grunt and agonizing scream tore through her. The hot, ragged exhales puffing against her skin as he tried to catch his breath in the brief reprieves Whale gave him made her skin break out in a sheen of cold sweat, matching the clamminess of his. Her hands, stained a deep crimson, felt tacky as they tried to apply soothing touches down his back and over his chest, desperate to do anything that might alleviate his suffering and knowing her murmured words were being drowned out by his stifled cries.

“Nearly got it,” Whale declared. The long tweezer-like instrument he was using to try and grab onto the projectile twisted and sank deeper into Killian’s flesh, causing him to scream again. The leather strap fell from his mouth and his uninjured arm wrapped around Emma, crushing her to him as Whale pulled the bullet out and deposited onto a nearby tray with a metallic clink.

A few sutures later, Killian was bandaged, wrapped, shoulder set in a sling, and given enough pain meds to knock out a horse. Emma and Whale half carried, half dragged him to a room where he could lie down and rest, then Whale left Emma to tend vigil while he cleaned up, waving her off when she offered to help.

He was too still, too pale, the even rise and fall of his chest the only thing keeping her from completely falling apart as she held his hand, too cold, too limp, unable to return her grip as she threaded their fingers together. As much as she wanted to be right here beside him when he woke up, Emma knew just sitting here, worrying, would absolutely drive her crazy. She needed to keep busy. She needed to distract herself from the way her world was suddenly falling apart around her.

She needed her laptop and files so she could figure out who was behind all of this.

Pulling her phone from her pocket, she crossed the room and dialed Robin. Usually, he didn’t answer calls, preferring to communicate via text, which was why she hadn’t realized the hitman had been a fake, since she’d never seen or spoken to Robin before. Fortunately, given what happened earlier, he answered this time, and she let out a relieved breath that she recognized his voice.

“Emma? How is he? Is he--”

“He’s okay,” she assured him, mentally kicking herself for not calling sooner. “Whale was able to patch him up. He’s resting now.”

“Good.” A shaky breath sent static through the line. “That’s good. I’ll let Liam and Brennan--”

“They know?” Emma whispered-shouted. “I thought Killian told you to--”

“Hyde told Liam and Brennan. He had to. Killian was supposed to be meeting with them, so he had to tell them something when he didn’t show.” Perhaps sensing her next question, he rushed to add, “Whale works out of a few different locations, and I haven’t told either of them which one you're at, but it wouldn’t take long for them to find out. Fortunately, they’re busy overseeing the clean-up and determining who the men sent to kill you were.”

Emma chewed her lip, torn between asking Robin to bring her laptop and files over, and letting him go on with the tasks Killian had assigned him. Ultimately, she chose to let him carry on looking into who orchestrated the hit. The information might be the clue they needed to identify the rat (assuming it was the rat who set her up and not…), and she already had Jefferson working on the initials. Besides, Emma knew Robin was also clandestinely getting her go-bag ready, and as much as she didn’t want to run, she wanted to be prepared for any eventuality.

“Do me a favor?” Emma asked, pausing until Robin prompted her to continue. “Give me a head’s up if Liam or Brennan ask about our location, or if they come looking?”

“I will,” he promised. “And you let me know if there’s any change, yeah?”

“I will.”

~/~

His entire left side was on fire, blistering in his side and smoldering at his shoulder. He didn’t even have the energy to groan, much less open his eyes, but something had pulled him from the drug-induced slumber Whale had put him under. It was as though he were trapped in a fabled sleeping curse, semi-aware of his surroundings, but unable to engage with the world around him.

A door slammed in the distance. Shouts of protest were being exchanged. Destructive noises of things being shoved or thrown out the way made their way closer as hands landed on his chest, trying to shake him awake.

“Killian!” Emma’s voice was frantic in his ears, but he still had not the power to respond. “Killian, Liam’s here! Liam’s here and he thinks I--”

“Don’t deny it!” his brother’s voice boomed, filling the room with an audible rage that made Killian’s blood run cold. “I know it was you. You set my brother up.”

What? How in the bloody hell had he come to that ludicrous conclusion?

“The messages sent to those men, ordering the hit at the warehouse, were all sent from the burner cell we found and catalogued before returning it to the glove compartment of your vehicle the first time we had your bug towed to Billy’s.”

No. That’s… the burner phone was… bloody fuck, wake up!

“You sent the order. You tried to have my brother killed.”

“No!” Emma protested, frantically.

Killian finally managed to pry his eyes open, and the scene before him made his heart seize even as rage now set his blood to boiling. Standing at the foot of the bed he was lying prone in was Emma, hands raised as she pleaded with his enraged brother, who had his gun pointed squarely at her, neither of them noticing his movements.

“Liam, I swear! It wasn’t me. I would never do anything to hurt Killian. The set up was ordered by a r--”

“I’m not interested in anymore of your lies,” Liam seethed, pulling back on the slide to cock the pistol. “I have all the proof I need of your treachery, and I’m not gonna let you--”

“There’s only one problem, brother,” Killian grunted, pulling Liam’s and Emma’s attention towards him… and the gun he’d found laying on the table beside him, aimed directly at his brother as he struggled to sit up.

“That burner phone was taken from Emma’s bug the night you had it towed from The Brig.” With a grimace pulling at his features, he flicked off the safety, then set his sights on Liam once more. “Tell me you didn’t, brother,” Killian implored. “Tell me you didn’t order a hit on Swan the moment I told you we were coming back early. Tell me it wasn’t you, because I know for a fact Emma had nothing to do with it. She was the target, not me.”

“Her? Who, besides us, would want her dead?”

“You mean besides you,” Killian shot back. “I told you from the beginning we could trust her, but you’ve had it out for her since that first conversation on the Jolly Roger. If not for the possibility that Emma was set up by the traitor within our ranks I would have already--”

“Traitor? What traitor?” Flicking his gun towards Emma, Liam insisted, “She’s the only traitor.”

“No,” Killian panted. The effort to keep himself upright and the gun lifted was taking its toll. “We have a rat within our organization, brother. I’ve… I’ve known... for weeks. Long before Swan was recruited. It’s why I… why I wanted the use... of her skills… in the first place. So, s-she could help me… identify him.”

Unable to muster the necessary strength any longer, Killian slumped sideways. The movement tore his side and sent agony ripping through his shoulder. He tried to bite back the pain, but knew it was clearly expressed on his features, his face twisting from the torment.

“Killian!”

“Brother!”

Emma scrambled up the bed, helping to prop him back up and take the strain off his injured torso as Liam rushed to his other side and knelt beside the bed. His head lolled, and more pillows were placed behind and beside him before they eased him back so he could recline in the nest of cushions the two had arranged to support him.

“Killian,” Liam clipped, tapping his hand against Killian’s cheek in an attempt to rouse him. “Little brother, wake up.”

“Younger,” Killian groused, forcing his eyelids open. “It’s younger brother, you git.”

A rare smile twitched at the corner of his brother’s lips and his hand came up to cup his cheek. “Younger brother,” he relented, softly. The tenderness lasted for only a moment before his expression turned serious, his gaze meaningful as it connected with Killian’s.

“It wasn’t me,” Liam vowed, his eyes flicking in Emma’s direction to impart to her, “I didn’t order the hit on you.” When his gaze returned to Killian’s, it overflowed with the acceptance that all Killian had told him was true, no need to try and further convince him. “But we must find out who did before they have a chance to do so again.” Standing, Liam procured a chair and brought it back to Killian’s bedside. Turned so the back faced the bed, he straddled the seat and rested his arms along the back. “So… tell me everything you know about this rat.”

Killian rolled his head in Emma’s direction and gave her hand, which she’d placed within his own at some point, an encouraging squeeze. “You tell him, love.”

She swallowed and brushed back the hair that had fallen over his forehead before nodding. Over the next hour or so, Swan laid out everything. The issues at the docks that first tipped Killian off, the fact someone warned Walsh to run, the close calls with the SPD that made it clear someone from the inside was working against them. She also explained her models and how she’d been trying to find connections within the organization, until they’d learned the Mills had discovered a rat of their own.

With Brennan now joining them via speaker phone, Killian and Emma both shared what they’d uncovered at the casino event, speculating that Gold may very well be behind the entire coup and their hope that identifying the last set of initials would be the key piece they needed to not only identify the Jones’ rat, but prove Gold’s treachery.

“I worried that something like this might happen,” Brennan declared over the phone, sounding short of breath and weaker than Killian had ever heard him. “Malcolm was a cunning son of a bitch, but he and I respected one another. We had an understanding and rapport I never quite managed to gain with R.G.”

Rasping coughs filled the line, and Killian exchanged a pained look with Liam, both of them knowing their father did not have long before he succumbed to the disease ravaging him.

Clearing his throat, Brennan caught his breath and continued, “I half expected the treaty to become nullified when Malcolm died and his son took over, but R.G. agreed to keep to its terms. I think it was because his own son was still young and reckless, having only just taken his place within the family business.” Killian felt Emma stiffened beside him, the action prompting even Liam to take notice, and his brother’s face darkened at the reminder of what she and Killian had told him of her past with Neal and R.G. “I imagine he already had his hands full, reining in and training up his rash progeny… not that I would know anything about that.”

Everyone chuckled at Brennan’s remark, but the movement of Killian’s diaphragm twinged the wound at his side, causing him to hiss in pain. Both Emma and Liam placed a soothing hand upon him, their faces etched with concern which he attempted to alleviate with a forced, lop-sided smile.

“So, why now?” Liam asked, turning his attention back to the conversation. “Why is he willing to jeopardize the treaty now when both our enterprises have fared so well under its terms?”

It was Emma who supplied the answer; his smart, savvy, amazing Swan, who had the advantage of having an outside perspective which allowed her to recognize the obvious component they’d all overlooked.

“Because Brennan is dying.” Her face scrunched, her lack of tact in blurting out the obvious, yet typically uncommented on fact, grimacing across her face in apology before she carried on. “You’ve kept his illness a secret because you know it makes you vulnerable, but somehow, Gold must have learned the truth. He’s getting everything in place to take you down when you’re at your weakest.”

“Aye,” Killian agreed. “And because his hubris knows no bounds, figured he could take out the rest of the competition while he’s at it. He’s already succeeded in doing so with Arthur.”

“While I think it is clear Gold is behind it all,” Liam interjected. “We still need proof. Either way we will have a war on our hands, but without proof of Gold’s breach of contract and his involvement in planting informants within the other families, we won’t have the Mills on our side, and we’re going to need them.”

“Yeah, and we still have to identify who our rat is and control the damage he or she has already done,” Emma replied.

Killian’s chest constricted, his breath catching at the casual way she said our rat, but Liam mistook his response for another bout of pain.

“I think we best let Killian rest. We can discuss this more once Emma has her files back and Robin or Jefferson gets her the rest of the information she needs. Until then, we keep everything locked down like we have since Flynn’s body was pulled from that dumpster. I’m going to have Robin cross check the short list of suspects Emma made before the J.R. angle came up with anyone who might have had access to her vehicle the night it was towed from The Brig. Whoever took the burner phone is either the rat, or another step closer to finding him.”

“And I’m going to have Whale get your more pain killers,” Emma said, leaving the bed and making her way towards the door before Killian could protest.

“She’s right, brother,” Liam admonished, when he tried to call after her. “You need to rest. We need you in fighting shape for when this all goes to hell.”

~/~

“You look like you could use this.”

Liam set a steaming cup of coffee beside her and Emma wondered wearily what time it was, groaning after checking the clock on her laptop.

“Thanks,” she said, pushing away from the makeshift desk Liam had helped her put together after he’d retrieved her things from Killian’s yacht. Wrapping her hands around the warm mug, her eyes shifted to the slumbering form, nestled within cozy covers and pillows, yet still fitful as soft groans reverberated from his chest from time-to-time.

She hated seeing him like that. Hated the pain he was going through, hated the damage those men had inflicted upon him, hated knowing it was because of her that he was suffering. Hated that he had taken a bullet, two in fact, for her. Not that it should have surprised her… she would have done the same for him.

“I was wrong about you,” Liam stated, moving the chair he’d been keeping vigil in and placing it closer to her so they could talk without disturbing Killian. “I want to apologize for my behaviour. For being an arse to you, for making things difficult, for--”

“Telling Killian to get rid of me because my brother, who isn’t even my brother, is FBI, then thinking I had arranged to have your brother murdered, and pointing a gun at me?”

He actually flinched. Emma never would have thought him capable, but the man was actually contrite enough to flinch.

“Aye,” he sighed. “All of that.”

“You know,” she said, taking a sip of the coffee and crinkling her nose. Unlike Killian, Liam had not been able to correctly deduce how she took it. “Nothing’s changed in regards to David.” She wasn’t sure why she was reminding him of that fact. She supposed if they were going to finally have it out, then they should put all their cards on the table. “He’s still FBI, he still thinks of me as family, he still has Graham keeping tabs on me, and he could still become a problem for you.”

“True,” he said with a nod. “But based on how well you dealt with him during that phone call, I think that threat has been neutralized.”

“For now, maybe,” she muttered, gulping down another swallow.

Liam tilted his head in that familiar Jones way, his brows drawing together. “For now? Are you insinuating he might become a problem in the future? I don’t see why he would bother with us once you’re free to carry on with your life as you did before. Out of our employ.” His eyes followed the flicker of her own, lingering on Killian before returning with comprehension settling into his gaze. “I see,” he drawled with a hint of amusement. “My little brother’s infatuation isn’t completely one-sided, is it?”

“Younger,” she corrected with a smirk, bringing the mug up to her lips once more. After another fortifying swallow, she firmly stated, “But that’s a conversation I intend to have with Killian before having it with you.”

“Fair enough,” he relented with a chuckle, leaning back in his chair and letting go a heavy sigh. “But you should know,” he added in a soft but not less fervent tone. “That we take care of our own, and by extension,” he paused and fixed his gaze upon her with a meaningful look that made her heart thump against her ribs, “those closest to them. So if you do stay, if you choose to become a part of this family, then we will ensure David and his family’s safety. They’ll have nothing to fear from us.”

“But what about--”

“I’m sure we can all work together to find a way of keeping the FBI at bay.” A devious smirk lifted at his lips, and he quipped, “We’ve ways of getting agents on our side, no matter how noble of character they may profess to be. Everyone has a price, whether it be monetary or otherwise, and I think you’ll come to find I am a formidable negotiator.”

“With formidable threats, you mean,” she accused, crossing her arms over her chest and cocking a suspicion brow at him. “I thought you said David and his family would have nothing to fear from you?”

“Aye,” Liam drawled. “But he doesn’t know that.”

She tried to stifle the smile that twitched at her lips when he winked at her, so very much like his brother. While she hated the thought of roping David into complicity with the Jones family, she couldn’t deny how entertaining it would be to watch these two older brothers go toe-to-toe with one another.

Fortunately, that confrontation could wait. They had others looming they needed to prepare for.

“Swan?” Killian croaked, his right arm shooting out and searching the space beside him as his eyes struggled to open. “Emma?”

“I’m here,” she called out, lunging out of her chair and up onto the bed. Taking his hand, she brought it up to kiss the back of his knuckles, smiling down at him while his vision adjusted.

“You’re still here,” he exhaled in a relieved breath, a small wince cringing his features.

Emma brushed her fingers down the side of his face, then released the tension in his brow with a light touch as she whispered, “Where else would I be?”

“I thought…” His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and he groaned as he shifted, pulling his hand from hers as he attempted to sit up. “...you’d left. I thought you’d taken the money and,” He swiped his hand down his face and shook the remainder of whatever fog the drugs had left in his system out of his head. “It must have been a dream.”

“Of course, it was a dream,” Liam reassured him. “Emma hasn’t met her end of the bargain yet. She’s not going anywhere until after our rat is identified, per your agreement.”

An acknowledging and slightly sad smile ghosted over Killian’s lips. Emma wanted to tell him that even then, she wasn’t planning on leaving. Not with a war looming. Not when she could stay and help him take down Gold.

Not when she could stay… would rather stay… with him.

The words stuck to her tongue long enough for Killian to brush the matter aside, clearly not wishing to discuss her leaving any longer, and his expression hardened as he asked, “Have we learned anything new? Any word from Rob or Jefferson?”

“Not about the mysterious J.R., no,” Liam lamented with an irritated tone. It seemed both the brothers Jones abhorred waiting. “However, Robin did provide us with a list of those who may have had an opportunity to take the burner cell.” Plucking a notepad from the table, he crossed the room and read off the names. “There’s Billy, of course, but he’s not deep enough in the organization to account for the other discrepancies. Felix was on security detail for the parking lot that night, which likely means Rufio was lingering about after getting the dealers set up with what they needed for the poker game. Arlo assisted Billy with getting the bug hitched up, and later went by his shop to discuss his assistance with the shipment of exotic cars we had coming in.”

Flipping the page, he paused for a quick breath and Emma’s phone rattled on the table with an incoming message notification. While Liam gave Killian the last few bits of info, Emma went to check her phone.

“Billy told Robin that Tink came by the next morning before he returned the bug, and that she had a man with her he didn’t recognize. Robin is scrolling back through the footage from Billy’s security cameras to see if he can identify the man without asking Tink. We don’t want to tip either of them off in case they turn out to be the rat.”

“They aren’t.”

Both men’s heads snapped towards Emma, her phone clutched tightly in her hand as anger coursed through her.

“Swan? What is it? How do you know--”

“Jefferson came through,” she said, cutting him off and taking a deep breath. Pushing back the urge to work out every little detail in her mind, she informed them, “He found him. J.R. The final man connected to the watch heist.”

“And?” Liam demanded. “Who is he? Is he the rat we’re looking for?”

“No. He’s dead. Died three years ago in a drug deal gone wrong, but--”

“Bloody hell,” Killian growled, cutting her off. “So we’re no closer to identifying the rat?”

“Afraid not, brother,” Liam sighed. “We both know dead men tell no tales.”

“Actually…” Emma began, a gratified expression lighting her face. “In this case, they do. J.R.’s real name tells us exactly who the rat might be.”

“It does? How?

“What was his name, Swan?” Killian asked, an edge of darkness wrapping around his words and shadowing his gaze. “I want his name.”

“Jonathan,” she told them. “J.R. stood for Jonathan... Rufio.”

~/~

“No! No, please! I can… I can explain! Please! I--”

A swift punch to the gut silenced Rufio as he was brought on board the Jolly Roger. It had taken a little over a week to track him down. After the warehouse, he’d gone into hiding, certain it was only a matter of time before his cover was blown. At first, they’d been afraid he’d run back to Gold, assuming R.G. would offer him protection. He must have realized, however, that he was a loose end R.G. would want clipped, and that his unsanctioned hit on Emma would have potentially incurred Neal’s wrath, leaving him with no allies.

“I hear you enjoy spilling your guts to my enemies.” Killian approached Rufio, who was doubled over, still wheezing from the blow. Grabbing him by the hair, Killian yanked his head back, forcing the young man to stare into his face as he snarled, “Well, rest assured, Rufio. One way or another, you are going to be spilling them for me before we are through.” Releasing him with a rough toss, he ordered, “Take him below and get ready to cast off.”

Emma could hear Rufio’s pleas and screams as they dragged him from the deck, down into the bowels of the ship. She couldn’t help but feel just the tiniest bit sorry for him, given what all they’d uncovered over the past week, but the man had made his choices and now he had to live with the consequences. Well... not for long.

There was also that small matter of him trying to kill her, so… No, actually. Emma didn’t have much sympathy for him at all.

“Are you sure you wish to stay on board,” Killian asked. “If not, now’s your chance to leave.”

Emma met his searching, uncertain gaze with one of determination. She still hadn’t told him, hadn’t had an opportunity to really discuss things while he was busy recovering and working to ensure their entire empire didn’t come crashing down around them, but she would. As soon as they had the rest of the answers they needed, she would tell him.

“I’m staying.”

Killian nodded, then turned his attention towards Liam who had called out to him before he followed the rest of the men below.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” she asked, still concerned he wasn’t healed enough to be interrogating Rufio, even though he wouldn’t be the one doling out the punishment.

“Aye, I’ll be fine,” he assured her, tucking an errant strand of her hair behind her ear, though several others began whipping about now that they were pulling away from the docks. “I’ll come find you after.”

“I’ll be waiting,” she told him, lifting herself up onto her toes and placing a kiss at the corner of his lips before murmuring, “In your cabin.”

Time stretched on, so she occupied herself by going over everything again. All the secrets they’d revealed, all the mysteries they’d unravelled. They didn’t yet know why Gold had planted Rufio within the Jones organization, but they had learned Rufio had a vendetta against the Joneses. The drug bust, during which his brother, Jonathan, had been killed, had been one of those misdirections Killian often used Smee for, tipping the police off about a rival’s crime so they’d be preoccupied while they committed one of their own. Robin had missed the connection because Jonathan had died days later. It wasn’t until they really looked into his death, and had Jefferson’s insight to assist them, that they discovered he’d been a part of the gang dealing drugs on the boundary line between the Jones and Gold territories. Rufio had used his brother’s death as one of the reasons he wanted to join the Jones family in the first place.

Having lost the only family he had left, he’d said he wanted to be a part of something.

Rufio had gotten his start working in the distilleries, packing and shipping the bootlegged liquor until he rose through those ranks and got promoted to the docks. He hadn’t worked with Walsh long, but probably knew the man by reputation from his drug dealing brother, so when EWH hit the streets it seemed likely Rufio would have suspected it was Walsh’s doing, and most likely was the one who warned him to run.

His work at the docks explained the inconsistencies with the cargo manifests, and his access to The Brig, as well as the property Robin maintained an office out of, allowed him to overhear or pick up on things he was then able to pass along to whoever he was working with on the outside. Who Emma suspected was none other that Owen Flynn.

It would explain why Flynn had frequented the bar on the nights he had, a place where they could converse or clandestinely exchange information. It also called into question what exactly happened the night Rufio had been tasked to watch over Flynn when he supposedly died from Killian’s beatings.

All the pieces had come together by the time Emma found him, back where it all began. He’d been hiding out in Wizard of Oak. The abandoned furniture store Walsh had once used as a front business, dealing whatever concoction he’d been peddling before eventually being recruited years later by the Jones family. She supposed Rufio thought it a safe place to hide, knowing there was no tangible connection that could trace him to it. The only way he knew about it was because he’d accompanied Killian and Will the night they’d tracked Walsh there.

The same night Emma had.

They had the how’s pretty much figured out, all they needed now was the why’s.

“Well, you were right,” Killian said as he entered the room. A few specks of blood and grime littered his shirt and suit jacket, which he gingerly shrugged off and tossed onto the bed on his way to the mini bar. “He was the one who told Walsh to run. He’s also the one who convinced him to come back.”

“Why?” Emma joined Killian at the table, eager to find out everything the Jones brothers had managed to beat out of their rat.

“It seems Gold wanted Walsh to turn himself in so he could make a deal and testify against me, but I discovered his revolting little side business before he could agree, though there was speculation he’d been unwilling to do so anyway. Rufio was then instructed to lure him back, with the hopes he’d be arrested. Then he would have had no other choice but to roll on us in order to save himself.”

“Wait,” Emma replied, needing a minute to process. “So, Gold tried to use Walsh to take you down?”

“Aye,” he confirmed, knocking back the dram he’d poured for himself, then refilling his glass with the bottle he’d brought with him to the table.

“Okay, start from the beginning,” Emma told him, tucking her legs beneath her in her chair and topping off her own drink. “Why did Gold send Rufio to spy on the family in the first place?”

Killian gave her a play-by-play of the interrogation, or rather, a slightly less bloodied version.

Knowing his brother had worked for Gold once before, Rufio had gone to him first after Jonathan’s death. Having become suspicious as to whether the Jones - who had started to transition leadership from Brennan to Liam - were being truly honorable to the treaty, as it related to the agreement they had regarding the Storybrooke Harbour, Rufio had first been instructed to infiltrate the family and get assigned to the docks so he could keep tabs on things and report back. However, as soon as Rufio learned of Brennan’s deteriorating illness, the Gold men saw an opportunity to expand their territory.

They began to look for ways to get Killian or Liam arrested, so that once Brennan died, the remaining son would be left to fend off the ambush on his own. The prospect of achieving such a coup must have made Gold greedy, because not long after the revelation of Brennan’s impending death, he had Neal arrange for others to infiltrate both the Mills and Pendragon organizations, seeking out weaknesses he could exploit.

“After I shot Walsh, Rufio wanted to go to the police and do the very thing they had tried to get Walsh to do. Turn himself in as an accomplice, but then roll on me so I’d be arrested for the murder. R.G. told him that without a body there would be no point, so when the opportunity came to provide the police with one…”

“Flynn,” Emma deduced, shaking her head and grinding her teeth.

“It was Rufio, not me, who killed him,” Killian informed her. “I knew I hadn’t done enough damage to cause his death, and I was right.” Emma reached over and took Killian’s hand. She knew it wasn’t the man’s death he’d been berating himself for, it was the lack of control and carelessness that might have led to it. “Rufio finished him off then called Felix in a panic, convinced him to help get rid of the body, then planted the matchbook in Flynn’s pocket before they dumped him.”

“I assume he’s also the one who told Neal I was working for you,” she said, taking them away from the subject of Flynn and what could have happened if Smee and others hadn’t been so convincing with their false leads and planted evidence, turning the police investigation in another direction and all but clearing Killian of suspicion, given he had an ironclad alibi.

“He was,” Killian confirmed. “Though, because Rufio did not know the true nature of our agreement he didn’t realize how closely we’d been working together. Neal had no idea you were anything more than another asset until you showed up to the event with me.”

Emma took a long pull from her glass and let the burn of the alcohol fill her belly with its smoldering heat, further stoking the fire that had been building within her. She’d been trying to hold it back, to suppress the thoughts gathering at the edges of her mind, to keep her darker impulses at bay even as her demons spurred her on from the recesses she usually confined them to. She couldn’t deny them any longer though. The truth of the matter was… she needed them. Wanted them. Wouldn’t be able to do what was required, what was necessary, what she desired without them.

To make Neal and R.G. pay for their audacity. To watch their empire burn until they were the ones left with nothing.

“What happens now?” she asked, keeping everything she was feeling reined in for the time being, knowing there would come a moment when she could use it to her - their - advantage.

Killian sighed. “Liam and I will set up a meeting with the Mills and share what we’ve uncovered. Father, Liam, and I are all in agreement that this means we’ll be going to war with the Golds, and we’re hoping to have Cora’s allegiance and manpower to aid us in the fight.”

He stood and went over to one of his night tables, opening the drawer and removing a thick manila envelope. “Don’t worry, though,” he said, his expression grave and guarded as he tossed the packet onto the table and resumed his seat. “I already collected your new identity, and Robin set you up an account. Most of the money has already been transferred into it. The rest is in there,” he said, gesturing to the envelope casually as he took another drink, attempting to appear as though the topic of her leaving wasn’t tearing him apart. His tight smile didn’t meet his eyes, though he tried to make it convincing as he assured her, “Everything you need to make a fresh start.”

Emma slid the envelope back towards him and stood. “Fresh starts are overrated.” Skimming her fingers along the top of the table, she picked up his glass and brought it to her lips. After taking a sip, she licked an errant drop from the corner of her mouth and offered, “It seems to me, if there’s going to be a war you’re going to need all the help you can get, which includes having Arthur, and those loyal to him, among your list of allies. But Arthur can only help if he doesn’t have to concern himself with Percy, who’s gone to ground.” Setting his glass back down, she carded her fingers through his hair, swirling them through the dark, silky strands. “I happen to know someone who’s pretty good at finding people.”

Killian’s brows shot up his forehead and his lips parted in surprise, sticking in the corners in that way she loved. “You want to find Percy so Arthur is free to return and fight alongside us?”

Climbing onto his lap, Emma straddled Killian’s hips, mindful of his still tender side and shoulder, and wound her arms around his neck. “In this family,” she murmured, tilting her head so their foreheads were pressed together, his eyelids fluttering closed as he held his breath in anticipation of her words, “we look after our own, and those closest to them.”

“You understand what it’ll mean, don’t you?” he asked, his Adam’s apple bobbing heavily. “You, choosing to stay?” He opened his eyes and fixed her with his forget-me-not gaze. “It won’t be for only this single job, or merely until our war with Gold is won.” His hand tightened at her hip, his fingers digging into her skin. “It’s for life, Swan.”

“I know.”

“And you’re sure you’re ready for that? Ready to cast off the black and white and fully embrace a life lived in the spectrums of grey?”

“I am,” she assured him. Trailing her fingers down his neck she placed her hand over his heart and confessed, “You were right about me.”

“In what way?” he asked, his lips ghosting over hers, barely able to restrain themselves.

“Turns out,” she whispered huskily, flicking her eyes up at him through her lashes, “I do enjoy the company of demons.”

“Well, then,” Killian purred, snaking his hand up her back until it wrapped around the base of her neck. “Come kiss this handsome devil, won’t you love?”

The End

A/N: I know, I know, I know! I can hear you. Trust me. While the scope of this fic, regarding the identification of and dealing with the rat, as well as bringing CS together, is complete, I recognize that there is still more story that could be told, so... I have started notes for a sequel. NO PROMISES as to when or if it’ll get written/posted, but know that I agree with you and will do my best!

Thanks again for all the love!!!

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#cs ff #csff #cs fic #cs au #captain swan #cs mob au #mob boss!killian #bounty hunter!emma #in the company of demons #complete #completed #words by hollye

[mrwinterr]

Slippery, Smooth

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader 

Summary: Bucky gets a different kind of massage.

Warnings: Smut 18+ (consensual but still unprotected sex, vaginal penetration, oral [male receiving], thigh riding, titty fuck, cum play).

Disclaimer: I want to put it out there that while nuru massages aren’t legal in the vast majority of the U.S. or the world, I’m not condoning the underlying motive of selling sex and/or prostitution. I apologize if this may offend anyone or the culture. I did my best to read about the origins and some modern experiences. A girl just watched porn and wrote this – that’s it.

** Author’s Note (8/13/20): Read a snippet of Part 2! **

“We’ll just need you both to fill out the paperwork for some information. Please check any of the services we offer then sign the waiver on the back and when you’re both done, we’ll show you to your rooms,” the young female receptionist answered with a friendly smile on her face.

Sam returns the gesture with a smile of his own and grabs the two white clipboards with the paperwork attached to them, carefully balancing the pens placed on top so they don’t roll off. On his left, was Bucky sporting a resting bitch face, clearly showing he was dragged into this before heading to a pair of unoccupied seats. The woman unbothered by his sour demeanor pays no offense believing he’s come to the right place to relieve the stress he isn’t aware he’s been harboring.

Except Bucky really doesn’t want to be here at the spa. He just happened to be caught while walking by some of his colleagues and apparently, Sam had been asking around for someone to check out the raving massage parlor on the market with him, but mostly because it was much more of a discount to book for two than one.

With some convincing from his more levelheaded companions, suggesting Bucky continue to go out and experience more modern things while also participating in the act of self-care, he begrudgingly agreed.

“Man, hurry up. Did you forget how to spell your name?” Sam nudged at him seeing as Bucky hadn’t even filled out the first line before putting the cap back on his pen, signaling he had completed his paperwork.

“Shut up. I don’t even want to be here.” Bucky mumbled enough just for Sam to hear. It wasn’t the establishment’s fault that he felt bothered.

He let out a big sigh, filled out the basic information and skimmed at the options of the services provided. His face scrunched. There were all kinds of massages that he hadn’t heard of and some were even in different languages. Luckily, this place offered a brief description of each type.

“Barnes!” Sam, who was standing in front of the receptionist desk again, said with a now firmer tone and sending Bucky a hard look. He was getting impatient. Bucky shook his head and looked back down at the paper. Try something new. He reminded himself.

Feeling slight pressure and the practical idea of the sooner he got through with this part of the process the sooner he’d be out of this place, Bucky hastily checks off something near the middle, a different type of massage he thought sounded nice. They all sounded nice, but there were so many, he didn’t bother to finish reading through or retain any significant aspects on each of them as they all became a jumbled mess of terms in his brain. Afterall, a massage is designed to make one feel good anyways. How far south could the option he selected go?

A few more minutes went by until another woman from behind the desk emerges and calls for the two men. The receptionist bids them a good time and carries on with the next guest. To both of their relief, Bucky and Sam are placed in separate rooms.

Guess he picked a different massage. Bucky thought to himself and looked around the dim lit room. Its walls adorned with tasteful foreign artwork, different sized candles and infused with a refreshed yet soothing scent that began overtaking his senses. The place was pristine.

The employee who escorted him to this room sets the clipboard on the nearby table and instructs Bucky to prep himself with a shower that was located in the corner. Before he could ask why that was a significant part of the massage, she told him once he was done washing himself, to lie on the massage table with only his towel on and to wait for his actual masseuse, who would arrive shortly, then she left closing the door behind her.

Not wanting to think too much into it, believing perhaps it was part of the experience or this place was just super hygienic, Bucky doesn’t waste time. The masseuse could walk in any moment, so he proceeds to undress, open the clear shower door and step in.

A few months ago, aside from the people he worked with or the ones he fought against, no one would be caught alone with Bucky – especially in a vulnerable state such as being half naked and with his metal arm on display. It took a lot of self-therapy and confidence and just plain not giving a fuck anymore mindset, but now here he was letting a complete stranger touch him and take more than a peek and gander at his body. If the doctors could see him now. On top of that, there had to be a level of professionalism here anyways, he was in good hands.

Once he’s thoroughly clean, he wraps the white, fluffy towel around his waist before hopping onto the massage bed. It was big, almost like it was built for two. That was a strange thought, but nonetheless he chose to also not dwell on that and was grateful it was big enough for his burly body. He scoots around a bit to find the center and lies down, trying to relax.

He turned his head to the side, eyes wandering at the counter full of supplies – massage oils, rocks, towels, soap, a box of condoms, gloves, more towels…wait. A box of condoms? What the hell? Bucky thought now a little puzzled before turning his head back to stare at the ceiling in front of him. He closes his eyes and tries to calm his nerves once more.

Just before Bucky dozed off, as if on cue, he hears the door open and quietly close with an extra click. You finally arrived. He peeks an eye open to see the back of your figure, hair tied loosely and in a short white robe. It clung on your body different, it had to be of silk. He opens both eyes just as you turn around.

You quickly glance at his clipboard before finally fixing your eyes on your next client. His metal arm certainly didn’t go unnoticed, but that wouldn’t be a problem at all. It might sound mean, but it was one less limb to work on. All that shoved aside, he was athletically built and geez, was he a sight. Keep it together. You began telling yourself over and over. You’re a professional.

It wasn’t likely you did these kinds of massages, nor did you partake in paid sexual services just strictly intent on the art of touch and healing, but this type paid handsomely, and the lights didn’t have to be on all the way to let you see that handsome was indeed right in front of you too. You introduced yourself to the man on the massage bed but got no response.

A quiet one. You thought, but quickly shrugged it off and decided to get right to it by pulling at the end of a tassel in the knot tied around your waist to begin disrobing.

Bucky, not anticipating interacting or to be touched intimately by someone so pretty was gravely distracted, it wasn’t until he saw the skin of your cleavage that he snapped out of it.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Bucky exclaims sitting up, “what are you doing?”

With a confused expression, you simply replied, “disrobing?” Then wearily proceeded to part the material to the side, but before you could reveal anything else, you heard another plea to stop.

“Wh-why?” Bucky was having a hard time trying to formulate words with the swell of your breasts peeking from behind your robe now in his view.

You turned and cocked your head a bit, still perplexed by his questions, “because it’s part of the massage.”

“Wha…what? Isn’t the person getting the massage supposed to be the one that’s…naked?” His mind was in a frenzy and that was kind of annoying you.  

“For a simple massage, yes.”

“What are we doing then?” He asked incredulously.

“A nuru massage.”

“Nuru massage?”

“Yes. A nuru massage is when one massages the other person’s body with their own.” You explained as calmly as you could. He was getting increasingly agitated and your job was to help others relax not add onto the stress.

Bucky shook his head frantically and looked away from you to stop his eyes from wandering too long on your body. He could tell you didn’t have anything else underneath. “This has to be a mistake. You must have the wrong room.”

You scoffed, covering yourself up again and snatching the clipboard on the nearby counter. “Aren’t you…James B. Barnes?” You skim over it before asking and turning the clipboard to prove to him that you were in the right room assigned to him.

He craned his neck forward to inspect the piece of paper he held not too long ago, his messy handwriting complete with his illegible signature staring right back at him.

“Well, yeah…”

“Then I have the right room and you checked off for a nuru massage.” You say crossing your arms as he took the clipboard from your hands to read more about what the massage actually entails.

“This-this can’t be legal though.” He said shaking his head and thinking about how it could even be acceptable for this kind of service without eliciting some sort of sexual stimulation from the other party. Bodies gliding against each other? It just couldn’t possibly go smooth or well…work.

“It’s not…” you replied like it’s a known fact but then were quick to respond seeing his eyes widening in overreaction, “in most areas of the world but it’s absolutely legal here!”

“But it’s basically pros-“ he didn’t even finish that last sentence catching himself when he saw your now offended expression.

Does this asshole really think he is going to just sit there and get away with downright calling you a prostitute?

“You don’t know shit about me,” you spat. Handsome or not, deciding he wasn’t as openminded as most people and harshly tied a new knot to the robe you were still wearing signaling you were about to walk out. He wasn’t worth the few extra digits to your paycheck.

“No! Wait!” He pleaded; guilt ridden. As he let out a deep sigh, you stayed put to hear him out, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. You’re right! I don’t know shit about you, but I also don’t know what a nuru massage is. I came here with a friend to help him get a good deal and I clearly wasn’t paying attention to what I signed up for.”

You nodded and decided to be civil since he was owning up to his mistake. “Okay. Apology accepted. I see why you freaked out, but you’re clearly not comfortable with the idea of this,” you responded while your hands helped convey your words, “so I can see what I can do to get you a refund,” and walked over to him to retrieve the clipboard.  

It would’ve taken a significant blow to your pay – losing a client for the day – but you weren’t going to put anyone in a situation they weren’t familiar or comfortable with.

“Well…” He spoke up, placing his right hand on top of yours causing you to look up at him.  

Wow, his eyes. They held the same color that reminded you of the kind water in a pool could reflect. The soothing kind of blue. You felt like you were glued to the spot, almost hypnotized.

“I mean I’m already here. I don’t want to take any business away from you. Again, I’m sorry I overreacted. What’s life without experience, right?”

And that deep voice... Shit, snap out of it! Remember, you’re a professional.

You gave him a small smile for his change of heart and willingness to try something new.

“Right,” you said forcing yourself to look away. Fuck, I hope I wasn’t staring for too long, “but I’m letting you know now, this isn’t a normal massage,” daring to look back at him for reassurance, “if at any moment you’re uncomfortable, we can change things up. Afterall, I’m very good with my hands.” You hoped to regain your composure with that last line. It wasn’t a lie though.

Bucky sends you a smile of his own before letting you go to lie back down properly, waiting for the next move. You cautiously disrobed without any protest from him. You noticed Bucky visibly swallowed the thick lump in his throat now that you were completely nude in front of him.

“Are you okay?” You were going to have to be patient with this one. He wasn’t going to be like any other you treated. It was easy for you to just stand there naked and you weren’t bothered by nudity at all, but that doesn’t mean everyone else is.

With a nod of his head, you reached for the towel to untuck the bunched-up portion at the side of his waist, mindful to not expose him of the slightest to spare him some modesty, while asking him to move just enough to let it rest on his body and cover his lower half like a blanket would.

You decided to let him keep his towel on for the time being and focus on his upper body. Next, you instructed him to turn and lie on his stomach, you’d start with his back first. You lifted the towel in a modest manner like you would for anyone so he could maneuver with ease. Once he settled in a comfortable position, you began the treatment.

“The word nuru stems from the Japanese term for slippery or smooth.” Talking to your clients was a technique most in your line of profession use to help distract or relax them to get the job done – that and it’s just good customer service showing that you care and know just what the fuck you’re doing.

You expertly jumped up onto the small space left on the bed to get into a straddling position on your knees hovering just over the small of his back and covered ass. Judging by the hump, it kind of looked nice to sit on.

“I’m going to start by applying nuru gel all over your body and mine, but we’ll start small, alright.” You carefully poured a generous amount of the warm massage gel in the palm of your hand lathering up your arms, chest, torso, thighs and fortunately you were flexible enough to reach parts of your back, but for parts you couldn’t, would transfer off his body to yours later on.

Scooping up a bit more, you watched as the gel dropped in a fine line and pool onto his back before beginning to spread it all over the expanse of his toned body in soothing motions. You started to gently press with your knuckles on the surface his muscles.

“The gel is actually made out of natural Nori seaweed,” you started explaining the colorless and odorless substance while progressing lower on his back with both hands, digging your thumbs near the lumbar region and compressing some of your weight down. You paid attention to specific areas of the body that draws the most tension. His body became visibly lax and less strained the more you worked your magic; soon enough Bucky was sure he would be putty in your hands.

Still perched up on your knees and not wanting to slip, you took initiative and just plopped down onto his plush yet firm backside. Even if a towel remained as a barrier between you both, you felt his glutes tense up underneath you, most likely having startled him. Trying to find a way to help him relax again, you tried to comfort him with more facts.

“It has other healthful benefits such as providing great moisturization to the skin,” you leaned down on your forearms and started an up and down repetition.

Your hands then travelled to his sides and you hoped he wasn’t ticklish before they met at the back of his neck to perform the simplest of massages ever. However basic as it might’ve seemed, felt like Heaven’s touch on Bucky’s end as he couldn’t help but let out a moan of satisfaction.

You were so good at it, working out all the kinks in his neck using your skilled fingers, he had to let out an approving moan after moan with each touch that hit the spot. The elicited sound racked through his body that you felt it reverberate all the way down to your core. You were crossing over a forbidden line, but that wasn’t letting you up. You had wanted to hear and feel that again.

“You’re really tense aren’t, you?” You comment continuing your handy work into the knots around his lower neck, slowly adding more pressure and testing his limits. His response was an even louder and deeper moan. Unknowingly, it caused you to shift, more like ground, your hips against his lower body. You mentally patted yourself on the back for keeping the towel there to absorb your juices. He didn’t need to try and figure out if it was the nuru gel or the sudden wetness pooling in you that his skin was swimming in.  

Then you lowered your entire body, your chest now pressed against his back. Your head was close to his, you could smell the scent of the soap the facility provided for the massage prep mixed with his own and you swore he smelled more relaxing than any stress-free candle or burning incense ever could.

Due to the close proximity, you spoke even softer right next to his ear, “the combination of the nuru gel and full body contact or the touch of another human help to release toxins from the body and boost the feelgood chemicals in the brain.”

You paired that piece of knowledge with sliding up and down his back, your hands trailing up his arms that were bent but sprawled above his hand, grasping at the front of his hands to briefly interlock them before letting them go to repeat the actions.

Deciding enough time was spent on the upper area, you carefully swung around, gathered a bit more gel and snuck your hands underneath the towel to glide up the hill of his ass. Without protest, you seized the moment and experimentally grabbed a handful of each cheek before releasing the flesh and sail further down to his muscular thighs. Oh, you wish you could see them, but reminded yourself to approach each step with caution with him.  

The towel still restricted you from attending to his calves, so you pulled your hands back out and scooted up to pull the towel up from the other end and treat them with the same amount of attention. After that treatment was done, you had him revert to his original position on his back.

As he settled, you reached over to pour some more gel and help slicken his front half.

“Interesting fact, nuru massages originated in Japan as a disguise to pay for sexual services,” you say as your hands spanned across the planes of his pecs, “but nuru massages are much more than an erotic massage.”

“How so?” Bucky asked genuinely curious because he was having a hard time trying to strain his cock from hardening. Thankfully for him, you were seated on his lower abdomen and barely inches away from his member.

“Think of them as more so sensual than sexual.”

Accepting that outlook, Bucky had to ask, “how did you get into…this?”

You knew he meant performing nuru massages and not your career in general, “I took a trip to Japan during a break from studying,” you replied and now tracing the lines of his abs. That sort of action, so close to his dick, created a ghostly tingle to run down Bucky’s lower region.

Counting each one of his abs to help distract you from the twitch of his cock that he thought you probably didn’t feel hit you, you continued your story, “like you, I also didn’t know what I signed up for either.”

With your breasts out in front of him squished between your upper arms as you continued to rub him and all slick from the gel, your skin seemed ever so inviting for him to touch, but he refrained from doing so. There was really no way to avoid getting aroused with this kind of massage. He was about to give up the fight. He needed to relax, right?

“Um, how-how was…he?” He asked trying to not ask awkwardly. You smiled noting he was having a hard time trying to look at your face and not your boobs. A guy like this at your fingertips? What woman’s ego wouldn’t be boosted? You had control.

Keeping in mind he is new to this, but also that the vitality of full body contact in this massage, you treated his front half to the same tactic you used on his back by laying your body flat on his.

“She was amazing,” you answered, your face now close to his you could feel the warmth of his breath puff out as he tried to regulate his breathing. The close proximity allowing you to feel the beat of his heart. You noticed the bob of his throat to that reveal, two women all oiled up.  

“She taught me a lot of moves actually.” An innocent anecdote produced a whine from Bucky that he felt ashamed of slip out. Okay, maybe you got to bring it back down. “The first time I ever performed a nuru massage, I almost slipped off the massage table!”

What you hoped for was to lighten the mood, you didn’t expect was for him to bust out laughing at you. The sudden outburst took you by surprise that you almost reenacted the shared memory, but Bucky was quick to catch you with his left arm before you fell. His arms encased around you as he turned on his back with you now lying parallel, legs between his now parted ones underneath the towel that still managed to stay on.

“Oh my God,” you said burying your face into the crook of his neck, not giving a damn that the massage gel would get on your face. That first fall from your past was one of the most embarrassing moments of your career and here you were about to relive it or perhaps create one that would top it.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Bucky said tucking you in his arms as his flesh hand ran up and down the curves of your slick back, the metal one resting just above the curve of your ass. “I’m sorry I scared you. I didn’t mean to laugh. It’s just that you’re so poised and professional, having to imagine you being that clumsy took me off guard.”

Your eyes drifted down and noticed the scarred tissue of his skin that divided the metal from him. He probably ached there sometimes. You made a mental note to fit his arm somewhere in your routine.

“I’ve never told anyone that story before,” you admitted looking at him. Your eyes lingering at his pink lips that were parted. He brushed a strand of your hair away and cupped your face. You leaned into his hand and if he didn’t know it, you were the one that was putty in his hands.

Earning yourself another beautiful smile from him you got back into position. “Do you mind?” You ask referring to the towel. Having spent some time with you and seeing a more vulnerable side, he shook his head and let you rip the towel from beneath you and drop it to the floor.

“It’s okay to get hard,” you said trying to address the elephant in the room. You watched him stammer with his words, “it’s perfectly natural. Remember, this massage is designed to tease your senses and bring your body to full ecstasy.” Your now pressed against him again, rubbing your body up and down, hands trailing upwards to let your fingers intertwine with his again.

Feeling your breasts glide up just enough to stop under his chin, he kept tilting his head back as if he was neck deep in water, but if he was being honest, he would rather just drown in them at this point. Bucky tries to remain calm even if you assured him that getting aroused during a massage was a common occurrence.

“Relax, James,” you said releasing one of his hands to cradle his head and set it in a regular position. You just made it a point to not practically motorboat the poor guy.

“It’s Bucky,” he said, “please just call me Bucky. James is too formal.”

“Okay, Bucky,” you confirm by pressing your forehead against his.  

Not taking your eyes off each other, you glided down a few inches so you’re face-to-face with the junction of the skin and metal and began leaving light feather kisses to the sensitive area. Adding a little squeeze to the flesh hand that was still in your grasp, Bucky felt his heart soar a bit. You, so unperturbed by the once traitorous appendage, were so gentle and the level of intimacy you carried, he wondered if you were like this to your other clients. He felt like a damn fool for falling for your every move.

“Are most of your clients men?” Bucky wondered.

“No. I don’t limit my services to just men. Most times, my favorite are the women. Nuru is open for anyone of any gender or sexual orientation.”

You slithered down again until you trapped one of his thighs between your legs. Lord, give me the strength to not cum. You prayed and begun rocking your hips almost sinfully.

Fuck, was this part of her normal routine? Bucky asked himself but wouldn’t deny the combination of her wet pussy and its soft lips gliding along his thighs felt good. Not to mention the way your hands grip at the grooves of his Adonis belt, nails slightly digging into his skin, watching your hips move. He didn’t miss the look on your face, eyebrows knitted in concentration and your plump bottom lip trapped between your teeth.  

“Do you enjoy this too?”

You knew what he was going for. Did you get a rise out of this? You regained control of your body and shrugged, “I mean, touch is therapeutic in some cases, but if you’re wondering, most places or depending on the masseuse have modified nuru massages.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Not everyone gets a happy ending.” You were a masseuse specialist and not in a line of sex. It was the most misconstrued thing about it. Noticing the look on his face, you concluded that he must’ve not known the term “happy ending.”

“Sex. A happy ending is what usually culminates from a nuru massage,” you cleared the air. It was adorable to see the surprised look on his face. Yet, underneath the sheen line of sweat that had built up on his forehead, Bucky was internally relieved to hear that you didn’t actually partake in any sexual penetration or acts from this type of massage.

Okay, maybe that number on his thigh wasn’t part of your routine. You’d never been that needy. Before you could fly off the edge, you didn’t even peg yourself to be a sadist and actually edge yourself. You wondered if you could fully set ethical standards aside and go through it.

You set that same leg between your breasts and strategically slid from up his thigh before stopping just below the waist to keep his rather endowed member confined.

“You know, it’s a shame the reputation that nuru massages have,” you started, pushing your boobs together with your hands. You felt his cock jolt at the contact, “the first thing that comes to people’s minds in terms of nuru is fucking porn, but nuru has its benefits.”  

“Like what?” Bucky asks breathily as you started practically titty fucking him. Is she serious? Are we in a porno? He thought seeing as there’s no way he was going to not cum any second.

“Yeah. Believe it or not, it’s proven to help couples spice up their love lives and even repair them.”

“H-how?” He tried to keep up with conversation, but it was so hard, he was so hard, as he watched his cock disappear and reappear from between the depths of your breasts. He hoped you hadn’t noticed that his pre-cum had been aiding in the slickness as it mixed in with the nuru gel. You were warm and soft and slick…and he wasn’t even buried deep in your pussy.

“I think you can guess one of the factors, but it’s more than just a physical connection, really,” you explain and release him. You move back up, body once more parallel to his, your hands smearing more of the gel around his chest, “it allows for one to feel more comfortable in their own skin and even create new sensations.”  

“Almost sounds like a spiritual journey,” he said with seriousness his eyes meeting yours.

“It can be,” you responded with. You were so close to his face again. Not sure how long you sat there staring at him, but as ironic as it was, the setting in a massage parlor, one with a purpose to help the other, you both seemed to create a new kind of tension. A tension that was almost too thick you feared it wasn’t something your hands could resolve.

You stared down at his enchanting features, soft, pink lips that were parted, cute nose, the half-lidded eyes but that still shone from the blue that managed to peek out. Your hands trailed up to touch his face. He was so tempting.

Fuck it. All caution thrown out the window, your lips crashed against his. It wasn’t bruising nor soft, but enough to cut the tension that had built up in the room. To your astonishment, he didn’t object to your advances and pressed his lips back to yours and opening up wider to let you slip your tongue in. He caught your tongue in his mouth with his lips and enclosed around the muscle, sucking on it, causing you to gasp and pull away breathlessly.

You push yourself up just enough to get a full look at him with your hands on his chest. A slight nod of his head was all you needed to dive back in. Your lips massaged against his as you both kissed with such fervor, your hands threading into the short locks of his hair slightly pulling at what you could grasp in your fingers. The echoes of his moans and the light tap of his cock that had twitched in response against your lower abdomen was a dead giveaway sign that he liked that.  

However, the continue rocking of your body against his, wasn’t going to help alleviate his raging hard on. It was pressed so hard in between you, it almost felt embedded into your skin. You slithered back down, leaving a trail of kisses from the column of his neck, chest – even managing to teeth at one of his nipples tauntingly – the line between his abs until you were met with the tip of his cock, which was unashamedly leaking.

You jeered around his head, placing lightweight kisses down the side of his cock, purposely avoiding the large vein on the underside, to his balls. Your eyes never leaving Bucky’s, who had his head propped under his flesh arm to watch you. Your hands still slick with the gel, you started to fondle him before taking them, one at a time, in your warm, wet mouth to gently suck on.

You weren’t sure who lost the staring contest this time between you two, but his head lulled back at the sensation and yours closed shut, full of him and savoring the taste of his skin. Pulling away with a pop, you wrapped a hand around his shaft to let his cock stand at full attention.

Bucky finally opened his eyes and picked his head back up to look at you just in time to watch you smear his pre-cum all over your lips and swallow him. You downed as much of his cock as you could before hollowing your cheeks and coming back up with your tongue dragging across the underside of him, bobbing up and down.

Without a warning, you pull away for a brief moment, a string of mixed fluids leave a web trail from him to you, “It’s okay to touch me, Bucky,” you say stroking his cock but also noticing his hands had been gripping onto the edge of the bed and hoping to encourage him to fully give in to his desires.

Bucky didn’t need to be told twice as his hands found purchase in your hair pushing you back down his cock. He let out a loud groan when he felt the tip of your nose bury in the soft hairs of his happy trail. You weren’t expecting that kind of aggression from him, it caused you to involuntarily gag around him. Your throat constricting around his cock only caused him more indisputable pleasure he jut his hips up, lodging himself even further.

When you pulled away again, this time with your own saliva and his cum dribbling down your chin, your eyes were slightly red and tearstained. Your ragged breathing, lips glistening and swollen, hair matted against your face. You looked so fucked, so raw.

He pulled you up to him once more, your legs instinctively setting on either side of him, your dripping cunt hovering just over his cock that lied resting on his stomach. He wiped at your chin before kissing you, his tongue darting all around the wet cavern of your mouth and tasting himself. Something about that was so filthy yet so erotic.

Your legs spread further apart, and you pressed yourself against his cock. The contact causing you both to draw out loud moans. You did your best to drag your sopping folds along his stiff member, but the bed had become so slippery, you were finding it hard to pull yourself back up on your knees. Bucky must’ve picked up on the small struggle as he grabbed handfuls of your ass to help aid you in sliding your pussy up and down his cock.

You could feel just how hard he was and the underside and ridges of the head of his cock scraping against your clit, pulled all sorts of tremors from your body. You were a whimpering mess, clinging onto Bucky’s body trying to find your footing, but your senses were on overdrive.

“I know, it’s your job to make me feel good,” he said continuing to rut up against you, “but go ahead…just let go.” Oh, how he would love to watch you unravel and you weren’t one to deny him. You wildly came undone, from the buildup of riding his thigh and now this, you gushed all over his cock.

Wrecked, you knew this was far from over. Once you reclaimed control of your senses, Bucky at your full attention, you snaked a hand between your bodies and lifted yourself up to position his eager cock at your entrance.

“Tell me, Bucky,” you said trying your best to dominate the situation and started teasing yourself, “…do you want a happy ending,” you asked seductively, licking his lips and your eyes never leaving his.

His heartbeat accelerated with each running pass of the tip of his cock made through your folds. If his ending was right here on this massage bed, he’d take it because you were a fucking tease. The string of curses that flowed out his mouth caused a smirk to form on your lips.

You felt his metal hand grab yours shoving it away, enough of your teasing, he repositioned himself at your hole, gripped your hips and slid right in you with ease. You internally applauded the designers of the building for making each room soundproof because let’s face it, no one wants to hear how good the person next door is feeling – especially not like this, not the sounds you and Bucky were producing.

Each slide up and down his thick length, Bucky found himself almost fully engulfed by your breasts again. He stopped you for a moment so he could finally get his mouth on them, but you weren’t about to catch a break. No. Bucky instead planted his feet on the bed and began thrusting up into you almost too vigorously, but you sucked it up. Letting him use you to work out his frustrations.

Then you sat up, hands sprawled on his chest and started grounding your hips. The way his cock swiveled with each rotation you made, had you reeling as the tip just barely kept hitting that spot.

Bucky straightened out his legs from behind you and managed to sit up, cradling the small of your back and gently laying you down.

“Slow down, baby,” he says trying to contain the relentlessness drive you had on fucking him by keeping your hips at bay, so he pulled out resulting in a displeased noise to come out of you.

He just needed to get into a new position, on his knees, your right leg hoisted up on his shoulder while he pushed down on the other to spread your legs further apart, just for him to easily plunge back into your wet heat and drawing out long and satisfied moans from you both.  

“Fuck, it feels so good. You’re so good, Bucky,” you whined.

“I’m supposed to be saying that to you,” he chuckled almost breathlessly, coming down and placing his lips on yours with a kiss that had your head swimming. He pulled back to take a look down, loving the sight of him snug inside your warm walls. With his flesh hand, he pressed his fingers onto your clit, rubbing harsh circles, you grabbed and clawed at his forearm at the immense pleasure, eyes widening because it was proving to be too much.

The twisting coil that was settling in you suddenly snapped. With a loud rough moan, you were uncontrollably quaking beneath him, you knew Bucky couldn’t be far away from you. His bruising grip on your thighs and the faltering thrusts of his hips from your walls squeezing at him repetitively, he finally let go, emptying himself until he was sure he was completely spent. Fuck, and you loved feeling his cum shoot deep in you.

Watching his abdominal muscles contract with every breath, he pulled out and tried to regain his breathing, but before he could collapse, he used his last remaining ounce of strength to pull you up and back down with him on the other end of the massage bed.  

“Are you okay?” Bucky asks you this time short of breath. You managed to let out a tiresome laugh and pathetically slapped his chest, but knew it was to no avail with what little energy you had left.  

Several moments later, you both had calmed down and were prolonging the inevitable end. Bucky watched as you absentmindedly traced the outline of his metal arm. He longed for someone that was raw in nature, confident and there you were – walking into his life by mistake. He wasn’t sure where you stood aside from a physical standpoint, but he strangely craved for more.

You managed to stand back up on your own feet and drag Bucky back into the shower to clean off. You helped each other wash off the gel and mixed juices, with a few kisses shared here and there riddled along with soft sweet praises.

After helping you wipe down the bed and tidy up the room, Bucky couldn’t help but realize he felt good. Gone was the grumpy man that came against his own will. He definitely felt refreshed and his body felt great. This place really was all that it cracked up to be and he was just lucky enough to be assigned to you.  

“What?” You asked catching him starting just as you slipped your robe back on.  

“I want to see you again,” he says getting up from the bed.

You smiled at that. No one has ever made you feel that good. Your bodies seemed to be in sync with one another. Plus, during that last shower, you deduced that he could be a big softie when he wanted to be.

You wanted to see him again too and you would let him.

~

Once Bucky stepped back into the lobby, his peace of mind was shattered when he heard Sam yell. “Finally!” He watched as his friend threw the magazine he wasn’t really reading aside and stand up with a loose smile on his face. “How do you feel, man?”

“Amazing.” Bucky’s tone was audibly smoother and calm as opposed to earlier.  

“Good! You were in there for a long time. I don’t know what massage you chose, but whatever they did on you...I’m glad it knocked out that attitude of yours,” he says as if he didn’t have one before his massage.  

“Whatever. You’re exaggerating.”

“I even left to get something to eat and you were still in there!”

Shit. Were you both really that long? Was that normal? To Bucky it didn’t seem so. In fact, he wanted more time with you.

They both approach the same receptionist from earlier, who now donned a subtle smug disposition seeing the change in complexion on Bucky.  

“Would you like to leave a tip?” She asked Bucky politely and just before he could say yes, he was interrupted.

“Oh, he’s good! He’s all taken care of,” you quickly interjected, popping out of nowhere and effectively grabbing Bucky’s attention one more time with a sweet smile. You wanted to be the last thing he saw when he walked out that door. Bucky didn’t even hear Sam ask how in the world he got you as his masseuse.

Your co-worker nodded understandingly before turning to Sam to ask if he’d like to book another visit.

“Yeah…when is she next available?” Sam asks the receptionist while looking at you. You hadn’t managed to only grab Bucky’s attention, but also his friend.

How Bucky hadn’t noticed it before everything was beyond him. You had a certain glow that was very alluring. He wondered if it was possible for anyone to look away from you or not smile in your presence.

Something Bucky failed to conceal was the rising discomfort he was feeling hearing the suggestive tone in Sam’s voice when speaking about you mixed with a small bubble of anxiety on if there was a possibility that he’d get to be alone in a room with you.  

Before Sam could get a definite answer, you looked to your co-worker at the front desk, grinned at each other and then back over at the two men.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m booked,” sending a wink towards Bucky and disappearing to the back.  

A/N: I work in digital marketing and what with all the searching I did I’m now paranoid that I’ll be targeted for a massage…even though I could use one. I did my best to proofread. Let me know if you liked it! 

#mrwinterr writes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfic #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan x y/n #marvel fic #marvel fanfic #slippery smooth

[simon-egg]

Benthan Week Day 1 - Hurt/ comfort

Title: Digging In

1873 words fic with art. TW for blood, torture and injury. Physical hurt followed by comfort with a happy ending. Benji is taken and physically tortured in an unusal way.

~○~

Benji lurched forward as something connected with his torso followed by another sudden movement which caused pain to shoot up his side. His eyes snapped open.

“Get up.” Spat a voice from above.

The agent realised he was on a cold, hard floor in a dimly lit space. His chest was bare and he shivered with short gasps. With no recollection of how he got there and a dizzying feeling, he realised he had been drugged. The last thing he remembered was driving home after a long day writing up mission reports which could have been minutes or hours ago. Before his mind was clear enough to fully assess the situation he was in, he was roughly dragged to his feet. Whatever drug they had given Benji had sapped his energy and he sagged, unable to control or defend himself. Benji registered one person holding him firmly upright while another, a man with thick clothes and gloves, began to unwind a roll of barbed wire. Without hesitation, one of Benji's arms was pulled forward and the wire was pulled over his palm and roughly bent around his wrist. The barbs began slicing into his skin and Benji let out a shout of agony to which seemed to spur his captors on. Over and over again, the wire was roughly twisted around his arm at various angles, each coil bringing more barbs puncturing his skin. Grimly, Benji noted that the drug which kept him from fighting back did nothing to stop the pain. As soon as Benji thought the pain was growing too much to bear, the wire was looped through a ring bolted to the ceiling and his other arm was subjected to the same torture. This left him standing upright with his arms trapped above his head. By now whatever drug he was given had worn off enough that he could hold himself up straight. The two men stepped back and in front of Benji, seeming to gleefully eye up the state that they'd put him in.

Benji recognised the men as members of the Apostles who had not yet been tracked down. The one who had used the wire began to speak.

“You're going to die here.” He stated matter-of-factly. “Whether it takes hours or days, it doesn't matter. Just know that all you'll know until you die is pain-“

Benji tried to kick at the men which only caused himself more pain. “Why would you do this?” he choked out.

“You and your friend, Ethan, shouldn’t have tried to stop us. We may not have been able to cause mass suffering but If Ethan finds you strung up here, dead, knowing there will have been nothing he could have done to save his precious friend. That. That is enough for us now.”

Before Benji could think of a reply, the men turned and left.

He could smell his own blood which coated his arms and dripped down past his elbows, some splashed onto his chest and further to the floor with a barely audible wet sound. As time passed, his vision adjusted and he understood from the corrugated iron walls that he was in an old, rusting shipping container but with little light and no windows, he had no idea where he was or how long he had been there. All the while, the barbs caused searing pain and his muscles began to ache as he was forced to hold himself in position.

Light coming through cracks in the door and walls had brightened gradually, indicating to Benji that the sun was rising outside of the box. Some of his blood had dried to a brownish crust while fresh blood occasionally oozed. Hours continued to pass and the only thing keeping Benji from giving up completely was the hope that Ethan might find him. He had to try and stay alive because his captors were right; the thought of Ethan finding him strung up and dead was almost worse than the physical pain he was in. It was peculiar to Benji how those around him, even those he fought against seemed to immediately pick up on the bond between him and Ethan but then again, maybe it wasn’t so odd after all. They had so much faith in one another, kindness, loyalty and shared experiences that Benji found himself growing ever closer to the other agent. In fact, the feelings he had for Ethan had begun to develop past friendship after Kashmir and into something else. Benji made a promise to himself that if by some impossible miracle he was to get out alive, he would tell Ethan how he felt. With his eyes screwed shut against the pain, Benji found comfort in picturing Ethan talking to him, reassuring him, laughing at his jokes and smiling with that kind old smile that he might never see again.

The cruellest part of this torture, Benji came to realise was that despite the exhaustion, blood loss and agony which coaxed him to pass out, he simply could not allow himself to move or relax. He knew that doing so would make the barbs to twist deeper into his flesh. For now, he noted that no barbs were deep enough to hit any major blood vessels or the blood loss would have killed him by now. Despite this, he was still loosing blood and Benji began doubting that he could stay awake and tears began to sting, threatening to spill. Maybe he should give in, even if he died there, at least the dead don’t feel pain.

Benji was jerked from his thoughts by the sound of metal scraping against metal as the door was forced open and light flooded into the container.

“Benji…” Ethan’s voice echoed.

Ethan rushed closer but Benji didn't move, too physically and mentally drained to respond. He simply stared down with dull and unfocused eyes. Ethan’s gaze flicked over Benji's form, horrified at the situation Benji was in. A gentle hand was on Benji's face, and Ethan's thumb caressed his cheek.

Softly, Ethan whispered "Look at me" and after a few seconds, Benji's eyes flicked up to meet Ethan's.

“i'm so, so sorry Benji...” Ethan felt a rush of anger. He wanted to cry but he had to hold himself together for Benji. He was lucky to have found Benji alive. The two Apostles who took Benji did not anticipate just how determined and fast Ethan would be with the help of Luther who had tracked Benji's location by hacking security cameras. Luther was waiting nearby in a van.

"I can't remove the wire from your arms, it could cause more damage but I promise you, this will be over soon. I'm taking you home"

Benji was too weak to hold himself up and Ethan knew that if he simply cut Benji free, he could collapse and cause more injury. Ethan also understood that removing the barbs there and then would only cause more pain and bleeding too.

He used his left hand to steady one of Benji's arms in place above his head, careful to avoid pressure on the wire, then used a pair of cutters with his right to cut through the wire that held Benji's arm up. Ethan then slowly lowered that arm to Benji's side. He did the same to the other arm then awkwardly shuffled closer to Benji's side and manoeuvred an upper arm to rest across his neck, attempting to steady him. After failing to shuffle forwards holding Benji up like this, it became evident that Benji did not possess the strength to walk at all and Ethan didn’t want to put any pressure on his arms.

“I- I can’t, Ethan, I just-“ Benji coughed out.

“It’s okay, I’ll carry you” and Ethan resorted to gathering Benji up and carrying him out. Benji noticed the bodies of the two apostles outside and the last coherent thought he had before he passed out was thinking of how warm Ethan's arms were.

~

Benji woke up again to find himself in the back of a van. Pain continued to flare up his arms and he groaned, his chest throbbed and his head pounded. A reassuring hand stroked through his hair and realised his head was in Ethan’s lap.

“i've got you, you're going to be okay" murmured his friend. One of Ethan’s jackets had been draped over Benji's upper body to try and keep him warm for the journey and a quick glance up he could tell Luther was driving. “We’re not far from a hospital now, you’re going to be just fine.”

Luther had called ahead to notify the hospital and upon arrival they were met by a team of paramedics. Benji was taken inside and immediately given some strong pain killers along with fluids. The rest of the day passed in a haze, scans were taken of the tech’s arms to determine how close any barbs were to blood vessels, tendons and nerves. Then, Benji was sedated and the painstaking process of removing the wire began.

~

The next time Benji awoke he was relived to find that the wire had been removed from his arms and hands which were mostly covered in bandages. The painkillers had worked their magic and he mostly just felt subdued and so, so exhausted.

“I’d hold your hand if I could” Ethan murmured, catching Benji’s attention. The older agent sat in a chair next to the bed and Benji could have sworn he looked like he had been crying. The comment and Ethan’s expression caught Benji off guard and he briefly wondered if he had imagined it.

“I’m sorry.” Ethan paused, contemplating what to say. “I’ve just… come to realise how much you mean to me, I care about you so much, more than you know and it shouldn’t have taken me so long to realise and tell you that. I understand if you don’t feel the same-“

Before Ethan could continue, Benji quietly interjected “Thinking of you while I was in that place kept me going, kept me from giving up, so yes, yes I feel the same.”

“Are you sure?”

Benji perked up slightly “of course, I’m bloody sure!" He chuckled "I love you Ethan Hunt and can not be more relived that you feel the same!”

Ethan beamed and moved closer to the bed, then pressed his lips to Benji’s gently, a sweet kiss that Benji smiled into and a promise of many more in their future.

When Ethan pulled back he spoke again, “I was thinking, if you’d let me, once you are discharged from here, can I come back with you? To your place? You won’t be able to do much without full use of both arms for a while and I want to help you. I want to be there for you and if I’m with you I’ll be able to make sure you’re safe. Not that you’re not capable of looking after yourself I just-, while you recover which I know will take some time, both physically and mentally”

Benji grinned, feeling a wave of affection for Ethan “of course, I’d love to have your company… and maybe you could stick around with me after I’m mostly healed?”

“That sounds like a plan.”

#benthan #benji dunn #ethan hunt #my fic #my art #I will post this to AO3 later but I am at work right now so can't. i'm not finishing until past 10 pm and want this posted today. #I know it's far from perfect. i've published one other fic in my life and know i'm not a great writer it's okay to not like it I understand #and I don't plan on being a writer or anything #but I did put effort into this and hope people enjoy it!! I just lack writing experiance y'know. #benthanweek2021

[s8ncake]

Originally I wasn’t planning on posting this here, but a friend of mine convinced me. You can also check it out on ao3!

🔞The following fic is nsfw. Minors dni.🔞

Sacrilege

Summary: Simeon has fallen, but he doesn’t view himself as such. No, given the feelings he has towards you, this could only be an ascension; one beyond anything he had in the Celestial Realm, and anything the Devildom could offer. Now he serves no one, only you. His one and only god.

word count: ~5700

⚠️c/w: gore and blood (but Simeon and the reader are fine), yandere!Simeon, sacrilegious themes, blasphemy

Additional note: the reader is gender neutral, and the reader’s genitalia isn’t specified

In ao3, I tagged this with Dead Dove: Do not eat. That still applies here. Make sure you’ve read over the content warnings before proceeding / interacting.

🔞And once again, minors dni.🔞

Falling’s a strange thing, a concept that Simeon never quite understood. It happened to angels who were wicked, those who sought to undo his father’s plan. So they were cut off. From the heavenly host. From their powers. Their wings turned black, and their light faded. Until the only thing left was a darkness, one that sought to consume everything that they once were. They either died or transformed, becoming monsters. Beasts. Demons.

Simeon is none of those things. He didn’t fall to oppose his father, nor did he seek to undo any sort of plan. He’s an author after all, and authors create.

And what could his muse be, other than you?

Your soul is brilliant, a beacon of light amongst everything else in this miserable realm. It took him far too long to see that. But thankfully, his eyes have been opened. And never again shall they shut. In the long span of his existence, he’s seen everything that the universe could offer. Stars. Galaxies. The rise and fall of human civilization itself. Existence itself is always in a state of flux, constantly shifting and warping as things are created and then destroyed.

But you… You exist beyond that.

Your soul never tarnishes, nor does it fade when things get rough. Instead, it fights. Nails. Fists. Some would say that it’s barbaric, but Simeon had always found it to be beautiful. It’s a philosophy that he’s tried to emulate. Words are meaningless, unless they are used to praise you. So now he resorts to action. And well, the saying is true. So perhaps it’s only natural that he uses it to replace his books, that the tales he creates are no longer works of fiction. No, fantasy has lost all meaning now.

There’s only you.

You have always inspired him. Even now, Simeon can’t help but write poetry about you as he moves. The world that he’s in is dark. Depressing. Very little of it is worthy of being compared to someone as brilliant as you. But that doesn’t prevent him from trying.

Today, he starts with a crumbling city. It’s silence echoes throughout the land, and you are the slight breeze that rushes past his ear. The moon, although unlike its cratered surface, you have no imperfections. No, the dips and grooves along your skin are beautiful. Like the glinting of a knife, the way the metal slices through the air. You have pierced his heart just as easily. But that’s okay, it’s yours after all.

It’s a shame that he can’t carve out his own and give it to you. That despite everything, he is still limited by this corporeal form. But if he were to be anything else, then you wouldn’t be able to look at him. And that would get in the way of his worship. A god must be able to view their subjects after all.

Besides, this new form is perfect for him. It’s yet another form of his art, a piece that was made specifically for you. His horns. His tail. His cock… He considered it all. Like a good follower should.

No one else would be able to do that. They are limited by their pathetic mortal frame. Rats. Parasites. They’re unfit to even look upon you. But with another flicker of his knife, they are handled. And he will morph them until something better. Something more suited for you.

The process of creation is a never ending one, especially given the thousands of pieces that he’s working on. Some of them are grand, and others are small. But all of them are for you. How else would he pay tribute?

There’s a gust of wind. Your arrival is soon. He can sense it. It comes with everything that is right. The sun peaking over the clouds. Starlight reflecting off of a lake. The rippling of water as it reveals the creatures that lurk within its depths. The sound of laughter, followed by the blessed silence that he’s come to adore. That is who you are. An omen of things to come. The others say you are bad, but Simeon knows better. It is impossible for you to be anything other than good.

For you are greater than the heavens, and the earth itself. His father was nothing, but you—

There’s a scream as Simeon feels blunt nails dig into his arm. It’s followed by a shove, and footsteps frantically scrambling away from him. ...How annoying.

His latest sacrifice had just ruined his internal monologue. And it was going to be such a good one too. What a shame. If only he had a pen and paper nearby…

They don’t travel far. There’s another sound, although this one is a plea. Simeon silences it with a crunch, and tsks when he looks at his hands. That was messier than he had intended, but it looks like no longer needs any ink. An amused chuckle falls from his lips. Would you like that? Poetry written in the blood of your enemies, the very nonbelievers who seek to destroy the world that the two of you are trying to create?

...Perhaps that’s something to try next time. Right now, he has something more important to focus on. He’s still in the process of creation after all, and he’s not finished decorating. Thankfully this… creature (it can’t be a human, for nothing could compare to you) should provide him with the rest of the materials that he needs. So Simeon gets to work.

This too is a form of art, and one he would never have considered before. But he has expanded beyond quills and parchment. Now he builds sculptures out of the very people who would defy you. Those who are unworthy of being graced with your presence. They are broken down, and fashioned into a suitable idol.

Another splash of crimson. The breaking of bones. Wire. Nails. And then it’s done. Your new altar is complete. Simeon takes a step back, appraises his work, and grins. It’s perfect.

Fresh blood drips off of it, reminding him of rain, the way it softly drizzles and brings life to those around it. This is a form of life as well, one that does nothing but speak of your greatness. The various limbs that have been tacked and strung above it make a rainbow, an icon of the color you have given this dull and drab world. Maybe one day you’ll be able to color it all. But the best part about it is when you stand away, when you view his masterpiece from a distance. It takes the shape of a heart, one that resembles his own. And it exists entirely for you.

The wind picks up, howling in his ears, and he knows that you are here. Once you enter the room, Simeon falls to his knees. He doesn’t have to stay there for long; it’s simply a gesture of formality, one that reminds you of how important you truly are.

“You may rise.”

He follows the command without hesitation. Your voice is a melody. A soothing tone that seeps into his bones and leaves him feeling lighter. It truly is an act of kindness that you’ve allowed him to stand as your equal, if only for a brief moment. But he will be on his knees again soon enough.

He can’t wait.

A sigh falls from your lips once you notice the various remains that litter the floor. “Those were supposed to be the new recruits. I guess none of them were willing?”

Simeon nods. “They were all unworthy of you.”

“A shame.” Your eyes then roam over his altar. He awaits your response with trepidation. ...Do you like it?

But as always, there’s no need for him to voice his question. Like the god you are, you already answer it with a grin. Your power, your majesty, truly knows no bounds. “You’ve found a better use for them though. I’m pleased.”

A shiver runs down Simeon’s spine. Your approval means everything. It is the air that fills up his lungs and allows him to breath. He feels incredibly lucky, to be blessed with such a thing.

It only inspires him to work even harder for what comes next. There is no church here, nor is there a temple. But those measly little things are unneeded. Your body outshines it all. And that is what he shall worship.

A strike of a bell, and then Simeon kneels before you once as you sit upon your handmade throne. It begins now. Sacrament. He licks his lips in anticipation.

You are an image, perched atop yet another one of his creations. Although this one is his favorite. There’s no flesh or bone, only gold. Treasure that he had stolen from the Celestial Realm and the Devildom alike. Melting it was difficult, but the result was definitely worth it. For now you have a throne, one that suits your majesty.

It makes him feel small, as it should. Your presence is grand, a shining iridescent star amongst the blank canvas that he’s created. And it’s reflected in his eyes once you beckon him forward.

He delicately peels each and every garment off of you, savoring the sight of your body as it’s slowly revealed to him. He’s seen it before, yet you never fail to take his breath away. Every hair, every scar, all of the dips and grooves that make up who you are; Simeon loves it all. How could he not?

Beauty takes the form of your legs, the way they spread open before him. Magnificent is the sight that greets him, your most intimate parts bare now before his gaze. Adoration is what he feels when you whisper his name and guide his head forward. And divinity, well... that is what you taste like.

He dives in with enthusiasm. You immediately grab onto his horns, and pull him in closer. Simeon groans. They’re handles after all, ones that he made specifically for you. To tug. To control. He is but a follower, and you are a god. One that will never fail to help him find the right path.

And everything about this, the taste of your essence on his tongue, is right.

Every noise that you make spurs him on. This is what you deserve. The pleasure that courses through your veins. The moans that fall from your lips. It’s a shame that he can’t give you more, not yet at least. One day the world will be yours, but until then… an orgasm will have to do.

You cum with a cry, one that could shake the very heavens itself. A part of him hopes that they've heard you, but the other knows that they are unworthy of such a thing. He laps up each and every drop. It would be a sin to allow any of it to spill. Nothing you create should ever go to waste. Especially when it’s this good.

Once your orgasm ends, he pulls away, giving you a moment to collect yourself. It’s a shame that he cannot taste you forever; that like all good things, it must come to an end. But his worship of you is far from over. No, the two of you have only just begun.

Your eyes meet, and Simeon’s tongue lolls out, wiping away the spare traces of your cum. A chuckle, then you gently pat his head. “Such a good boy Simeon. You’ve improved.”

Pleasure shoots down his spine the moment you praise him. This is what he’s after. This is the reason he exists. To serve you. To please you. Your fingers begin to run through his hair, and a moan falls from his lips as he leans into your touch.

“You remember what comes next, don’t you?”

Of course. His worship of you is a form of art, one that he has practiced over and over again. Simeon nods, and then finally removes the last of his clothing.

His cock springs free. It’s hard. Leaking. He wants you, as always. But how could he not? Your visage is the most beautiful thing that he’s ever seen. Your voice rolls through his mind like honey. He loves you.

It’s normal of course, for a follower to love their god. Yet even the word itself feels unsatisfactory. One day he’ll have to create a new one. But until then, love will have to suffice. Besides, he has better ways to show his devotion. Actions speak louder than words after all. So despite the desire that courses through him, he doesn’t even make an attempt to touch himself. His own pleasure is unimportant. The only thing that matters is you.

So instead he stays on his knees. Where he belongs. He starts with your ankle, placing feather light kisses along each one as his mouth slowly works his way up to your calf. You gasp once he reaches your thighs, and then the next part of sacrament begins: creation.

In the past he created galaxies. Stars. Nebulas. Simeon had the luxury of forming several of them before that task was given to someone else. But thanks to you, he can perform it once more. Only this time the materials are different. Instead of creating constellations in the sky, he makes them on your body.

Today he starts with the Big Dipper. He lightly suckles on your thighs, mapping out each and every star, and once that constellation is done, he moves onto another. Caenis Major. Orion. Cygnus. Your body looks even more breathtaking like this, so he adds a few more. These ones are new, ones that he just made up. They have yet to have a name, but for now… Consecratio will have to do. Perhaps he’ll be able to come up with a more official title for them later.

Your name falls from his lips, along with a moan, and something inside of him slips. He falls even further into your depths. Beautiful. You’re so beautiful. His name never sounded so pretty; but everytime you say it, he can feel his cock begin to swell. He is the one you want. The only being that makes you feel like this, and the only one that ever will.

You are his god.

Blood rushes through him, staining his cheeks, hardening his cock even further. In the haze of his own mind, his mouth parts from your skin, and his fingers enter you instead.

You mewl at the intrusion. This isn’t how things are supposed to go. This step comes later on, yet Simeon can’t wait. He wants to see you cum once more. To hear your praise as he pleasures you beyond your own comprehension.

Perfect. Stunning. Simeon adds another finger, his gaze fixed on your expression and nothing else. Finding that spot within you is easy. He had memorized its location long ago as proof of his devotion. Each and every part of your body has been mapped out, a never ending piece of parchment that he keeps in his head. In truth, Simeon has never been much of a navigator. But your body is the only thing that he needs to know.

You moan once again. You’re close, Simeon can feel it. Although he’s neglected to take his own pleasure into account. He’s close as well.

Simeon hasn’t even laid a hand on himself, yet his own noises grow louder. Every gasp. Every groan. Knowing that he’s able to do this to you spurs him on, his cock aching from how much it desires you. Yet your image drowns all of that out.

His peak arrives, but he never gets to fully reach it. Instead, your hand clenches around the base of his cock, preventing him from cumming.

“You’re getting ahead of yourself. Recite your scripture as punishment.”

His labored breathing echoes across the room, and Simeon’s eyes widen once he realizes his mistake. He was being selfish, allowing his own pleasure to get in the way of yours. Lust is a vise that he should have had better control of. He was a fool to let it get in the way of his love, so he accepts your punishment with grace.

Magic soon replaces your hand, creating a cockring that now leaves your fingers free to move up and down along his shaft. His breathing stutters, but he’s thankful for the intervention. More of your magic curls around his body, brushing up against his skin. It’s a sign of what’s to come, yet he shoves that excitement aside, or tries to at least.

Simeon frowns. The cockring was sorely needed. It makes sure that he doesn’t forget about what’s truly important. No matter what, he isn’t allowed to cum before you. The only sin that exists is putting his pleasure before your own.  Yes, he deserves to be punished for this. His devotion towards you never should have wavered.

So he opens his mouth, and speaks; his voice not faltering despite the way your hand moves across his shaft. “The steadfast love of you, my god, never ceases. Your mercies never come to an end. They are new every morning.”

You press one of your fingers against his slit, smearing some of his precum along the head of his cock. A shudder runs down Simeon’s spine. Your touch is a blessing, one that he can never get enough of. But he cannot focus on it. No. The pleasure is unimportant. You must be worshipped.

“There’s no greater love other than this: to lay down my life for you.”

He focuses on the words instead, and on everything that they entail. He would gladly die for you. In both this timeline, and any of the other ones that follow. The universe is full of constants: gravity, matter, humanity itself, and the devotion that he feels towards you. Those are all things that shall exist in every universe.

No matter what, Simeon loves you. And he will die and fall as many times as he needs in order to prove it. Although he’s never met any of his alternate selves, he already knows that it’s true. His love cannot be contained in any vessel. It flows throughout time and space, and every spec of it is dedicated towards you and you alone.

Your hand leaves his cock. Simeon feels it twitch under the absence of your touch. A part of him wants to whine, but he holds that in. He refuses to sin once more, to tarnish his reputation as your most devout follower. So he simply continues reciting the words that he’s come to know by heart.

Indeed, you’re no longer stroking him. But that’s only because your hands have wondered elsewhere. A finger traces the rim of his ass, and it doesn’t take Simeon long to put two and two together. Ah. He had never—

You enter him. Slowly but surely, although there’s no resistance. Another one quickly joins it. Your fingers are slick from his precum and some of your own spit, not to mention your magic… It widens him, making lube unnecessary. Not that he would ask for any. No, he’s being punished right now. This is simply another example of your benevolence.

The feeling is strange, but he continues. “I give thanks to you, for everything about you is good. Our love endures forever.”

Your fingers haven’t stopped moving. They’re searching around for something, although Simeon doesn’t know what you're looking for. There’s nothing left of him to find. You have seen it all.

“And I know that in all things, you do good for those who love you, who have been called according to your purpose.”

And then you brush up against a spot inside of him, one that has him seeing stars. He’s unable to stop the surprised “Oh!” that falls from his mouth, or the way he tries to fuck himself on your hand. Thankfully that was the last verse, so there’s no harm in letting another mewl spill from his throat.

You laugh. It’s a beautiful sound, one that Simeon is blessed to hear. “What a good little follower. If you beg for me, I’ll let you cum.”

He wants to. To immediately get on his knees and beg for you to fuck him, as you take away the last shred of innocence that he has. Ah, but take isn’t the right word. Give. He would give it all to you. That purity is nothing more than a cocoon, one he’s been working on shedding himself of. It only gets in the way of loving you. Besides, how could he perform his tasks if he was worried about heaven’s definition of sin? No, there’s too much work to be done. And what he’s doing is okay. You’ve told him so.

Submitting to the desire that's coursing through him would be easy, but this is a test. One that he refuses to fail. Worshiping you takes precedence. It always does. “No. I wish to pick up where we left off. My only desire is to pleasure you.”

You flash him a smile, one more brilliant than the sun. “Your devotion truly is admirable. We’ll begin our worship again shortly. But first, I’m going to fuck you like this, okay? Remember the feeling of my fingers Simeon. Because next time, you’re going to cum around them and nothing else. Do you understand?”

Next time. He’ll be ready then. And you will finally own all of him. He can’t wait. “Yes, my beloved. I’ll do as you ask.”

You hum in approval, and then your fingers start moving once more. Pleasure courses through him, and he bites his lip as he smothers his gasp. You are everything. This is everything.

“I don’t want you to hold back Simeon. Let me hear you.”

Of course. This is a form of devotion too. How could he have forgotten that? A high pitched moan immediately falls from his lips. Words are hard, but Simeon still manages to speak. You wanted to hear his voice after all.

“G—Good. So good.”

Another finger gets added. Somehow the pleasure increases. His cock aches. It’s hard and weeping, yet he doesn’t care. The pleasure that you have shown him outshines it all. And he never wants this moment to end.

His mind is slowly becoming blank, the fog of lust threatening to consume his every thought. But Simeon shoves it all aside. Vocal. He has to focus on being vocal.

You briefly pull out. A fourth finger teases at his entrance, and your voice coos into his ear, “Can you handle more?”

More. The possibility excites him. He had no idea that it was an option. But he will do it. Of course he will. As your follower, it’s his duty to handle every inch of you. That’s why he created this vessel in the first place. And Simeon leaps at each and every opportunity to put it to the test.

He has to think, to piece the fragile bits of his mind together in order to form a response. But as soon as he comes close to making one, the magical ring around his cock vibrates. It’s slow, a low thrum that’s incredibly unsatisfying, yet it leaves him shivering all the same.

It’s a warning. He still can’t cum after all, and unless he performs well… he may never be able to. A response. You need one now. “Fuck. Y-Yes I can handle more.”

And like the benevolent god you are, you give him exactly that. Yes, you’re so wide inside of him. He didn’t even know that it was possible to feel this full. That his body could accommodate this much. And the fact that one of your limbs is inside of him... Simeon keens.

Truly, he’s unworthy of such a thing. Your fingers, your hand, should be elsewhere. That you would even consider touching him there is already enough to make him cum. Thankfully the cockring is still in place, so the pleasure never has to end.

He focuses on the shape of your hand, the dip and groove of each finger; the way it scrapes against his walls as you slam into him. Your pace is rough. Brutal. Heavenly. His mind goes hazy underneath it all. No. He can’t let this consume him. This is only a preview of what’s to come, and you are gracious enough to give it to him.

It’s another test. But this one… Oh, this one is his favorite.

Another wave of pleasure. He’s a shivering mess, one that can do nothing more than scream for you. Time itself has no meaning. There’s only this; the fullness that you provide, and the love behind each and every gesture that you make. He mewls out your name once more, and then it’s over.

He’s repented for his mistakes.

Your fingers… no it was your fist, pulls out of him. Simeon briefly whines at the loss. He falls to the floor, and then you place that very same hand in front of his lips. He lavishes it with kisses, and groans. More. He needs more.

And he knows that there will be more to come. It’s all a part of his worship after all. The taste of your inevitable union will be even stronger, richer. This is but a treat, a kind dessert that you have gifted him. The real meal comes later on. But Simeon is willing to wait. Once he’s finished lapping at your hands, he moves to your altar and lays himself upon it.

This is his final offering. His body is yours to use as you see fit.

You get up. Although Simeon cannot see it, he hears your bare feet walking across the abandoned chapel’s floor. There is no choir, but the ex-angel wants to sing when you impale yourself upon him.

A purr leaves your throat. “You feel perfect.”

He’s glad. Like his horns, his cock is made for you. Every ridge, every bump, was created to maximize your pleasure. No toy will ever compare. Simeon made sure of that.

You begin to move. He allows you to set the pace as his nails dig into your thigh. Perfect. You fit perfectly around him. He feels an incredible amount of pride as you gasp and moan with the rise and fall of your hips. Out of all of the offerings that he’s made, his mortal form is definitely the best. The flush of your cheeks proves it.

The magic around his cock finally loosens, and you clench around him. Simeon’s climax quickly follows your own. The tangling of tongues. The squirting of cum. He finished inside of you, but you don’t remain on his softening cock for long. No, you pull yourself off of him, and Simeon watches as his cum flows out of you.

He licks his lips. This is it. The moment that he’s been waiting for. His favorite part of worship.

Your voice is a command, one that never fails to send a shiver down his spine. “Clean up.”

He immediately begins lapping at your dripping hole. The taste of your cum has melded into his own. Your union has created this, the most delicious thing that Simeon has ever consumed. The essence of a god flows into his mouth, along with the proof that he was the one who had pleasured you. And now it is inside of him. A bond that cannot be broken. He hungers for more.

Simeon lewdly moans as his tongue reaches deeper and deeper into you, searching for every bit of his cum that he can find. Noises fall from your mouth, but like always, he drowns them out with his own. This is a feast, one that the Celestial Realm could never recreate. Their food pales in comparison. Simeon doesn’t understand how he was able to stomach it before.

Another orgasm ripples through you, and he keens as he consumes each and every drop. Were he in a more poetic mood, he would compare it to ambrosia, but he can write verses about you another time. Instead, he focuses on completing this final act. It doesn’t take long. Once he’s thoroughly licked every trace of cum off your body, he pulls away with a grin. You pat his head, and Simeon hums as he leans into your touch.

“I love you.”

The words sound beautiful coming from your mouth. It’s something that you’ve said before. A sentence that led to this exact moment, and many others like it. Yet he’ll never tire of hearing it, of knowing that he has earned those very words time and time again.

“I love you as well. My god. My beloved. And one day, the world will love you too.”

The two of you embrace. And in your arms, Simeon comes up with ideas for his next altar. It’s sure to take everyone’s breath away. It’ll be bigger than the last one. More limbs. More blood. Wires. Nails— Ah, he’s already getting excited.

It’s amazing; how quickly you inspire him, and all it takes is a hug. You truly are an excellent muse, one that he hopes to be completely worthy of someday. But until then, he is simply an author. An artist. One that exists to worship you.

Eventually you take your leave. There’s work to be done after all, especially for a god such as yourself. And although Simeon longs for your embrace… that just makes it more precious when it actually occurs. Besides, he wants his creations to be a surprise, and it’s impossible for that to happen if you’re looking over his shoulder. So the two of you part. And like the quiet whisper of the wind, you’re gone.

The silence doesn’t last long. It’s interrupted by the ringing of his phone. A number shows up on his screen, one that he hadn’t seen in an incredibly long time. He had tried to block it ages ago, but eventually gave up. Technology still confuses him. ...Some things never quite change.

He accepts the call, and Lucifer’s voice greets him. “Simeon.”

He hadn’t heard it in awhile. The man’s tone sounds deeper than he remembered, and it’s entirely different from your own. The contrast throws him for a loop, if only briefly. Simeon clears his throat. For some reason he doesn’t hang up.

“Yes?”

“This has to stop. The two of you are upsetting the balance. If this continues, then Lord Diavolo will intervene.”

A threat. Of course that would be why he called. But Simeon doesn’t care. No one can stop either of you, including the most powerful demons in the Devildom. Your love transcends beyond that. ...It’s a shame that Lucifer still is unable to comprehend what the two of you are trying to achieve.

A part of Simeon can’t help but feel disappointed at the reminder. “Perhaps he’ll join us. You’re welcome to as well, of course.”

“No. What your doing is wrong. You know that, don’t you?”

“I’m simply serving my god.”

“They are just a human, Simeon. And can easily be replaced. There are billions—“

Anger rushes through him; the intensity of it causing him to crack his phone’s screen. His grip loosens, but the rage still festers within him. How dare he.

“Watch your tongue, lest I rip it out of you next time we meet.”

A pause. The silence seems awkward, sad almost. Lucifer eventually breaks it. “...I see I am too late. The others are right. You have fallen. And unlike me, you’ve had no family to help put you back together again.”

“I don’t need one. I have my god, and they have been by my side through thick and thin. What have you done for me, Lucifer?”

Silence. No other answer is needed.

After a minute or two Lucifer sighs. “I must report my failure to Lord Diavolo. You have exactly 48 hours before he arrives. Use them wisely.”

There’s a click, and then the number vanishes from his screen. Lucifer must have hung up. Yet his words echo around in Simeon’s head.

You have fallen. It makes him want to laugh. There is nothing wrong about this. The love that he feels towards you cannot be tainted, nor will it ever waver. For you have given him something that he’s never had before: Freedom. From the Celestial Realm, from his boring day to day life. Simeon had not truly lived until he abandoned it all in favor of following you. No, this was an ascension. One that everyone is too foolish to understand. And Diavolo seeks to destroy everything that you’ve built. But that’s okay, Simeon has a plan.

A few magic circles… some stolen holy relics… and even the future Demon King can be captured. So when he comes, Simeon will be ready, and the foolish prince will walk right into a trap.

A manic giggle bursts from his mouth. This is perfect.

Diavolo will be made to see, like so many others before him. It’s impossible not to after all, given how grand you are. Ah, but Simeon will deny him the privilege of serving you. No matter what, you will only ever have one follower. Diavolo can beg and plead as much as he likes, but he will never get to feel your touch. He hasn’t earned the right, and he never will. Once he has served his purpose, he will be disposed of, just like the rest.

Simeon grins. In truth, The world doesn’t even need to have people in it. A god does not require subjects in order to be considered such. So why bother expanding your little cult, when no one else will ever be able to serve you like him?

You are his. His human. His god. His everything. And no one is going to get in the way of that. This realm will be made into something that is worthy of you, even if he has empty it himself. But once every single creature is gone, and he is the only being left... Then the world truly will love you, won’t it?

#obey me #omnsfw #minors dni #obey me simeon #fallen!Simeon #simeon x mc #simeon x reader #the reader is gender neutral #my writing! #sacrilege

[kusagrasskusa]

Yandere Simulator Delinquents.

They're basically copy and paste. Sooo here's my version of them for future reference! I got too excited writing the last one lol- It's been a while since I've been to inspired to write. This is a nice feeling uvu

Umeji Kizuguchi - Yellow guy

He has blonde, previously pink, hair and golden eyes. He wears a yellow shirt under unbuttoned blazer and carries a baseball bat around. He has a scar over his right eye. Umeji is Oroso right hand man and takes over position while she's gone; these are the cannon versions of him and all that's said.

This is my fannon version of him: He was hurt the most during the bullying and therefore the most fearful of pain. He flinches when touched and gets pissed instantly. He's the most cold and aggressive out of the five and it helped him keep him as the most feared of the delinquents. He works out daily, therefore having a good build and likes bitter foods rather than sweets. He'a quite ignorant and refuses to share his likes out of fear of being judged. He still feels depression but now faces more anxiety than anything. He often cries about it late at night.

But despite his depression, he's so determined to stay as a threat to many. It's the kist alive he's ever felt. He's somewhat narcissistic and has both an inferiority and superiority complex, actually. Sensitive to touch and criticism but damn his ego is big. He uses his strength and speed as another threat to fellow students, to let them know that if they mess up then he'll catch and hurt them.

His home life isn't fun. Parents maybe fighting here and there or gone for work or something. It wasn't abusive in any way or anything; in fact, they get along well when they're together. It's just the parents weren't attentive. As Umeji puts it, "My mom, dad, bless their hearts, but they aren't great." They tend to brush things off quickly and spend too much time to themselves.

Dairoku Surikizu - Blue manz

He has blonde, previously blue, hair and blue eyes. He wears a blue shirt under an unbuttoned blazer and carries around a boten or some shit, idk I couldn't figure it out. He has a scar on his lip and from Mulberry's art, it looks like he's the tallest of the group.

Fannonly, he's the most anxious of the group. He never talks about it to anyone but Hokuto, who brushes it off. Dairoku got his scar a long time ago when his parents were agruing; he hid under his bed when he was nine and started to cry. To calm himself, he started to bite his lip and scratch himself on the forearms and face to calm himself down. He cut himself in the process badly and tried to hide it from his parents so he didn't get yelled at.

His home life wasn't too bad either; his dad left the family not long after that incident when he was nine so his mom has to take on the roles of two people. She never has time for him so the other delinquents make him feel so happy. He likes- no, loves to talk to them but tries to look sketchy in the process.

Hokuto Furukizu - Purple manz

He has blonde, previously golden, hair and purple eyes. From Mulberry's art, he seems to be the second tallest, but very close to Dairoku. He carried around a metal pipe and wears a purple shirt under his opened blazer. He has a scar on his cheek too btw.

Fannonly, he talks most to Dairoku. He usually brushed off what he says, but relates to him most. Of the 5, he desperately wants to be normal and free the most. He was well popular in middle school but his anger once got the best of him and a fight caused him to lose a lot of his reputation. It just got worse as time went on however; but he misses those days so much.

His scare on his cheek came from the fight and serves as a curse mark to him; "The day they ruined my life." He hates looking at it and gets pissed off when people even look at it. He's always been hot headed but his physical appearance is his number one insecurity. Hokuto's homelife is normal and he's goodboi at home. Cleans, cooks sometimes, has an equally good relationship with his mom as he does his dad.

He managed to convince them that his new appearance and signs of depression from last year was just influence from ex friends. Eventually they just took his word for it despite how terrible of a lie that is, so they stopped asking.

Gaku Hikitsuri - Red guyz

According to Mulberry's art, the blonde who once had light blue hair and red eyes is the second tallest. He has a scar on his forehead and carried around a crowbar. His shirt is red and under, you guessed it, an unbuttoned blazer.

He's a genuine tsundere; the angriest of the group. He easily crushes on people like a simp and gets nervous easily, so he acts all defensive and aggressive around them especially. Other than Umeji, he's the quickest to shove people around and assert his position. But for the most part, he intentionally shoves and shoulder checks people he finds attractive or who he thinks is superior than him, which is a lot of people.

He suffers from an inferiority complex that makes him think everyone judges him behind his back and talks about him especially. Therefore, he's the loudest and quickest to insults; he's also very self conscious. He's scared to make noise in class, talk, eat in front of people, and others because he's scared to be judged. Because as long as nothing is brought to the table, there's nothing to judge. His scar was actually from Kokoro, the bully who's just a sadist according to the character files from Yandev, who got pissed at him defending himself and hit him down with a ring. He got cut badly and almost passed out from the hit; but hey, it's not like he can do anything about since she's a girl, and he'd be expelled instantly. The bitch even resulted him with a broken arm at some point.

Home life isn't great; rundown trailerpark, alcoholic dad and whole of a step mom, dead mom, things like that. Damn, if only he got more than a mattress on the floor, a cover, pillow, dresser filled with all his clothes and school supplies to live on. But he can't even get a job without his scar making people think he's worse than what his persona displays.

Hayanari Tsumeato - Grey manz

The grey eyed, blonde hair man with natural red hair who carries around a lead pipe is Hayanari, who's last name "Tsumeato" means scratch mark. He has a grey shirt under his unbuttoned blazer and a scar over his nose.

Fannonly, he was the one with the no fucks given attitude. He was usually straight faced and brutally honest when talking to people, but wasn't necessarily judgemental. It's hard to explain but just because he says, "damn Daniel, you're built like a carrot," doesn't mean he cares about his appearance, even if whoever tf Daniel is actually looks like a carrot or not. He was the daredevil who did things solely for his entertainment.

In a way, it was almost sociopathic or narcissistic; he'd be fine with embarrassing someone in front of anyone because it got a smile our of him. If someone complained, he'd roll his eyes and convince whoever that they were overreacting and that they were the one at fault. He's very manipulative and sarcastic, usually just smiling cockily and speaking innocently. Kinda emo, but he wasn't against that title. He actually liked the occult and for the most part, was down for anything that didn't have too much time needed, like school or family.

He was in the middle of everything; okay with cooking, occult, art, science, reading, anine and games, so there wasn't much a person can dislike him for in terms of social standards. He wasn't appart of a dislikes group like the occult kids or science kids, not with a loved group like cooking or art kids. But when he started to express a bit of interest in the occult was when people could finally pin him down and bully him back for all those insulting jokes that sounded way too serious. And before he knew it, he got wrapped up in the hate and couldn't get himself free.

Home life is something he never, not even to his fellow delinquents, never talks about. But one thing worth noting is that he's never seen without a long sleeved shirt or jacket of some kind. He used to pass out time to time during gym classes because he was overheated due to bringing a long sleeved version of the gym shirt to school and never drank anything. When his parents were called, they always insisted on saying they'll do something about it but they never did, either. The delinquents do think there's some kind of abuse at his house; besides, Hayanari is adopted and those things happen often even if it's more common in the foster system.

His family is something he never talks about. Back in middle school, his friends were able to see his "parents" time to time when they picked him up from school. It was immediately obvious that he wasn't related to them; hell, he rarely called them mom or dad. At home, until adopted, was great. Friends coming over, happy family moments, being able to play games and use electronics, things like that. But when he was adopted was when it wouldn't be easy to just tell someone what was to come; quite obviously, it was abuse. Verbal and physical, nearly everyday. It was worse in the beginning but happened less often as he got older.

His "mom" would call the police a few times him because she felt "threatened." She hit him so he would hit back and yell while doing so, so she has evidence of an attack. But luckily, her skin isn't sensitive enough to show any marks unlike Hayanari's. Other times, his "dad" would get involved and hurt him badly.

#fannon #backstory #yandere simulator #umeji kizuguchi #hayanari tsumeato #dairoku surikizu #gaku hikitsuri #hokuto furukizu #anime #fanfic #writing

[barschter000]

OWOWOW MY FANGAN

THANK YOU SO MUCH AT EVERYONE WHO IS INTERESTED IN THIS SERIOUSLY YOU CAN'T BELIEVE HOW HAPPY THAT MAKES ME MY HANDS ARE SHAKING (that's also why it took so long to post this akhdjwjs)

Baiko Omori – Ultimate Lucky Student

"My name is Baiko Omori, I am here as the Ultimate Lucky Student. The pleasure of meeting you is mine, my dear friends! There are actually quite many things that I'm talented at and hopefully, this academy helps me find my 'true Ultimate.'"

  Birthday: March 11th (Pisces)

    Blood Type: A+

    Height: 165cm / 5'4”

    Weight: 67kg / 148lbs

    Likes: vintage 50s music, street food, grocery shopping

    Dislikes: cockroaches, the smell of gasoline, betrayal

Baiko never means harm as he values life over everything else. He is friendly and considerate, always smiling. He offers help where he can, sometimes coming off as intrusive but never does something that would put him at a disadvantage. He has the habit of calling everyone his “dear friend” and is in general, quirky and a little detached from normality. When you're around him, you can't help but feel like there's something off but Baiko is too nice for you to bring that up.

Ei Hagakure – Ultimate Ghost Whisperer

"Name's Ei Hagakure, Ghost Whisperer. Sup? My gramps went to this school back in his days. Sadly didn't inherit his spiritual powers, so guess I'll substitute with a bit of science."

Birthday: April 29th (Taurus)

Blood Type: B+

Height: 177cm / 5'8”

Weight: 57kg / 126lbs

Likes: bad television shows, abandoned buildings, the pizza they have on Wednesday at her university's cafeteria

Dislikes: family fights, doctor's appointments, olives

Ei is a laid-back young scientist that leaves the world of academics in wonder at her more or less successful inventions. Her greatest goal is to prove the existence of ghosts based on scientific findings. Despite Ei's grand ambitions, she is relaxed and calm and just weird enough to get along with almost everybody.

Hideaki Yukiyama – Ultimate Mathematician

"Yukiyama Hideaki, Hideaki Yukiyama, Mathematician and the Ultimate at that! This class looks pretty alright so far. You shitwits seem like the type a smart boy like me can have fun with, hehe."

Birthday: May 2nd (Taurus)

Blood Type: 0+

Height: 156cm / 5'1”

Weight: 62kg / 137lbs

Likes: the feeling of chalk, messy notes, his own laugh

Dislikes: boredom, sitting straight, school uniforms

Contrary to what his talent might lead you to believe, Hideaki is actually a brat. Constantly in the search for mischief and entertainment, he likes to ridicule and annoy others. His genius lies hidden in his complicated speech and spectacular knowledge that he uses to confuse the people around him. All negativity and criticism towards his character simply bounces off him. It is not easy to befriend him as he believes that friends hinder him but deep down, he wishes for someone to get through his irritating personality to know him better.

Ichini – Ultimate Robotics Engineer

"My model's name is 1.2, that's Ichini for you. Ultimate Robotics Engineer. Be prepared to have that weirded-out look wiped off your faces, meatbags! Someday I'll drown this world in chaos and rule humanity with my machines!"

Birthday: August 13th (Leo)

Blood Type: 0-

Height: 210cm / 6'8”

Weight: 132kg / 291lbs

Likes: the smell of electricity, children's' shows, energy drinks

Dislikes: being photographed, asparagus, humanity

Ichini is a mean cyborg that has rejected humanity and all its aspects. Xe thinks xemself superior to everyone around xem because they are still human and will not survive the overthrow of the machines that xe is planning. Despite xir large, armed metal body though, Ichini is all bark, no bite and wishes to be more courageous and confident in xir choices.

Jun Nagao – Ultimate Escapologist

"My name is Jun Nagao, I'm the Ultimate Escapologist. There's nothing much about me, really. Sorry."

Birthday: September 25th (Libra)

Blood Type: AB-

Height: 171cm / 5'6”

Weight: 63kg / 139lbs

Likes: flower bouquets, art from the Romantic era, freshly laundered clothes

Dislikes: skin tight clothing, reading out loud, overcrowded subways

After his face was paralysed in a kidnapping incident, Jun has adopted the perception of him being emotionless and cold. As he usually dismisses others and their feelings, Jun is a loner. Because his talent stems from his continued abductions, he finds it distressing to be enrolled at Hope's Peak Academy but accepts his fate to ensure his own safety.

Kaida Tsutsumi – Ultimate Stock Broker

”Kaida Tsutsumi... Ultimate Stock Broker... That is all.”

Birthday: January 9th (Capricorn)

Blood Type: AB-

Chest: 82cm / 32”

Height: 153cm / 5'0”

Weight: 58kg / 128bs

Likes: coffee, Paganini, listening to the rain while falling asleep

Dislikes: the cold, bitter coffee, wool sweaters

Kaida is a small and timid girl, so shy that it is hard to imagine that she works at the stock market. Kaida is great with numbers and probabilities and rather spends time with diagrams and prices than with people. She only speaks as much as necessary and gives her answers clear and direct. Because of her reluctance to talk about herself, she is mostly seen alone but will get extremely attached to you the moment you show that you acknowledge her. It feels like she holds a secret that she can't reveal.

Kyo Kido – Ultimate Horror Author

"My name's Kyo. Uh, Kyo Kido, that's probably how you know me. I'm the Ultimate Horror Author? I'd offer to give out some autographs but my hands are kinda shaking right now cuz– Wow– Hope's Peak, y'know! So it's gonna look kinda ugly, ahah."

Birthday: November 21st (Scorpio)

Blood Type: 0+

Height: 180cm / 5’9”

Weight: 79kg / 174lbs

Likes: romance novels, romantic comedies, the clacking sound of typewriters

Dislikes: ink stains on his hand, sharp pencils, soup

Kyo is really just a normal teenager with a knack for writing; at least, that's what he believes. Like every other teenager, he is a little awkward and shy and, in contrast to his talent, not at all scary. However, Kyo's books manage to evoke such terror in his readership that it's dubbed and loved as 'Kido's curse'. Kyo is flattered but honestly can't handle the fame.

Maxis von Läuterbach – Ultimate Knight

"My name is Maxis von Läuterbach, wielding the title of the Ultimate Knight. It is not often that you see someone as wondrous as me, so my lieges, I am ever at your service."

Birthday: June 21st (Gemini)

Blood Type: AB-

Height: 182cm / 5'9"

Weight: 75kg / 165lbs

Likes: stained glass windows, historic castles, Belgian pralines

Dislikes: blisters, ignorance, ill-behaved children

Growing up surrounded by ruins of glorious pasts and with the wish to set themself off from their peers, Maxis chose to walk the path backwards and do everything in their power to become a historically accurate knight. Unfortunately, Maxis had miscalculated and noticed that a knight lives to serve, not to be served but there is no turning back now.

Shiori Ishimaru-Owada – Ultimate Team Captain

"I'm Shiori Ishimaru-Owada, proudly bearing the title of the Ultimate Team Captain! I'm excited to get along with y'all! Honestly, I don't really know why I'm at this academy, but as long as I make my Dads proud, I'm probably doing the right thing!"

Birthday: December 14th (Sagittarius)

Blood Type: AB+

Height: 185cm / 6'0”

Weight: 79kg / 174lbs:

Likes: racing games, exercise, cooking

Dislikes: reading, hospital stays, basements

Shiori is an intense and upbeat girl. She is a capable leader with strong beliefs that she defends well and at times, imposes on others without noticing. While not being truly talented at a singular sport, she has tried out many things and has always effortlessly attracted a group of allies around her, no matter where she went. She is kind and motivational and, strange for a teenage girl, very attached to her parents.

Tamae Shiroma – Ultimate Whistleblower

"I'm Tamae Shiroma, Ultimate Whistleblower. Pleasure. Before I get any complaints later: Know who you're talking to, alright?"

Birthday: May 21st (Gemini)

Blood Type: B+

Height: 159cm / 5'2”

Weight: 73kg / 161lbs

Likes: hot baths, spicy food, her sister

Dislikes: reality TV, sugary food, caterpillars

Famous for her small but well-placed leaks, Tamae is the tiny thorn in the side of many politicians. In the shithole that she considers the world, Tamae tries to find the truth as painful as it may be to some. She is wary and never fully trusts anyone, knowing that how dirty people play for their achievements. While talking to her, it always seems like she knows more than you've told her. That is probably true. At the cost of her anonymity, she is attending Hope's Peak where she is promised security. Her talent is her duty, whether she is happy with it or not.

Etsuya Iwata – Ultimate Opera Singer

"My name is but fleeting. A rose by any other name would smell as sweet, a song of any other melody would sound as fine. For now, call me Etsuya Iwata, forever I am the Ultimate Opera Singer. Allow me to bring pleasure to your ears, my darlings!"

    Birthday: July 9th (Cancer)

    Blood Type: B-

    Height: 174cm / 5'7”

    Weight: 65kg / 143lbs

Likes: being on stage, tea, sightseeing

Dislikes: having to keep secrets, incompetence, boring drama

Etsuya is a charming lad that likes to bathe in the spotlight. He comes from renowned music schools and stages and he is aware the extend of his talent such as his vocal range, performance abilities, musical expertise or the languages he is fluent in. However, Etsuya is not arrogant, he rather aims to make people happy with his performances. It's easy to fall for his appeal and compliments but it's just as easy to notice that he is moody and picky and overall dramatic, and terrible at lying.

Rokuro Nakatani - Ultimate Fraud

"Rokuro Nakatani, sixth son of my generation. This school calls me the Ultimate Fraud yet there's no actual evidence for this claim. I fear they might have given me that title based on my sisters who were arrested for theft and forgery. Well, these are only two of my eight siblings, black sheeps aren't uncommon, right?"

Birthday: April 14th (Aries)

Height: 167cm / 5'6"

Weight: 66kg / 146lbs

Likes: lucky charms, rabbits, looking stylish

Dislikes: noisy places, manual labor, seaweed

Rokuro comes from a family of forgers and grew up in criminal ranks with limited contact to a normal life. He is used to being assessed and given a value and, just like everyone else in his clan, is a perfectionist through and through. His talent, artistic skills and his eye for detail all came naturally to him without much effort. Rokuro is the poster child of his family, earning him prestige and confidence but also pressure and envy from his parents and siblings. Towards others, he is condescending and belittling. Despite his standing in the Nakatani family and with his crafting abilities at hand, Rokuro often wonders if there is a way for him to create something original.

Miyoko Iwata – Ultimate DJ

"Miyoko Iwata, Ultimate DJ! The lil' hodgepodge I'm wearin' on my face isn't actually a laser or sumthin', it just helps me see. So no worries, I don't bite! Or at least, not that often."

    Birthday: July 9th (Cancer)

    Blood Type: B+

    Height: 172cm / 5'6"

    Weight: 68kg / 152lbs

    Likes: bass, crowds, playing violin

    Dislikes: the quiet, being lonely, salty instant meals

Miyoko is a young music producer that is known for her remixes and features and grew her large international fanbase through social media. With how many experiences she has made in so little time, she has matured quickly and developed a sort of maternal protection over those she holds dear. However, that protection often slips into violence. Miyoko lashes out and threatens people, sometimes pulling the knife she carries on her. There seems to be something hidden underneath her visor and neon clothes that Miyoko doesn't wish to talk about. She says that she is looking for something.

#fanganronpa #fangan #fangan oc

[themuseic]

Only Fools (Chapter  9)

(Art Credit: @clumsycopy)

Fic Summary: Sent to Boone County, West Virginia on an assignment, you find yourself engulfed your work. How could you possibly find time for anything else? Even if “anything else” includes the tall, kind, and handsome bartender from down the road?

Word Count: 4.2k

Read Chapter 8 here.

Read here on AO3.

Warnings: Smut, Vaginal Fingering, PIV Sex, Outdoor Sex, Swearing, Temperature Play. Zippy knows a lot about cougars now. 

Author’s Note: It took a long time, but I got this chapter ready eventually! Two things. One, I finished plotting! So some new tags are getting added to AO3, but I know I do warnings on here. Be advised that there is some angst upcoming, and those chapters will be tagged as such. Second! If you enjoy this chapter, you just might like Trail Cam, by @clydesfavoritegirl​! Even if you don’t, check out Kylie’s anyway!! It seems Clyde just exudes “outdoor sex” vibes. As always, thank you for reading <3 

After you had begun your freelance work, you quickly discovered that you worked best alone. You had been asked to take a partner on your first assignment, a greenhorn at the agency you were contracted by. Sure, the guy was nice enough, but once you had to shush him for just about the millionth time in the camouflaged blind while you tried to count the species of birds hopping and flitting through the lush meadow, you knew that your time would be best spent on your own. From that moment on, you made sure to write into all contracts that you would operate on your terms, and if you didn’t want to bring a partner on assignment there was nothing they could do about it. 

And that’s how you had worked for years since then. You had been to every corner of the country and seen it all by yourself. That was more than fine with you. You were happy to get your work done alone, you actually preferred it. 

It didn’t surprise you though. It didn’t surprise you that when Clyde started coming out to help you on the trail, your desire for solitude flew out the window faster than the birds had fled from your first work partner. It didn’t surprise you that you planned your trips out around his schedule at the bar. 

It didn’t surprise you. 

Joe Bang had tried to convince you the Logan brothers were stupid. Dim. You didn’t have to try to prove him wrong though, Clyde did that by himself.

He was more than curious, he was just one hair shy of ravenous. Ravenous for information, the usually quiet man was a rapid-fire list of questions. He would ask how to set things up, why you put them out. He would hover over your shoulder, watching your every move and lightly touching your arm before he would ask about the note you had just written down. And when you were sitting at the bar reviewing footage, flicking through data, or interviewing someone who just swore they knew where the den might be, Clyde was on the other side of your laptop, ready to ask a question, celebrate a breakthrough, or slide you a drink - whatever you might need. 

He would get a special glint in his eye when you told him it was time to go out and collect your data. Without fail, he would proclaim an early last call at the Duck Tape and be at the trailer, asleep and curled around you at a decent time, so that he wouldn’t be the one holding you up in the morning. Clyde had amassed a basket of trail snacks so the two of you were always fed, and he would, more often than not, be ready and parked on the porch, his tin of coffee in his hand, before you had even brushed your teeth.

Clyde observed how you would work with your equipment when you said that you were just fine handling them on your own, and in just a few times out, he was handing you tools before you even knew you had to ask for them.

It was an improvised dance, but you seemed to be in sync. Clyde anticipated your moves and your needs, making each venture out into the backwoods of West Virginia easier every time. 

By the time you moseyed out in mid-January to collect more data, more indications of the number of eastern cougars in the woods, you would put money down that Clyde could go out by himself and do absolutely everything right. 

With backpacks strapped to your bodies, packed full of equipment and snacks, the two of you trekked out. The trail was covered in a light dusting of snow, and the air around your noses condensed into wisps of mist that were quickly carried away by the slight breeze. The trail was easy, made just a bit more difficult by the icy snow, but it was peaceful. It didn’t take too long to reach the area you had staked with cameras, and the minute you arrived, you got to work. 

“So, the cougars should be in hibernation now right?” he asked as he popped an amber piece of dried apricot into his mouth, gazing at the winter landscape sprawled around you. That boy did love his snacks. 

You shook your head as you fiddled with the memory card of the camera you held in your lap, seated in a bank of snow you had chosen as the day's office chair. “No actually,” you replied, wiping your nose as it ran in the cold. “Cougars don’t hibernate. They have an advantage in the winter, so they stay out and hunting.”

Clyde cocked his eyebrow at you. “Advantage? How so?”

You grunted as you stood up, the tension of the pearlescent fabric of your snow gear working against you as you lifted yourself from the ground. Dusting off the snow that had collected in the hem of your clothing, you began to scan the ground for what you were looking for. It wasn’t hard to find what you were looking for. 

“Oh Clyde, here! Come look.”

He sauntered over, tucking the small bag of apricots into the pocket of his jacket. He crouched down to peer at the spot you were pointing at and he wrapped his arm around your leg, hugging you close. “Alright baby. What am I lookin’ at?'' he looked up to you, one eye squeezed shut in question. 

You laughed and carded your hand through his hair, pushing the thick black waves into a puff on the crown of his head. “You didn’t even give me a chance to show you!,” you huffed, collapsing into a crouch next to him. He removed his arm from your leg just in time, and adjusted it to lay around your waist as you settled next to him. 

You reached your arm out to gesture at the print in front of you. “See this? It’s a cougar paw. Notice anything about it?”

Clyde’s head tilted into you. “Uhh,” he hummed, “it’s got pretty big claws.” He ghosted the outline of the deep punctures the claws had in fact left in the snow. 

Giggling, you turned to plant a kiss on Clyde’s jaw and pushed into it with your nose. “You’re right, they are. But look at the whole paw.” Clyde’s face screwed up. “Darlin’, it looks like just about every paw I’ve seen before.” He shrugged. “Got no clue.”

You splayed your hand over the imprint in the snow. “Look how big it is.” Clyde unwrapped his arm from your body, and eclipsed your hand with his. “Don’t look too big to me,” he teased as he closed his fingers around yours. Laughter pealed from your chest, and you smacked his shoulder with your free hand. “Okay, but look! It is pretty big,” you whined, a faux pout creeping on to your face. 

“Alright, I guess you’re not wrong. But what’s that got to do with hibernation?”

“Their paws help them in winter. They’re fast, agile. They have the advantage, really nothing can escape a cougar in the snow.” You shrugged. “They were made for it. They can get really any prey they want.” 

Clyde whistled. “Impressive. Nature really has a way of workin’ huh?” He reached forward with his metal fingers and laid them next to the print on the white powder. Your eyes softened. You could only guess at what was running through his mind. “Hey,” you whispered, hooking your finger underneath his jaw and pulling his face to look at you. “You know things happen for a reason.”

His soft eyes bored into your own, and you could feel your heart shatter in that instant. Curling your fingers into the skin of his jaw, you beckoned him close, planting a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, I know,” he muttered, necking back into you as he gave your side a light squeeze. You reached up to tap his cheek lightly. “C’mon. Let’s get the rest of this done.” The pair of you stood and meandered back to the work you had set out to complete. 

~~~

The last camera to pull down was suspended high on a birch tree.

You gazed up at it, hands firmly planted on your hips. Head cocked, you assessed the easiest way to get it, as you could hear Clyde rustling with his pack behind you. It would be easier for him to get it, you knew that, but you had done it before, so you figured you could do it now. 

The stretch ran down the outside of your arm as you strained to reach the camera, your tongue poking out of the side of your mouth in concentration. You wrapped your arm around the thin birch tree and pushed off of the nearby boulder with your boot. 

“I can just get that camera down for ya darlin’,” Clyde offered as he processed the sounds of your struggle. 

You turned to smile at him. “No thank you, Clyde. Part of the fun is seeing if I can do it.” Your grin split into a smile as you hoisted yourself a few inches higher, just enough for your fingers to snag the mounted camera. You ripped it off of the tree, the zip ties that held it in place snapping back over your knuckles sharply. “Ah hah!” you exclaimed, your hand punching the air to mark your success. You whipped your head around to wink at Clyde and flipped your body to sit right where your foot was planted on the boulder.

You perched on the edge of the boulder and tossed the camera between your hands triumphantly. Clyde sauntered over and pushed your legs apart in one swift movement. He settled his hips between your knees, his hands lifting to settle on the line of your hips. Tilting his head, Clyde looked to the piece of equipment in your hand. “Well look at that darlin’, you got that down real easy,” he mused as he pushed his head forward to nuzzle against your forehead. You grinned as your eyelids drifted shut and you pushed yourself up to reciprocate the caress. 

“Got to where I am somehow, right?” you laughed as your free hand reached up to cup the side of Clydes face. He jerked his eyebrows skyward as he chuckled. “Now, I never said you weren’t good at what you do,” he clarified, his pout becoming more pronounced as he backpedaled his statement. “Just want to help is all.” 

You grinned and slid your hand around to the backside of his neck, tugging him forward to plant a kiss on his plump lower lip, like you had yearned to do so many times before. 

“Don’t worry about me Clyde,” you muttered low against his hot breath. “I can take care of myself.”

He scoffed against your lips and caused a small cloud of air to waft over your skin as he nuzzled his nose into your cheekbone. “I’m always gonna worry about you,” he sighed as he slipped his ice cold fingers, both metal and flesh, under the hem of your tops and pressed them into your skin. You yelped at the sensation and jumped, finding yourself pressed closer to his chest. He chuckled as he pushed small circles into your skin. 

“Chilly?” he huffed as his lips curled into a smile on your own. 

You smacked him playfully, which only made him slide his hands further up your back. A laugh bubbled up your throat, and you threw your head back as you pushed your hands against his strong biceps and your feet kicked at nothing, trying to remove his icicle limbs from your skin. Clyde took the opportunity to dive forward and place kisses along the length of your exposed neck. 

Clyde’s mouth was hot against the skin of your neck. The feeling allowed you to relax, your mind distracted from the cold rivers he traced into your back. The trail of kisses he left was instantly cooled by the crisp mountain air as he trailed his affections down to the slice of skin he had exposed as he tugged down the collar of your sweater. You sighed with content, rolling your head back to provide him access to your pulse. 

He grunted as he was met with resistance from your woolen sweater. It would not budge a single millimeter further, barring him access to your nipple that had been peaked swollen and stiff by the sting of winter. You laughed as you felt the cool metal of his prosthetic tug at the neckline of your top and your hand shot up to capture his jaw and deepen your kiss. 

Clyde leaned into you, his hips splitting your legs further along the rough boulder edge. You leaned back on a deep exhale, and he collapsed on top of you, his pelvis settling in between your spread thighs. His hard erection tented even his padded snow pants and you could feel it against your clothed heat, pulling slick from you. You keened at the feeling and pushed your hips up into his.  “Needy today, baby?” Clyde cooed, peering down his nose to gaze at you, his eyes hooded with arousal. You bit at your lip and sighed. He smirked and straightened up, pulling away from you. He smacked the outside of your thigh and you pouted at how your fleece lined pants absorbed the impact. “C’mon, up,” he ordered. “Need you bent over this rock. Pants down.” 

You pushed yourself out of your prone position and hopped off of the lip of the boulder. Without a second thought, you undid the buttons of your pants and wriggled them down, just far enough to allow Clyde access to your dripping cunt. You shuddered at the sensation of the crisp air blowing across your heat. You inhaled once, twice. Preparing yourself for Clyde, for what he did to you every time, without fail. For when he would split you open effortlessly. 

You were lost in thought, mentally preparing yourself, but you cried out when Clyde split your folds with two fingers. He ran them from your clit to your entrance, collecting your arousal on his ice cold digits. The sensation was unlike anything you had felt before. You were used to soft, warm encounters, under covers or with heaters close by. But the icy bite of his hands made your thighs vibrate, your breath catch. You pushed your hips back into his hand, groaning at the sensation of his thick fingers splitting as they stroked the sides of your clit. 

Clyde tsk’ed and splayed his fingers, grabbing your cunt in his hand to stop the ministrations of your hips. “You know I’ll give you what you need.” He started to rock his hand. “You just gotta be patient for me.” The pressure he so expertly pushed into your wet pussy dragged a low moan from you and he smiled. He loved how you would come apart for him. 

He dragged his fingers over your heat, dancing around your entrance, teasing you. Each movement coaxed a breeze of the frigid air over your exposed heat, and you clenched at the feeling. He felt your skin flutter beneath him and he eased his middle finger into you, relishing in the warmth of your body, the pulse of your walls.

“Oh my god, Clyde,” you groaned as the sensation of his freezing finger filled you up. It made you that much more sensitive. You became aware of parts of yourself like you had never felt before, and your inner walls pulsed in response. “You tryna break my finger off, sweetheart?” Clyde growled into your ear. He rocked in and out of you, and just when his first finger had nearly warmed to your body temperature, he thrust a second in with it. 

You keened at the feeling and lurched forward. Clyde’s arm wrapped around you, his body folded over and draped across your back. He pulled your hips back into him in time with the thrusts of his arm, fingering your deeper, deeper. “Gotta stretch you out,” he crooned. You moaned in response, your head lolling to the side. Clyde rolled his head with you, and suckled at your neck. 

“Fuck, your fingers are so big Clyde,” you whimpered, and he curled his fingers deep inside you. The resulting squelch of your arousal pulled a groan from Clyde, and your walls pulsed on his fingers. 

God, he knew your body. He could make you cry, make you cum, make you worship a nameless god on just two of his fingers. But still, as much as you needed him, he needed you. And taking you in a forest swathed in white was more than a fantasy, it was a goddamn dream. 

You focused on the frigid surface of the rock, trying to avoid thrusting your hips back into Clyde’s hand, when he ripped his hand from you. A high whine fell from your lips in protest, even though you could already hear Clyde grappling with his pants. You knew what would follow and you yearned for it nonetheless. 

You dragged your fingers across the rough face of the rock until your focus was suddenly shattered by the sensation of Clyde’s thick girth splitting your lips open as he eased into you at a snail’s pace. Inch by inch he pushed into you, taking his time to feel your flesh give way to him, and your mouth fell open into a silent cry. 

It was blissful torture. 

Clyde was a behemoth. No matter how many times he speared you with his thick, veiny girth, each time felt like your first. It was a delicious burn, a delightful pressure. You could have sworn you felt the head of his cock drag over the ripples and ridges of your pussy, and you tilted your hips, allowing him access to the deepest parts of you. 

Your nipples strained with arousal, the stiff buds almost painful as they brushed against your sweater. “Clyde-e,” you panted, barely able to pull in breath with the sharp pressure of Clyde filling you completely. He knocked the breath out of you with each thrust forward, and when he heard your sigh he laughed. 

“Oh darlin’, you can’t even talk?” He taunted lovingly. “Damn shame, you got such a pretty voice.” He fell forward to whisper in your ear. “Love hearin’ you whine for me baby. Wonder if I can get you to anyway.” Clyde’s hips jerked forward and the spongy hot head of his cock rammed into you. Your mouth fell open into a voiceless gasp, and he blew out a breath of disapproval. 

“Now that just won't do.”

With his metal arm braced against the boulder in front of you, Clyde shoved his free hand into your pants. He found your clit in a second and circled it tightly with the rough pad of his middle finger. Your pussy squeezed his cock on each thrust into you, and you felt a familiar warmth begin to build within your stomach. 

Clyde felt the whispers of you beginning to tighten up on him and he smirked. “Feelin’ good?” he hummed. You nodded silently in response. He squeezed your waist. “What was that?”

“It feels good… ah!” you replied breathily, exclaiming as Clyde’s finger hit the underside of your clit just right, and made your knees turn to jelly. He grinned. “That’s right.”

Almost immediately, he let up. It was almost as if he wanted to drag this out, hold you right at the precipice of orgasm without letting you tip over for as long as he can. And if you had asked him? That was precisely what he wanted. 

The warm blanket of his body left your back and the rush of cool air sent a shiver through every end of every nerve. “Fuck, you take me so good.” Clyde groaned as he leaned back and stared down at where his thick length disappeared into you. “This pretty pussy takes me so deep.” 

You whined at his words. It was the only sound you could manage to push past your lips as he rocked in and out of you. 

Clyde couldn’t rip his eyes from your cunt as he watched you swallow him so easily. His jaw was slack, and he could have drooled had he not been snapped from his reverie by your whine. On his next thrust, he leaned forward, wrapped his arm around you, and yanked you up to his chest. “Fuck!” you gasped as the new arch in your back let Clyde pummel your cervix, knocking into you on each thrust. 

He groaned, deep and gravely. “Oh shit, you’re so sexy darlin’.” Clyde’s breath caught as he felt your walls begin to flutter and spasm. He shoved his face into the crook of your shoulder and blew his hot breath across your ear. “You about to cum pretty girl? You about to cum on my cock?” 

You keened. “Yes, Clyde, yes!” 

“Rub that little clit for me baby, cum for me right now.” 

You shoved your hand in your pants in an instant, finding your swollen clit and spreading your juices around the nub. You rubbed it furiously, your mind nearly numb with the overwhelming feeling of Clyde splitting you in two. The pressure mounted steadily in your stomach, the pressure of impending orgasm, and you could feel your thighs beginning to shake. You sighed his name. 

“Yeah baby?”

“Oh fuck, I’m cumming.”

You cried out as your orgasm crashed over you and you felt your walls pulsing, clenching on Clyde’s length. He groaned into your ear, and you felt the familiar warmth of his spend gush out of your pussy as he worked you both through your orgasms.

You pulsed together, his thrusts slowly, slowly, slowly coming to a stop, until he was still against you. Your thighs shook against him and he pulled up on your waist, easing the burden of your position off of your legs. Panting, Clyde turned his head to plant a kiss on your temple. His lips lingered on your skin, and you felt his hot breath puff against your forehead, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “Fuck darlin’,” Clyde muttered into you. “You feel so good, I don’t want to move.” He ducked his head and nibbled at your earlobe. “I could just stay here. Wait ‘til I get hard again, and fuck you right here again, on your hands and knees,” he growled. 

You reached your palm up to cup his cheek. “As good as that sounds, I think we might freeze before we got the chance.” Clyde sighed and leaned into your palm.

“I guess.”

You stayed like that, connected, reveling in the feeling of the other, for a few beats longer. That was, until the chill of the air finally did settle over the parts you had exposed to the elements, and you started to feel that familiar bite of winter. Carefully, Clyde eased himself out of you, and you missed the comforting pressure deep in your stomach. 

You shimmied your pants over your ass and slotted the button into its hole, and you felt the stickiness of Clyde’s cum start to leak from you. You looked down to your pants, hoping the viscous liquid wouldn’t start to seep through. As you looked for any spots of wetness, you spied a curious item on the ground.

“Oh fuck Clyde,” you breathed, your eyes transfixed on a particular spot on the ground.

“What’s that darlin’?” he asked as he jumped slightly to yank his pants back up his body. You nodded your head towards the offending area. 

The camera you had just pulled down from the trees had found a new home on the floor, the lens pointed up to the sky. Just below where you and Clyde had just fucked.

“It’s motion activated.” You could feel your cheeks warming at the thought of it, and your eyes widened as you realized just what that meant.  

Clyde on the other hand found the humor in the situation. He chuckled and reached down to scoop up the piece of equipment and turned it over in his hands. “Hm. Well, sounds like we made a little surprise home video,” he teased with a wink. 

You threw your hands over your face and rubbed your eyes. “Oh god, I have to edit that right away,” you groaned. Your fingers split open over your eyes, and you stared Clyde down. “Promise to not let me forget, I can’t let that get to anyone.” 

“Of course darlin’,” Clyde wove his arm around your lower back and pulled you close to plant a kiss on your forehead. “As long as you keep the footage you cut.” You rolled your eyes and landed a joking smack on his chest. “Hey!” he scoffed with a wink. “Least you can do, me helping you out on these missions like this and all. It can be my payment.”

“Oh, you know you like coming out here.” You wagged your tongue at him and turned to collect your bags. Almost immediately you were stopped by a sharp pinch to your ass, and you yelped. You shot a glare back at Clyde, trying to suppress the smile about to break across your face. He laughed, scooped his pack up from the ground, and wove his arm around your waist. Clyde didn’t let go of you the entire hike back to the trailer. 

~~~

Taglist: @mind-p0llution @thedivinemissm @clydesducktape @finn-ray-nal-beads @ladygrey03 @desiraypark @1800-fight-me @aloneandsleepless​ @hopeamarsu​ (Comment or message me to be added or removed!)

#clyde logan x reader #clyde logan x you #smut #only fools #logan lucky #my writing

[youngster-monster]

fools rush in

Quel’thalas may sit on the coast of Lordaeron, but it has never been a naval nation. Kael’thas has never been quite so acutely aware of his people’s lack of seafaring abilities as he is now, bent over the side of a ship and fighting a losing battle against seasickness.

“Hold on. We’re nearly there.”

He sends a venomous glare Rommath’s way. His friend seems perfectly at ease on deck, only moving to shift his weight so he doesn’t stumble with the sway of the ship. Looking at him, Kael’thas could almost believe his motion sickness is a personal weakness rather than a quel’dorei trait.

Fortunately he’s seen Lor’themar looking a little green for the whole journey. Rommath is the real outlier here. Probably out of spite. He wouldn’t be caught dead displaying any kind of vulnerability, let alone something as small as seasickness.

“You’ve been saying that for hours,” he grits out in response.

Rommath shrugs, unconcerned by Kael’thas’ plight. “Nearly is an imprecise unit of measurement, I’ll admit it.”

“Although this time he’s right,” another voice intervenes. “We will be in view of Theramore’s harbor in under two hours.”

Kael’thas blissfully closes his eyes as Jaina lays a hand between his shoulder blades. Her magic sinks under his skin and the chill of it soothes his nausea to a point he no longer feels like he might throw up at any moment.

“Remind me why I’m subjecting myself to this again?”

Jaina chuckles warmly. “Because you are my dear friend and you wish to support me during an important change in my life?”

“I should have taken a portal with my father…”

“And miss watching me dissolve into a ball of nerves in the next few days?”

It’s true that the diplomatic delegation from Quel’thalas wouldn’t be privy to Jaina’s slow descent into panic during the preparations for her coronation. That’s a privilege reserved for Kael’thas only — and the two friends he was made to bring along as bodyguards, technically.

Of the world leaders who are coming to witness the event, few will be lucky enough to enjoy Theramore outside of official functions. Kael’thas is willing to suffer countless journeys by sea for the joy of watching Jaina get drunk in a sailor’s pub for the last time before she has to act like a proper monarch.

Affecting a greater misery than what he already feels, he says, “Still. For all that trouble, I better be here for your dress fitting.”

Jaina shudders at the thought. She may be a princess, but she clearly hasn’t gotten used to all the annoying little details of royalty. Or she forgot after too many years in Dalaran. Kael’thas grins. It’ll be years, if not decades, before he has to be in her place. He intends to enjoy the spectacle while he can.

Schooling his features into something more serious, he turns gingerly to face her. The deck rolls beneath his feet and he has to hold on to the banister or fall flat on his face.

“How are you holding up?”

She quirks up a small smile that struggles to reach her eyes. “I’m alright. A little scared, but…”

It stands to reason she would be, even though this coronation has been in preparation for years. She’s been spending more and more time away from her magical studies, learning how to rule a country, ever since she turned twenty-three. Still one can never be entirely ready to lead.

The fact that the date had to be moved forward because of an attempt on her father’s life must not be helping her anxiety any.

“Have you received news from your father?” He asks, knowing the subject a little easier to deal with. Daelin Proudmoore has recovered quickly from the botched assassination, and has been more preoccupied with rooting out the conspirators than with healing from his wounds.

She nods, gazing at the horizon. Kael’thas can just start to make out Theramore from the grey sky, though it’s more creative interpretation of a vaguely rocky shape in the distance; to her, it must look like home. “Yes. He’s fine. Healing nicely, for all that he refuses to rest. But they still haven’t found his attacker. He’s afraid they’ll go for me, too.”

Kael’thas waves that concern aside. “Of course they will; the day of the coronation is the perfect occasion to get rid of both you and your father, if that’s what they seek.” He winks at her, smiling slightly at her dismay. “That’s what you have me for. Oh, and that great hunk of a fiancé you have as well, I suppose. We’ll keep you safe.”

His exaggerated scorn when he mentions Arthas gets a giggle out of her. He doesn’t despise the man like he used to, back when Kael’thas was infatuated with Jaina and saw him as a threat. But that doesn’t mean he has to like him. Rival or not, he’s still an annoying, bruttish paladin, although he looks exceedingly pretty doing it.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Rommath sighs from the side. He sounds like he has little hope about the matter. He’s used to Kael’thas and Jaina’s antics: if there’s trouble to be found, they’ll find it alright. “Go get your bags, Kael.”

“Why? We’ve hardly arrived yet.”

“By the time you stumble your way below deck and up again, we’ll be there.”

Kael’thas flips him off. But he does go get his bags; not that Rommath has a point, he just likes to take his time. And if he holds onto the railing the whole way down, well. That’s between him and the ship.

-

It wasn't an empty threat, when Kael’thas mentioned that any assassin would probably turn up during the coronation. Every major political player of Azeroth came to pay respect to the new Lord Admiral of Kul Tiras. If someone wanted to commit some kind of political murder, now would be the time.

It also leaves the cathedral the coronation takes place in a somewhat crowded place.

Kael’thas shifts on the uncomfortable pew while the priest drones on and twists around to look at the back of the room. He may have joked about it back on the ship with Jaina, but after three days shadowing her everywhere the reality of assassins has become much more worrying. His friend is about to leave herself open to all kinds of attacks while an old man shoves some metal on her head; it leaves a little on edge.

A cursory glance reveals no shady character hiding in the wings. If someone intends to hurt Jaina, they’re doing a decent job at hiding it.

“Stop fidgeting,” his father hisses.

Kael’thas rolls his eyes but lets himself be prodded into sitting straight again. He spares a brief glance for Arthas. The Lordaeronian king is entirely ignoring the people trying to engage him in conversation, and watches over the room like a hound during a thunderstorm, jumping at every odd sound.

It helps settle Kael’thas’ nerves somewhat that Lordaeron’s most sword-happy paladin is on the look-out. He won’t let anything happen to Jaina, Kael’thas reasons, even if he must burn the cathedral down to keep her safe. Though it hopes he’ll let them get out first.

Fingers ghost over the back of his hand and he all but jumps out of his skin before it registers that it is only his father trying to capture his attention.

“Be at ease,” Anasterian whispers, a touch of humor softening his sern voice. “You’ll do lady Proudmoore no favor by feeding into her anxiety.”

Smoothing the nascent scowl off his face, Kael’thas calls on the years of teaching in the art of decorum to affect an air of nonchalance. He can’t quite help the stubborn frown born from his worry though. “She has reasons a-plenty to be stressed: someone wants her dead.”

“This event is as safe as it can be. There is little more you can do but pretend everything will be fine, for her sake.”

Kael’thas adjusts the folds of his dress robes in his lap and says nothing. It’s easy for his father to say: it’s not his friend who’s out there risking her life.

Human lives are so fragile. Of course he worries. And what good are the guards, if Daelin was hurt on their watch?

He only lasts about five minutes before risking a glance behind again. Nothing has changed; but he feels a prickle over the back of his neck, as if he’s being watched, and it compulses him to look.

“Kael’thas,” his father sighs.

Kael’thas cuts him off before he can work himself into a proper lecture. “Are those the kaldorei delegates?”

Anasterian pokes him mercifully in the ribs until he sits properly, and only then does he offer a response.

“Yes. With the efforts made by the kaldorei to open to other kingdoms, Lord Proudmoore thought it polite to invite them. Something you’d know if you had bothered to pay attention while I talked about this event,” his father adds, long-suffering.

“I do listen,” Kael’thas says absently. He wants to get a proper look at the elusive night elves, but he thinks his father might actually hold his head in place if he tries it. Their whole whispered conversation is already stretching the bounds of propriety and trying Anasterian’s patience enough as it is.

“Do pay attention, Kael. The priest is nearly done; Jaina will be here soon.”

A coronation is a tremendously boring affair, Kael’thas finds, even once Jaina has stepped up to the altar. The priest drones on and on about her duties as Lord Admiral, the honor, the weight of name and duty, blah blah blah—

Boring. At this point even an attempt on her life would be a welcome distraction.

Jaina kneels and her father stands before her, taking the crown off his head and holding it high above hers. He looks good, Kael’thas notes, for a man who so nearly died mere weeks before.

“Do you swear to live by your people, for your people, and to serve and protect them as your duty demands?” He intones.

“Yes, I do.”

The oath goes on for some time. Jaina answers each demand with unflinching certitude. Looking at her, one might never guess her nerves.

But just as Daelin lowers the circlet, abou to set it on her head, Kael’thas feels a prickle of unease not unlike what he felt earlier. He turns on his seat, heedless of his father’s disapproving hiss. There, in the shadows of the cathedral’s upper level; a flash of—

Spellwork.

The warning gets stuck in his throat, a half-choked yell swallowed by the roar of a ray of fire shooting across the nave. He reaches out without a thought, draws up a barrier that manages to catch the spell at the last possible moment before impact. It shatters across the translucent surface of his shield and scatters in a burst of embers and arcane. The guests underneath cry out as sparks rain down on them.

What his spell doesn’t stop is the crossbow bolt that flies in the wake of the spell. It misses Jaina’s by a hair’s breadth and ricochets off the tiled floor before embing itself in the wooden altar. If she had not moved at the sound of the spell being deflected, it would have gotten her in the throat.

The room explodes in motions as guests and their guards scramble out of the pews. Kael’thas is already on his feet. He catches a glimpse of Arthas’ fair head in the commotion as the paladin ushers Jaina and her father away from the scene. He backs out of the room with his sword raised high, eyes wild as he looks around. Satisfied that his friend is safe, Kael’thas turns on his heels and run for the doors.

Rommath, who watched the ceremony from the back, calls his name as they nearly run into each other on the way out. Kael’thas stops with a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“Get my father to safety!”

“Where are you going?” Rommath yells above the din, but Kael’thas is already running again.

“After them!”

Rommath’s answering invective is lost in the noise. His hand grabs Kael’thas’ robes to try and pull him back; Kael’thas unclasps them from his shoulders and leaves the heavy fabric in Rommath’s grasp as he books it.

Bursting through the doors, Kael’thas draws a gulp of fresh air before he sees, out of the corner of his eye, two figures scaling down the cathedral’s wall. He takes off after them without a second thought.

Without his cumbersome robes weighing him down he manages to keep up with the fleeing attackers — but only just. His feet pounding the pavement, he nonetheless fails to gain on the faster runners. They make a sharp turn left; by the time he reaches the corner they’re nowhere to be found.

Snapping a hand forward, Kael’thas gathers magic in his palm. This isn’t a spell he’s casting, though; it’s a summon.

And, bursting forth in a shower of fire and ashes, Al’ar answers.

He’s already climbing up his beloved familiar’s back before the phoenix has fully materialized into this plane. Kael’thas smoothes a hand over the soft feathers of his neck, smiling slightly at the pleased sound Al’ar makes, before he urges the phoenix into flight again.

They need no words to communicate. It’s for the best, as Kael’thas doesn’t think he could muster speech with his heart beating wildly in his throat. He’s not much of a runner and there was no course at the Kirin Tor for chasing after assassins. This is all very new to him; the excitement has him nearly shaking.

It’s easier to follow the assassins from the sky — and to gain on them as well.

Al’ar dives as soon as he is above them. Kael’thas holds on to a handful of feathers as the wind howls past his ears, confident that al’ar won’t let him come to any harm. The fugitives aren’t that lucky. Al’ar’s piercing cry is the only warning they get before he swoops down on them. His wings unfold to catch his fall with a sound like a forest fire; his talons glint in the light of his own burning as he extends them towards his unfortunate preys.

One is quick enough to dodge his grasp. The other gets bowled over by the force of the blow, and can only weakly struggle as Al’ar lifts them off the ground. Kael’thas jumps off the phoenix’s back before he can gain altitude again, stumbling slightly on the landing.

He’s unarmed, but mages need no weapons beside their magic, though he’s decent with a sword. He can deal with one measly little assassin without a blade.

At a glance, the assassin seems to be a human woman; and from the arcane energy crackling in her palm, the mage of the two as well. Kael’thas grins. He’s one of the best duelists of the Kirin Tor. This will be a walk in the park.

The mage casts a blue-tinted spell, too quick for him to tell what it does. He catches it in front of his face, turns, throws it back, and she has to jump aside to avoid it. Good. His smile grows, all bared teeth, as his own magic bubbles up to the surface. A tongue of fire whips towards her and hits her in the chest, sending her flying back into a wall.

Dazed and more than a little singed, she cannot get up quickly enough to block his next attack, and the concussive blast knocks her out. She slides down the wall and falls to the ground, unconscious. Shame they must be interrogated still. He’d gladly have burned her to a crisp.

But at least that’s one good thing down. He tilts his head up, trying to catch sight of Al’ar. He can feel their bond stretching as the phoenix flies away — he must be bringing the other assassin back to the cathedral, to be dealt with. Good.

Behind him, he hears hurried footsteps, and a voice shouting,

“Watch out!”

Kael’thas turns just in time to see the mage he thought he had downed take a knife out of her sleeve and throw it with unexpected accuracy. It whistles past him, close enough to leave a line of fire along the side of his neck. Kael’thas snaps his hand out and flames roar around his opponent before she can try another attack. They burn brighter and hotter than any natural fire, and her cry is cut short as she collapses into a pile of ashes and charred bones.

Here’s hoping the one Al’ar carried away survived the initial mauling.

“Are you alright?”

Turning to the new voice, Kael’thas blinks owlishly at the chest that greets him before it occurs to him to lift his eyes. It’s a kaldorei, he notes somewhat distantly; his thoughts feel sluggish all of a sudden. He’ll readily blame it on the fact that this is one of the most attractive men he’s ever seen — and he’s seen his fair share of beautiful men. His

He shakes himself, blinking some more to clear the haze that has settled over him. “I— yes, I am fine.”

“You’re bleeding.”

Kael’thas lifts a hand to his neck, still pulsing with painful heat, and his fingers come away slick with blood. “Oh. So I am.” The blood has an oily sheen to it, and it takes a moment of rubbing it between his fingers to realize it might actually be some kind of poison, unless his blood has all of a sudden gained some mysterious new material property.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” The kaldorei asks again, bemused. “You seem... shaken.”

Waving his hand impatiently, Kael’thas steps away from the man. “A bit of poison, nothing more.” The ground sways under his feet nearly as much as the ship he took to Theramore; it takes all of his concentration to keep himself upright.

Real alarm crosses the kaldorei’s face. “I’m going to get a healer.”

“Ah, no need. My magic will burn it away before it can deal any real damage.” He breathes in and out slowly, trying to manage the nausea. “I just have to… wait it out.”

The kaldorei seems unconvinced, though something about Kael’thas assurance must be enough to convince him to settle back for now.

He leans against the nearest wall. It still bears a black, slightly-greasy mark where the other mage once stood before he took care of her. His head spins, and black spots have started to appear in his field of view. It’s a good thing he’s been poisoned before, else he might not know this particular quirk of his biology and panic a lot more about the situation. As it is he’s quite used to the feverish feeling of his inner fire flaring to fight off the infection — it’s why he’s so rarely sick, as well.

The kaldorei looks at him and then, lower, at the remains of what once was an assassin. His mouth twists in a sardonic smile.

“I followed expecting a fight,” he says with a kind of rueful disappointment, “But it seems there’s little for me to do here.”

Closing his eyes, Kael’thas exhales softly. It’s a shame he always meets attractive people when he himself is at his worst possible state. The first time he saw Jaina, he was going on three days without sleep, and looked more undead than like a dashing elven prince. “Do not worry. I might pass out yet, which would leave you free to heroically carry me back to my father.”

He means it as a joke but in truth, he’s not sure he’ll manage to get back otherwise. Even if the dash after the assassins hadn’t exhausted him, the poison is quickly sapping his strength.

Tugging on his connection with Al’ar in the hope that his familiar will simply fly him home, he scowls when his summoning meets unexpected resistance. The phoenix must still be in this plane, then. Perhaps he found trouble with the other assassin. Wouldn’t be the first time they struggle to pry a prey out of his talons. This bird has a grip like a bear trap.

He can already feel himself sliding down the brick wall as his legs slowly but inexorably bow under his own weight. He’s ready to cut his losses and sit down in the pile of ashes when they suddenly give out from under him for good. Thankfully, before his ego and backside can be anymore bruised by the fall, strong arms catch him around the middle and heave him back to his feet.

“You weren’t joking about passing out,” the kaldorei chuckles.

Dazed, Kael’thas tries to look up at him to decipher if he’s being laughed at, but all he manages is to weakly tilt back his head until it hits the man’s chest. “Fighting off poison is no joking matter,” he tries to say, but his lips don’t quite manage the movement required for proper pronunciation, he thinks.

The chest he’s pressed against vibrates slightly as the man hums low in his throat. After some kind of deliberation Kael’thas is not privy to, the kaldorei ducks down and, passing an arm under Kael’thas’ knees, scoop him up as if he weighs nothing.

“Wha—”

“I’ll take you on that offer of a heroic entrance,” he says lightly. He shifts so that Kael’thas’ head rests against his shoulder and, with no effort apparent, starts walking in the direction of the cathedral.

“That was a joke,” he protests weakly.

“Didn’t you say poison is no joking matter? Don’t worry. I won’t drop you.”

“That’s very pretty of you,” he mumbles. It doesn’t sound quite right, and he frowns in confusion before making another attempt. His thoughts are starting to feel more jumbled as his magic responds to the poison with a purifying fever. “That’s…nicely pretty of you.”

There. Perfect.

The last conscious thought that crosses his mind before darkness swallows him is that the kaldorei has a very nice laugh, and then that Rommath is going to have a stroke, if he sees Kael’thas in this state; but he is too comfortable to care about that now.

-

Rommath is indeed apoplectic at seeing his friend and crown prince brought back unconscious and bleeding. Kael’thas, of course, only hears of it second-hand. By the time he comes to, he’s lying on a fainting couch in the wing of Theramore’s castle offered to house the sin’dorei delegation, and Rommath has calmed down somewhat.

Still, when he notices his charge has come awake, he doesn’t wait a second before railing on him.

“You’re an idiot.”

Still dazed and developing a headache suspiciously reminiscent of a hangover, Kael’thas squints up at his best friend. “I’m a genius,” he says for the sake of argument, though as brilliant as he is it is hardly applicable now. It’s a known fact that between the two of them Rommath is the one in charge of being street smart.

“Running on foot after two assassins, and not even dispatching them correctly — that’s what you call genius?” Rommath shakes his head and his shoulders drop slightly as he heaves a sigh. “What little of the city hasn’t seen your idiocy first-hand will know of it by tomorrow morning. That’ll do wonders to your reputation.”

Kael’thas pushes himself to a sitting position and rubs his head with a scowl. “I’m sure the attempt of the new queen’s life will be more interesting news than my dashing attempt at revenge.”

“Perhaps. But the nine foot tall moon guard carrying your bloody body through the streets is certainly an image that’ll stick.”

“It wasn’t that dramatic,” he says, though it might very well have been, for all that he remembers of the trip back.

“They’ll make it that dramatic. Also, you bled a lot, for such a small wound. You’ll have to properly thank the high priestess, by the way: I’m told it’s a great honor to be healed by the envoy of Elune herself.”

Rommath’s dry tone nearly distracts Kael’thas from his actual words, and it takes a second for his mind to connect the dots.

“Tyrande Whisperwind healed me?” He asks, taken aback.

“Well, her brother-in-laws did ask her directly, yes.”

“Her brother-in-law—” Like lightning, he realizes: few kaldorei leave their land, despite the latest efforts of the leading triumvirate to open to other kingdoms. Only the most powerful would have come all the way to Jaina’s coronation. Most likely the triumvirate in person. One of which healed him, at the demand of the other one, who must be the one who carried him after he passed out from a flesh wound. He hides his face in his hands and lets out a sound halfway between a sob and a scream. “I can’t believe I fainted on Illidan Stormrage.”

“You made an impression, apparently,” Rommath notes wryly. “He told your father your aid was invaluable in apprehending the assassin. Singular. I could have sworn there were two,” he adds airily.

“I set the other one on fire,” Kael’thas mumbles in his hands.

“Yes, I expected that much.”

Kael’thas rubs his face with a low groan and drops back on the fainting couch. Maybe he could just… fall unconscious again. Stay that way until they’re back in Silvermoon. He’s sure he could put himself into a magical coma, if it came down to it.

“I met Illidan Stormrage.”

“Yes.”

“The most brilliant sorcerer of his time. And ours, probably.”

“Huh-huh.”

“And I passed out on him. Did I drool? Light, tell me I didn’t drool.”

“You did,” Rommath says, merciless.

“I told him he was pretty.” With feelings, mostly of mortification, he adds, “I want to die.”

“You had your chance already. Now you’ll have to learn to flirt through the awkwardness like the rest of us mortals.”

Kael’thas is always flirting through the awkwardness. He’s never flirted in a way that’s not awkward. Doesn’t matter how attractive and smart Illidan is; he’ll never be able to look the man in the eyes again. His beautiful, golden eyes. Who saw Kael’thas drool probably all over his fancy moon guard armor.

A magical coma sounds more appealing by the minute.

#writing #world of warcraft #kael'thas sunstrider #illidan stormrage #grand magister rommath #jaina proudmoore #long post #this is a little silly but i just Had A Thought okay #anyway this takes place in a world with No Legion™ #yes the sundering and chism of elves still happened. why? who knows #civil war probably

[themadauthorshatter]

Guys? I know I just called Tiberias Calore VI, Flame of the North, King of Norta, and Ruler of the burning throne a terrible parent and an alcoholic(which he still is, and I have the time, so I'll call him a terrible parent and an alcoholic), but let's go back in time and get some happiness because that last Red Queen post was, admittedly, just brutal😢.

Hiding a pregnancy was, surprisingly, easier than hiding the affect of the nightmares.

At first, Coriane figured the game would be over as the child inside of her continued to grow more and become more noticable in the trim gowns she usually wore.

Hiding them- the child she didn't yet know- soon became a project, à la fixing a transport.

Rather than have her maids dress her, she had chosen to dress herself instead- a habit she'd picked up on doing since coming to Court. Loose clothing always made her appear smaller than she was, made her look approachable to anyone, despite her place married to a King. It also served her well in hiding the ever growing lump her baby was growing in.

She barely attended training, though, in light of the nightmares taking their physical toll on her body, Tibe had her examined by nurses and healers.

"Your Highness, are you sure you're alright? Your feet are swollen and you seem like there's a weight on you."

When she'd been asked that, she had to stifle the instinct to rub her stomach and instead wrap her arms around herself.

"I'm alright," she replied, more hesitant than she would have liked, but the words smoothing as she continued. "I tried training a while ago and tried a move I shouldn't have. I used some braces, though."

The Healer scowled at her, forgetting Coriane's place as Queen and seeing the stubborn girl that always chose to help herself instead of seek proper assistance.

"I got better. Maybe it's more like... a phantom injury."

"Or you should have come to a Healer when it happened. Can you imagine if you'd set them wrong and didn't know?"

To keep further questions from arising, Coriane only shook her head; Jessamine had taught her well in the art of knowing when to stop a fight from continuing. "No."

The Healer nodded at her and continued to check on her, noting that despite her feet and growing intolerance toward physical contact, she was fine, chalking it up to the Queen's nightmares attacking her body more than her mind.

Still, Coriane remarked as she left the infirmary, eying the bump hidden beneath her thin cardigan, a close call is better than someone finding out.

Another close call occured during a war meeting she attended with Tibe before he had to leave for the front. Even though he was expressionless upon hearing of the attacks on his people, beneath the table his fists shook, either out of anger toawrds the Lakelanders advancing or fear for the safe of what family he had left, fear of losing his mother, despite her prowess, brother-in-law, and wife to a seemjngly unending war.

"Should they make it past the Choke and cross into our boaders, there's hardly a chance we can stop them," the Legionnaire explained. "Our soldiers, although they're trained well enough, keep getting mowed down, as well. They aren't enough man power to hold off an onslaught."

Tibe, who had been sitting quietly in thought, finally spoke up. "For every Red soldier, how many Silvers are on the field?"

"Fifty to one."

When he remained silent, the Legionnaire paled.

"You can't be thinking..."

"If the Reds can't put up a decent fight against the Lakelanders, we'll send in more Silvers to make up the difference."

"With all due respect, my King, surely there is some sort of alternative."

The words drew no reaction from Tiberias, but Coriane lowered her gaze to her hands, picking at her nails to distract herself from the implication.

When Tibe's fingers laced with hers, she welcomed it, welcomed the warmth and closeness their current situation could allow.

"Reds are being conscripted by the minute, more than a hundred by the hour. They can be difference enough."

"Reds don't have power," Tibe seemingly spelled out, scornful as a teacher. "Reds don't have strength. Numbers be damned, if they can't fend off the Lakelanders, we'll have to start sending Silvers to fight."

"Silvers of High Houses? Have them open for slaughter when fifty Reds can get the job done with proper leadership?"

"Your general has trained, led, and been victorious with every Red soldier he's had, what better leadership do Reds have?"

"It is not his fault they're incapable-"

"Can't you just understand it's not working!?" Coriane snapped, drawing every eye to her, including Tibe's, the mask of a warrior King dropping when he took one look at her tear stained face.

"No matter how many Reds you throw at the Lakelanders, they'll be slaughtered without hesitation! You can't shoot down a Magnetron or drown a Nymph, if you have nothing to defend yourself with!"

"Cori," Tibe murmured softly, his tone gentle despite the earlier debate, "that's enough."

The words did their job in soothing the Queen, nodding and apologizing as her husband gently pulled her close to him.

"How soon can we have Silver soldiers sent to the front?"

The finality in Tiberias's words brought the Legionnaire back to the matter at hand.

"As soon as they're ready, though, from what I've heard, they've been training since three months ago."

"Have the most experienced and capable sent to the front while the rest continue training."

With that the meeting ended, and Coriane practically scurried away, if only to avoid the glances from those in attendance.

"If you don't mind my input, I don't understand why bringing the Queen to these meetings is one of your priorities. Do you expect her to keep you safe from unwanted news?"

Tiberias turned, eyes sharp and burning with a fire strong enough to kill.

"She isn't protecting me," he said lowly as he drew closer to the Legionnaire. "She's here to protect you."

In her room, Coriane lay on her side on her bed, her hand caressing her abdomen as her own words echoed in her mind.

Regardless of the fear of losing a fourth child to her nightmares, her emotions had still gotten the better of her.

It's no wonder I shouldn't have come here.

Usually Julian was someone she could turn to during these times, if not him, then Sara, but with archives discovered and needing to be translated, and Healers needed at the front, neither were around for her to talk to.

It was childish, but part of Coriane felt abandoned, even though her brother promised he wouldn't leave her alone.

But how can anyone be brave enough to say no to a King?

Sometimes it was easy to forget, see two people inhabiting Tibe at once: the lonely Prince she'd first met at the banquet and the King that sat upon a throne of flames and blood, strong enough to burn all of Norta to the ground, if he so desired.

And he'd married a poor girl of House Jacos.

What kind of Queen am I, if I can't even bear him a child?

A knock on the door stopped her from building on the thought further.

"Coriane?"

When she remained silent, he knocked again.

"Cori? May I come in?"

She hummed loudly and nodded, and Tibe walked in and shut the door behind him, missing when she grabbed a pillow and hugged it to her chest.

Despite his strength, his rank, the ability at his fingertips, the myriad of metals she'd seen him wear, even the control he held over a room of other Silvers, he seemed... smaller, unsure as he carefully sat next to her.

He's the King, and he's the one who's scared?

"Are you alright?" He asked as he rested a hand on her upper arm. "I know the meetings aren't easy to handle, but I don't think I've seen you get so upset."

Upset was putting it more than lightly. Three nights of waking up to blood staining the sheets and missing a child before it was born made her more than upset. Hiding her fourth pregnancy from her own husband, out of desperation for the child's safety more than her own, made her more than upset. Fearing for Elara Merandus attacking her mind, even with Arven outside her door, made her more than upset.

"Yes, I'm fine," was all that came out instead.

Neither spoke for a while, leaving them in cursed silence.

That was until Tibe's hand clenched around her arm, just enough to let her know she wasn't alone.

"Don't lie to me," he said, pleadingly so. "I know there's something you're not telling me."

Coriane held the pillow closer to her, the tips of her fingers just brushing against her stomach.

He knows. He knows. He knows. He found out, and now he knows.

But Tibe turned his head away, looking back as his brow furrowed.

"It's Elara, isn't it?"

Coriane met his eyes and pushed herself up. "I don't know. Maybe it was before, but now..."

Now, with Rane Arven outside her door, an attack from Elara didn't seem likely. It didn't quell her fears entirely, but it was a comfort she welcomed, all the same.

Tibe's hand glided to her own, the warmth of his skin and body a blessing.

"Do you think House Merandus would do well on the front?"

Coriane gasped and whipped her gaze to him. "Tibe, you can't make that happen, and you know it."

"And Elara knows you are the Queen. If she wants a fight, she can glady have one to write home about. Whispers usually do well in a war," he said with an averted gaze and a shrug.

"But Merandus is one of the highest Houses. You know as well as everyone else what could happen, if they became an enemy."

Hers words settled in Tibe, leading him to sigh and stare at the floor.

"You're right. Damn it."

Hearing those words, and seeing her own husband pout like a child, drew a small grin from Coriane.

"As usual."

Tiberias turned his gaze back to her. "'As usual?' What do you mean, 'as usual?'" He asked incredulously as a smirk grew on his face.

Coriane merely shrugged and buried her face into her pillow. "Nothing. Just that I'm always right."

Although his jaw dropped, his smile remained, and Coriane giggled as she lie on her side, her facing him.

"You're always right?" He dared.

"Yes."

"You're the one who's always right?"

Coriane gasped, "You admit it?"

Quickly, and gently, Tibe pulled her back up until she was upright and hugged her close, her back against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, Coriane yelping and giggling more than she thought she would, even when he gave her soft, butterfly kisses on her neck and shoulder.

"Who's always right?" He asked as he rested his chin on her shoulder, Coriane lightly chuckling after he stopped.

"Me."

"Wrong," he replied quickly before kissing her cheek and temple, driving his wife into another fit of laughter.

"Will you stop that!?" Coriane exclaimed, even with a smile on her face, "You're prickly and I don't feel good!"

"Then admit I'm always right and..." Tibe lowered to his side, Coriane nearly falling with him. Her heart skipped a beat as he cradled her body against his, one arm around her chest as the other rested over her upper arm. "Tell me what's wrong," he replied softly.

Coriane only grasped onto his arm with her hands.

I'm pregnant, she nearly said. I've been pregnant for a while now. I haven't told you or anyone else because I can't risk losing this one, too, or put you through more loss than you already have. Even if Elara is the reason I can barely sleep at night, I can't lose another child. Not for his or her sake, and not for yours, either.

She sighed, maintaining her smile from the onslaught of kisses moments ago.

"Fine. Yon win. You're always right. Happy?"

Tibe chuckled lightly and shook his head against her hair.

"That's not what I meant. Please tell me what's wrong."

It was like her uncle's funeral banquet, when Jessamine noticed her crying after dressing her for the occasion.

"Tibe, do you miss them? Julian and Sara?"

Tibe remained silent, his thumb rubbing her shoulder as Coriane continued.

"I know it hasn't been that long, but I do. I'm glad that you're here, Tibe, I really am. I don't know, I just miss them being here."

Tibe leaned up and kissed her cheek before nuzzling into her shoulder.

"I miss them, too, Cori. They'll be back soon, I promise."

Like in the meeting, their fingers laced together.

"In the meantime, I hope I can make up for them."

Coriane nodded and held her head against his. "You already do, Tibe," she replied softly.

Tibe held her closer, feeling his Queen's body effectively relax under his touch.

After a while of silence, blissful and welcome, Tibe kissed her cherk and sat up.

"Where are we again on sending House Merandus to the front?"

Coriane snagged the pillow she'd dropped and swatted him in the chest. "Stop that," she exclaimed.

The look of a challenge returned to Tibe's face as he took the pillow and tossed it back to the head of the bed. "Openly attacking your King? Whatever shall I do with you?"

Coriane inched back toward her lost weapon. "Don't you dare come near me with that prickly stubble or I'm shaving it off myself!"

Tiberias faked a gasp and held a hand over his heart. "And now you've threatened the King! You traitor," he chided playfully.

Coriane only reclaimed her pillow and held it back for another strike. "Try me."

Tibe fought a snicker and nodded, holding his hands up in surrender. "Alright. You win."

Coriane lowered her pillow as Tibe kissed her lips and held his forehead against hers.

"I'll tell anyone who asks you're sick and need to be alone while you heal. Just rest now, alright?"

Coriane nodded.

Tibe stood and turned to leave the room, brisk as he had been trained to do.

A King's work is never truly done, Coriane remarked before he stopped and looked back at her.

"Is there anything you'd like me to bring back later?"

Coriane blanched and shook her head. "You don't have to. I can... ask for the chef myself, in case you're..."

Tibe only returned to her and held her hands. "Cori, please."

Again, there was that desperation in his eyes, as if Tibe saw nothing but the girl he'd met many years ago and was willing to do anything to keep her alive.

He could have chosen someone else, someone stronger, but he chose you. You are his Queen.

Coriane nodded stiffly, uncomfortable and still unfamiliar with being served in Court.

Tibe placed his hands on either side of her face and kissed her forehead, holding her close. "I'll try to be back as soon as I can. Please. Get some rest."

"I will," Coriane replied as she placed a hand over his.

With that, he exited her room, reluctant in spite of his promise to return.

Coriane could only smile as she rubbed her stomach, carefully unmarred and thankfully unnoticed.

It was a blessing she still had the boy she'd met, that the crown hadn't taken him away just yet.

#red queen #tiberias calore vi #coriane jacos #it's a rough start but the ending is worth it I promise #ship fanfic #never trust a prickly stubble #miscarriage tw #blood tw #angsty start #fluffy ending #i am an absolute asshole for putting in that last sentence!!!

[goldafterglow]

embellished lungs

Summary: Ezra buys a pretty thing for a pretty thing.

Request: hc about what renders Ezra speechless 😶 - @lose-eels (this is not even what you asked for but fuckin here ig im sorry sgkfjdshg)

Pairing: Ezra x reader

Word Count: 2.6k+

Warnings: a big fat drabble?, very really soft, not beta read and tbh barely even normal read i read this maybe twice oops

Author’s Note: i almost put this just like under the ask but I’m not gonna sit here and act like this is a drabble bc i’m a clown. i don’t want to talk about it. and spitting this out bc I was soft for Ezra and @mrpascals made me

Gif Cred: my wife and my baby @pascalplease

masterlist | taglist modifications

He spies it in the open market while he’s stocking up on supplies.

The day is hot, the Sun bearing down on its disciples with a violent red fury, but it’s light is strong, bright. Everything is reflective, hot to the touch from boiling in the heat, and all of the creatures begin to melt together like dyed wax to form one big discernable blob, if you really squint. Ezra’s sweat escapes the barrier of his brows and leaks past his lashes, dragging across his eyes and stinging a little, blurring his vision and dripping onto his arms, but he doesn’t care. He’s far too exhilarated.

The market in itself is absolutely brilliant to him; he’s always been enthralled by this, by people and pretty things, and to be completely surrounded by both felt like something akin to sensory overload. His heart is racing at the sight of people traversing the dirt road, loitering and browsing through produce colored so vibrantly he wonders if the bright red apples and deep indigo berries have been dipped in the tinted glow of fairies that dance in the forest. And he’s utterly taken by the art and trinkets. He’s always had a little soft spot for art - a tender, exposed section of his beating flesh that is so sensitive, so delicate and so easy to provoke. And right now, he seems like he’s subject to a battering ram, pounding against his chest in the best way possible.

His eyes dart around quickly as he tries his best to take everything in. He finds himself cherishing every little interaction, every stranger whose shoulder he is forced to brush in an attempt to make his way through the market, every vendor that begs to him, calls to him to try “just one last berry sir. I’m sure your lover will be delighted by the raspberries from yesterday’s harvest.” He ended up buying a quaint six ounces just so that he could feed them to you. But that would be a treat for later.

And just like that, he is thinking of you. The prettiest, most beautiful thing. A sculpture with imperfections so perfect that he knows it must have taken eons to craft you out of gold and diamonds and the soft fluff of hummingbird feathers and butterfly wings. You are art, a walking, breathing, touchable piece that he gets to admire up close. It’s a privilege, really, to have been gifted with Kevva’s finest handiwork.

As his pupils peruse the stands, admiring his surroundings, they suddenly become frozen in place, permanently stuck on a little trinket that’s caught his attention: a necklace. The gem sitting in the center isn’t aurelac; it’s much more vibrant, much more dramatic and almost rainbow when he looks at it from different angles. The chain isn’t long, and knowing you the gem would fall right between your collarbones. He can already envision you wearing it, like a child flicking watercolors onto the Venus de Milo, but he wants to see his deep green paint draped around your shoulders. The way he sees it when you wear his clothing, when you’re adorned with bruises of his passion like stars adorn the sky, when you wear him. It’s intoxicating, seeing that he’s had any impact on your life and that you parade it around like a trophy. That you think about him without him prompting you to do so - not that he isn’t constantly in your presence. But he wants to buy it just so that he can see you wear it. Perhaps even only wear it.

He’s already thinking about how fucking gorgeous you would look in it. He is thinking about putting it on you, tugging on it ever so lightly in a way that signals to you - that is, rather than exerting any true force on you - that he wants a kiss. Perhaps pulling on it a little harder so that metal bites your skin and you can feel it, feel him digging into the soft flesh of your neck. Now he’s imagined a thousand scenarios in which he can have his way with you just by getting you to wear this piece, and he has to purchase it.

When the vendor finally hands it to him, packaged with care and placed deep into the hollow of a black velvet box, he finds that it barely fits in his pocket. He doesn’t care, though, because it’s too exquisite an accessory to be thrown in with the other supplies and it’s too precious for him to take it out of the box. He’s excited when he comes back to the pod, back home where you are.

Home is you.

He assumes you must’ve heard him come in, the pod door loud and rambunctious as he dumps the bags into the center of the pod space and then crawls in himself - it was hard enough with two arms, nonetheless one. He lets out a sight as if to let the excitement drain out his vessels and into the atmosphere of the cockpit, mingling with the peace and solitude to create a soft buzz that zings through his ears and vibrates his eyes. The exhilaration from being the market was utterly electric, but he is home now. He can crawl into you, let you absorb into him, and he likes how you can make his heart race a million miles and yet also pacify him, a cold compress to his aching soul to help reduce inflammation. He wants to maintain that semblance of the intricate pastel harmony, adorned in lilac and peach hues. So he stands in the middle of the cockpit and closes his eyes, lets himself sway to the rhythm of his lungs for a moment. Just a fraction of solitude, and he doesn’t mind because ever since he met you he has never felt lonely, not even when he’s alone. He always feels you with him.

Once his head has cleared, he palms at his pocket where the little black box still resides, as if to check that he hadn’t dreamt up some fantasy ornament that would look so perfect on you. It’s still there; of course it is, and he feels foolish for thinking that the pretty butterflies would have fluttered it out and flown it away, but sometimes he wonders if the same thing will ever happen to you. If one morning he will wake up and you will have migrated with the birdies, off to seek true warmth because you’re not real, because nothing so good as you could ever be caged by him.

He steps into your shared bedroom and spies you with your back to the entrance. The room is cool, but you’ve elected to wear his shirt, even foregoing pants. His favorite outfit of yours, and he knows you know it. You’re wearing headphones, something he’d picked up for you on your last supply run, and he can tell you’re playing one of those instrumental stations you so adore listening to when you were working. A mutely-colored map is stretched out onto the desk, and he’s not even sure you can focus the music because your mind is moving faster than your poor hand can keep up as you mark up a new dig site. He almost feels bad for interrupting you while you’re in such deep concentration, your forehead smashed into wrinkles without even noticing, but Ezra cannot resist his greed for your attention. Ever so gently, he places his hand on your shoulder from behind so as not to startle you.

You almost immediately register the delicate touch, turning the radio off and pulling your headphones off your ears so you can give this kind artist your undivided attention - Kevva herself knows he's earned it. You turn your head to face him, craning your neck back so you can take his softly smiling depiction like pressing a plush blanket into your face.

“Hey, pretty boy,” you coo, letting your pen fall tumultuously from your hand. The sound of it clanging against the table and then rolling around to a stop fills the room, but you can’t hear it; Ezra is talking now.

“Hey, sweet stardust,” he greets back, voice orange and warm like the heat that simmers under the stars during the summer at midnight.

Comfortable.

 “Hey” was never his preferred salutation, and he’d tried to omit it from his vocabulary for so long, but he started to notice that he likes it when you say to him. Like a little pearl of your voice, so sweet like honey with the honeycomb still mixed in, a little grainy and so cheeky.

“Did you get everything we need?” you ask, beginning to stand to that you can press a hand to his chest, grounding him to the pod and to your sanctuary soul. Ezra grins wide, unable to hide his excitement at your words.

“I in fact exceeded our needs, sweet rose bud,” he says with a pride that fills up your chest and makes you want to hold him tight because you love when he gets giddy like this, with the childlike enthusiasm of showing your parents the shitty drawing you made or your ugly macaroni art. Ezra is light, his tone airy. “I happened to spot a gem that reminded me of your vision and I couldn’t resist the urge to get it.”

You brow furrows a little, not out of confusion but out of curiosity. Ezra’s taste has always inspired you, and you knew his never ending quest for art is always in an attempt to find beauty in everything. You don’t even have to look at it to know that it will be stunning because his stamp of “pretty” approval is your gold standard.

He pulls the box out and opens it facing you so that you can get a good look, really admire it, and you are already taken by the shimmering pendant.

“Oh Ezra, it's - it’s utterly magnificent,” you gush, and he can spot that little glimmer in your eyes that you get when you’re looking at something that you’re enamored with; they way you look when you’re gazing at him. You raise your chin to look at him, his cheeks rosy with delight and sweet eyes crinkled at the corners. “Put it on me.”

It’s not so much of a demand as it is a gentle instruction; you know he wants to, know he’s been thinking about it since he bought it, and you want to be open to him. You want to invite him into your heart, inside of the flower garden of your chest, with open arms because he deserves to feel wanted.

You help him pull the chain out of the bottom of the box, keeping one end in your right hand and letting him take the clasp in his left. He wills himself to move slowly, to savor every little stimulation you send through his skin as he steps behind you. His fingers press against your clavicle, tracing along the bone before traveling up over the valley of your shoulder, tips of his hands brushing against your throat. He is feeling you, mapping out your body because he’ll never get to see an angel in his life but he’s certain you must be the spitting image.

You can feel his breath against your skin, hot and intoxicating as a small film of dampness coats your exposed back and neck. Your right hand rests at the nape of your neck, waiting expectantly, but you don’t rush him. He takes his sweet, sugary time, because the surface of your skin feels like he’s running his fingers through a field of silicone needles, firm but harmless as they stimulate a sensation he never knew he could feel before he touched you for the first time. You’re addictive, the best high he’s ever gotten, and he almost lets his hand lose all abandon and travel so carefully down the front of your body, palming your breast along the way and pressing right into your diaphragm before he keeps going down, down, down…

Almost.

But he will save it for a later time, especially since he’d been fantasizing about you wearing the necklace like a carefully chiseled bust is adorned with sashes. So finally, after what feels like hours of roaming and teasing, you feel that calloused, worn sensation of your lover’s fingers seeking solace against yours. You pin your breath to your lungs, not daring to let it go as you wait for the heavy release of his hand indicating that the necklace is secure. But even once you feel it, even as you let your right hand fall down at your side, Ezra does not take his hand off of you. You don’t want him to.

Slowly, so that he never has to cease his touch, you turn to face him. You’re still looking down at the pendant, in awe of how the gem rests so perfectly between your collarbones. You can’t see Ezra’s adoring gaze, his completely awestruck fixation on how ethereal you are to him. Like you’re emitting a golden glow, too hot to touch and yet begging, inviting his fingers to feel and press and hold. 

Celestial.

He feels his emotions expand in his stomach, diaphragm threatening to spasm. His hand trails up to your chin, palming your jaw as he tenderly lifts your line of sight so that he can see your pretty eyes.

“You’re divine,” he mumbles to you, not wanting to disrupt the tight silence, so tense he’s afraid of speaking too loud lest it break and snap against his cheek leaving an angry raised brand.

Overwhelmed with appreciation, you balance your hands on his shoulders and press a gentle kiss to his cheek, letting it linger so you can savor the honeysuckle dew on his skin. “I love it,” you whisper with a grin.

Ezra giggles.

When you pull back to face him proper, his face is utterly red. His smile reaches the lobes of his ears, bashful and boyish like his belly has just been tickled by the sweetest of baby chicks, and he can barely get a word out. He can’t speak. His mind is in overdrive, completely inundated with a blistering adoration for you and your approval because you said you loved it. His gift is not a splash of children’s watercolors; it is a clean swipe of gold running along your jaw, accenting your beauty and emphasizing just how exquisite you are to him.

“Yeah?” he managed, a soft giggle still passing his lips like the first cries of a baby deer, the first flutters of a newly hatched butterfly.

Adorable.

You can’t resist the urge to giggle back, placing a hand at the nape of his neck and pulling him in for a true kiss on his glittery lips. It only lasts seconds, however, because Ezra can’t stop smiling and you can’t stop giggling, so you both settle for the blissful solitude of pressing your foreheads against one another, breathing in each other's air and taking up the same space.

“It’s gorgeous, Ezra. Thank you,” you whisper lightly so that the wisps of air tickle his upper lip, and suddenly he is so inclined as to press his left arm into the small of your back so that you’re so much closer and kiss you the way you deserve; a dynamic series of long, deep, searing kisses that send you to the clouds and drop you into an endless pit of lavish fluff at the same time. You don’t know how he does this, makes you feel like you don’t exist and that there isn’t anything in the world but you and him, and you often wonder if it’s because Ezra is within you, or that your broken parts and his broken parts make some hauntingly majestic sculpture of its own; something better than the fucking Venus de Milo or Athena or Great Sphinx because it should be something so hideous and yet it feels to utterly priceless to you.

It’s precious.

ppl that asked to be tagged: @gustavos @catfishingmorales @keeper0fthestars @1zashreena1 @blancatobarxoxo @honeyedspace @chaotic-noceur @opheliaelysia @adikaofmandalore @din-damn-djarin @mrsparknuts @girlwithanewplan @mrschiltoncat @cryptkeepersoul @buckstaposition @the-feckless-wonder @cocoatales @agentpike @cryptkeepersoul

ppl that did not ask no ma’am no sir: @ergotautology @dindjarindiaries @pascalplease​

again, you can join/leave my taglist here :)

#iris writes #ezra #ezra prospect x reader #ezra (prospect) x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #ezra x you #ezra prospect x you #ezra x reader #pedro pascal x you #shgkdjfhgd #this one was #huh #idk how i feel abt this lol #hope you beautiful bitches like it though :)

[vercopaanir]

Fallen Kings

The Lovely Moons, Chapter 15

Masterlist

Pairing: The Mandalorian x Blind!Reader

Words: 4.7k

Summary: After you heal from the attack on Canto Bight, the Mandalorian flies you and the children back to Arvala-7.

Warnings/Rating: T, I think. There’s some vague mentions of child abuse, slavery, as well as allusions to animal cruelty.

Notes: It’s here! Things are happening! I finally fulfill my promise that you learn what Mando drew in the dirt in chapter 10 God I am the worst, and...well. Things are progressing. That’s all I got!

If you enjoy this story, check out the beautiful works of art that have been made for this story here, here, and here! Please support artists!!!

AO3

The first thing you think when you surface from the edge of dreaming is how comfortable you are. You are completely buried beneath a blanket and sheets, and when you reach out a hand across the top of the covers, you can feel a fur was added on top, too. It’s sinfully soft, and you let your fingers idly trace through the texture of it as your mind is slow to bloom back open.

Snoring softly, the baby is tucked beneath your chin, his ears keeping your neck warm where the tunic the Mandalorian is loaning you doesn’t quite cover your skin. Your other hand rests on his back, and you smile at the feeling of his tiny heart beating with your own.

Memories flicker along as you come to, and you remember a hot, desperate mouth pressing against your own that flushes your skin through. He’d kissed you until you were dizzy, until you couldn’t breathe for how he crowded you into the pillows like he might starve if he stopped. Your lips feel swollen from so much kissing, and your toes curl beneath the blankets. His hair had been thick between your fingers, just as soft as the fur that keeps the chill from you now, and you couldn’t imagine anything in the world feeling so lovely.

The baby coos quietly, and you can tell when he wakes up by the soft grunts he makes as he tries to push himself up. He sits back on your stomach, and you stroke his little nose with your finger.

“Hello, sweet one,” you greet softly, voice raspy with sleep.

He flops forward, and you huff a laugh as he begins patting at your cheeks, then over the thick gauze covering your eyes. You pat his back with reassurance, smiling as he feels your face with tiny, three fingered hands.

“We slept a while, I think,” you say to him, rubbing his back as he moves those small fingers over the cotton curiously. You hold your breath, waiting for the smallest movement to cause pain. He was a child, after all, and you doubted he could do much damage. Your eyes had been swollen shut, though, and you had never felt pain like that before.

You sit up gingerly, pushing the heavy blankets aside, allowing your mind to catch up with your body.

The Mandalorian kissed you. More than that, he took off his helmet, a third time in your presence, and though both of you knew you would never see his face even if he wanted you to, you knew the gravity of such an action is world shifting. Now more than ever, you want to speak with him-not just about what had happened, but about everything. The children on the ship, the animal below deck, what happened on Cantonica.

And where are you going now?

When your feet touch the metal floor, you’re surprised to find yourself wearing socks. You didn’t recall putting them on, and you lift the baby up into your arms as you stand. It’s a pleasant feeling to have control over yourself again, even if you can’t see anything now. Whatever creams, balms, and salves the Togruta applied to your injuries took away not just the pain and discomfort, but it also left not even a slight soreness behind.

Even your eyes feel better beneath the wrappings.

You shuffle on silent feet to the door, one hand out to feel for the button that allows you into the passage of the upper deck. You tilt your head when soft voices echo from down the hall, and the baby wiggles excitedly. Following the hushed noises, you creep along the wall and stop just by the cockpit’s doors that seem to be open.

“Kandosii, Venka. And this one?” There’s a short pause, followed quickly by the Mandalorian humming. “No, not quite. Try again.”

“I can help.”

“Let him do it.”

After a moment, you hear Corde gasp and clap, and the Mandalorian chuckles. “Gar serim, ad’ika. You both could fly starfighters one day.”

“Have you flown one before?” Corde asks, and you can hear the quiet squeak of one of the co-pilot seats. She must be fidgeting. You’d need to get the Mandalorian to oil those chairs.

The bounty hunter makes a noncommittal noise. “Various models.”

“Do you have a favorite?”

“I prefer my own ship.”

Corde jumps down from the chair, and you can hear the way her little feet dance across the floor of the cockpit. “Do you think I could have a ship one day?” she asks, and you have to cover your mouth to keep from laughing. How long had they been hanging off of him? At this rate, you are surprised he isn’t a bundle of nerves for someone unused to human contact and communication. Before he can answer her, Corde chirps, “I want to have my own ship and take people away like you.”

“Ah-well-”

“Like you did with us.”

There’s a long moment where no one says anything. You wish you could see them, but you dare not make yourself known. For some reason, you feel as though the Mandalorian will not be as talkative with you present, and you hold your breath until he finally says, “I think you would do it better than I ever could.”

Corde is moving around the cockpit, again. Her voice carries and bounces with the freedom of a child whose cares have been lifted from her shoulders, and it makes you feel light. “Is that how you met her? Sha-Sharee?”

“Cyare. And no, that’s not...she stays with me, here.”

“Why do you call her that?” Corde asks with no small amount of skepticism. “That’s not her name.”

The Mandalorian stands up, and you can hear his boots clicking against the metal flooring. He adjusts a lever of some kind, from the sounds he’s making on the other side of the wall. “I know her name,” he huffs defensively. “I just...it’s something people call each other, sometimes.”

“What does it mean?”

“Do you always ask so many questions?”

Corde quiets, and you imagine she must be thinking very hard about something. When she answers, her voice is smaller. “Am I in trouble?” she asks, and you think she’s hovering near the door, as if backing up.

“What? N-No, why would you be in trouble?” When she doesn’t reply, the Mandalorian repeats his question, and this time you can hear him frowning. “Why do you think you’re in trouble?”

“I got in trouble before,” she finally says, so quietly you almost don’t hear her. “But you’re-you’re nice, I thought…”

In your arms, the child’s ears lower as if he understands the fear and pain in the little girl’s voice, and you hug him tighter against you.

You can hear the Mandalorian’s boots slowly approaching the door now, and there’s a quiet brush of fabric where you think, perhaps, he’s kneeling to be closer to her height. “No one will ever hurt you again, ad’ika.”

Corde whispers, “Do you promise?”

“Ori’haat, with my life.”

There’s nothing but quiet sniffling, and you hold your breath, leaning your head against the cool wall and fighting down the tears choking your throat. You nearly jump out of your skin when you feel a small hand rest on your leg, and you hold your hand out to feel Venka take it, threading your fingers together. You swallow and let him lead you into the cockpit, and there’s a very quick shuffling sound, followed by Corde’s gasp, “Oh, the baby’s up!”

“You’re awake.” The Mandalorian’s voice is tender and pleased, and you offer him a small, unsure smile. Venka leads you wordlessly until you feel your leg brush the co-pilot chair. You sit cautiously, feeling the space with your hand before resting back.

“Thank you, sweet boy,” you tell him, and he squeezes your hand without letting go.

“Can we feed the baby? Is he hungry?” Corde asks, coming to stand in front of you and petting his head as if she’s afraid he’ll fall apart.

“Oh, I’ll need to find where our supplies-”

“I showed them,” the Mandalorian says, suddenly much closer than you remember.

You bite your lip and nod slowly. “Alright,” you let Corde pick the baby up from your lap, and she giggles when the child coos at her. “Just be careful, and don’t run.”

“I won’t!” she promises, and you hear her padding towards the doors. “Come on, Venka!”

The sound of their little feet makes you smile, even though you know their toes must be frozen on the cold floor of the ship. You’re about to mention you’ll need more fabric, or perhaps you could simply find a tailor or clothes shop in a market. The gentle touch of warm, bare fingers ghosting over your jaw draws your face upward. You feel the back of his hand, holding it there before pressing a gentle kiss to his palm.

“Good morning.”

“Evening,” he corrects, and you can hear his smile.

“How long have I been asleep?”

“Last night and most of today.” You hear him shift, and by the space his voice occupies now, you know he’s kneeling in front of you. “You needed it, but now we should change those bandages.” You lift one hand up to touch, but his other hand grabs your wrist like a snake striking, holding it hostage. “Don’t. She told me to change it three times before it’ll be well enough, and you messing with it will make it worse.”

“My,” you breathe. “You’re awfully bossy today.”

He draws you close until you have to part your knees to make room for him, and he leans up to touch his helm to your brow. “I’ll be bossy until you’re well again,” he mutters, and you can’t help but smile, leaning against him. The two of you spend a moment to simply lean into each other, his hands resting on your arms, and yours lying comfortably at his waist. It feels natural, sweet even, after what you shared the night before.

“You’re good with them,” you whisper, moving your head to the side to rest your cheek against the fabric of his shoulder. His arms slip around your waist, hugging you firmly, and you sigh in contentment. He’s so warm. “I...I didn’t know you would bring them with us.”

The Mandalorian is quiet for a moment, his gloved fingers slowly rubbing tiny circles at your lower back. “D-Did you not want me to?” he asks, barely above a whisper.

You squeeze his waist with your knees, pressing your mouth to the fabric covering his neck. “I would not have left them there,” you murmur, feeling him relax further into your embrace. Your cheeks heat as your heart quickens, adding, “You are more dear to me because you didn’t.”

He gently pushes his helmet against your temple, brushing the cool beskar against your hairline, and you smile at the gesture of affection. It’s slight and subtle, like a shared glance across a room. He leans back, slowly standing, and says, “I’m going to unwrap your bandages. Stay very still.”

His hands are gentle as he begins unwinding the gauze from around your head, and you curl your fingers in your lap, waiting for the moment the pain will blindside you. When he peels the last of the cotton away, the cool air of the ship over your skin is refreshing, but then, nothing happens.

“W-What is it? Is something wrong?” you ask, keeping your eyes closed against your desire to do otherwise.

“No, but…” You feel his fingers ghost over your cheek, and then he tilts your face with a crooked finger beneath your chin. “It’s healed. Not even a bruise.”

You open your eyes then, slowly and carefully, and you find that your vision is just as blurry as you remember. You can only see a faint shadow and the shine of the beskar, and you blink several times in surprise.

“How do you feel?” he asks, his low baritone wavering with uncertainty. You let your fingers drift up to your temple, then beneath your lash line where the worst of the swelling was. It’s cool, smooth skin, just as you remember.

“I feel good,” you whisper, tilting your head toward him. “But I don’t understand. I thought you said it would take longer.”

He shifts forward on his knees, turning your head one way so he can inspect the stitches at your scalp. “That’s what she told me.” He goes still, suddenly, his thumb brushing over your jawline. His helmet tilts a minute amount, and he takes a deep breath through the vocoder. “The kid was with you, when you woke up?”

You nod, leaning your hands on your knees. He’s considering something and lets his hand drop away when tiny feet draw both of your attentions away from each other. Venka hesitates at the doors of the cockpit, and you smile at him, holding out your hand. When he approaches, you’re able to make out more than you were when he first brought you bread and wiped your face clean of blood.

Small even for a boy his age, he has a mop of soft dark curls, thick and wild, with large shadowed eyes. He holds a piece of paper between tiny hands that you notice are wrapped with gauze around his palms, and he holds the paper out to you.

“What’s this?”

It’s too blurry for you to make out, but you can see it’s a drawing. Venka leans against the side of your chair on tiptoes, attempting to look at it when you lay it in your lap.

“The kid drew it,” the Mandalorian says, and when you look up he’s leaning back in his chair, helmet directed out at the streaking silver sphere of hyperspace. A smile curves your lips, and you look back down at the paper, your thumb straightening a crinkled edge. Venka taps a small finger on the center, looking up at you with a tilt of his head. “The morning you went out.”

“Oh.” The Mandalorian turns to look at you and the small boy by your knee. Leaning back, he folds his hands over his belt and crosses one of his boots over his knee.

“It’s a constellation, like an instrument with strings.” He taps his fingers restlessly over his belt for a moment before turning in his chair suddenly, surprising you. His gloved fingers tap quickly over a datapad, and he only turns back when a small, blue hued projection appears.

Now you can see it. Venka gasps softly beside you, and you both stare in wonder at the digital recreation of the arrangement of twinkling stars.

“The Mando’ade believe that all the stars are fallen kings of the past that guide the honorable,” he murmurs, his voice sounding almost sad, you think. Your face softens as you listen, and you lean your chin in your hand, watching the blue and silver stars blink and glow. “Ka’ra . When a child of Mandalore falls, the stars burn brightest in their tribute.”

Venka traces his finger over the image on your lap, and you smile softly at him, looking up at the Mandalorian. “How would the child know to draw something like this?” you ask, letting the little boy take the paper.

“Because he’s seen me draw it,” he murmurs, closing the datapad with a swipe of his finger. He sets it aside, and you watch him carefully, seeing the slight hunch in his shoulders and hearing the crack in his voice.

Turning your head toward the little boy, you pat his hair affectionately and murmur, “Go find your sister.” You can hear him sigh, as if he knows something heavy hangs in the air that is not for him, and you listen to him leave the room before you move to kneel beside the pilot’s chair. You lay your hand on the cool steel of the cuirasse covering the Mandalorian’s thigh, and you watch the tell-tale gleam of his helmet beneath the streaking starlight.

You rest on your knees, waiting to see if he has more to share with you. When he lifts his hand, removing his glove to touch the crown of your head, you offer him a small smile, and he murmurs, “Some say the instrument was flung into the sky by a musician whose love was more beautiful than any music he could create,” he leans his head back, and you can see the bob of the apple in his throat beneath his shirt when he swallows. “It was my mother’s favorite story.”

Was. You are wise enough to know, underneath the words and silence and the gentle touch in your hair what doesn’t need to be said. Your eyes drift down to his chest plate, which almost seems like a black hole in the shadows of the cockpit, and you reach up, cupping his wrist where he cradles your head. You expect to be able to linger in this quiet, in the fragile stillness that comes with shared grief.

“Did you know you’re named after it?” You lift your head up, a gentle curve to your brow. His fingers slip to your scalp, tracing down to the back of your neck and bringing a sweetened chill over your body. “Those stars. You share its name.”

Your heart aches for him, then, because whether or not you can see him, whether or not he’s fully armored or completely bare, you can hear his world weary, bone-deep sorrow in that moment. Perhaps it has been passed down from the beast taming kings whose honor he shoulders, or perhaps he hides a frightened child beneath a chest of steel. You slip your hands onto the rests of the pilot’s chair, moving with deliberate and thoughtful care until you’re seated upon his lap. The position might have left you feeling awkward, even silly, if he didn’t immediately lean back, eager to accept you. His breathing is audible, now, and your hands cup the arches of his helmet, allowing you to lift the bottom of his helm slowly upward.

His gloves find their place on your body, one upon your knee and the other on your waist, and you bare his face up to his nose, just enough allowance for you to brush your lips softly against his mouth.

You had thought you dreamed the sweetness you had tasted from him the night before, the tender trembling that had only been calmed when he pressed close to you. His fingers curl, gently pulling you in at your knee, cupping the curve of your waist and spanning his hand for more. He parts his lips beneath your own, and that familiar tightness in your belly begins to warm you from the inside out. There is no stubble on his chin and jaw, now, though you can feel a little scrape of facial hair above his lip that makes you smile with ticklishness.

“Ner cyra’ika,” he breathes, and you brush both thumbs along both his cheeks before letting his helm lower back down to cover his face. You lean your brow to his, smiling.

“One day, you must tell me what all these names mean,” you murmur, lowering your hands to his shoulders. They rise and fall as he breathes deeply, allowing his ghosts to leave the two of you in peace for now. “I would like to speak your language.”

His hands flex against the curve of your knee, the plush slope of your middle, and the heat within you stokes. “You would like to learn my tongue?” he chuckles, seeming delighted as your face blooms pink.

“Don’t tease me,” you whisper, squeezing his shoulders. You press your thumbs into the thick muscle there, earning a full bodied shiver from the man beneath you. “I’m sincere.”

He leans his helmet back against the pilot’s chair, regarding you through the shined visor. You try to hold what you hope must be his gaze, though your sightless eyes never seem to be able to follow along just so.

“And do you wish to be a Mandalorian? To take the Creed and hide your face?”

You ignore his cryptic tone and cock your head to the side. “I would certainly bruise less.”

He suddenly bounces his knees, earning a sharp yelp of surprise from you. “Now I’m the one being sincere.”

You flash him a helpless grin, letting your hands slide down to his elbows. “I do not think I could ever make a tolerable Mandalorian. I’m not strong enough,” you confess, crossing your ankles. “But as part of your clan, I would like to honor it.”

The Mandalorian straightens in his chair, and you lean against him, drawing one arm to hang on his shoulder and propping your head upon your fist. “There is more than physical strength in a warrior,” he says quietly, his voice rasping in that lovely tremble you’ve grown fonder of. “We call it mirjahaal. The strength of the mind and heart, and it is just as important and useful a weapon as your body is in war.”

“You...think that of me?” you whisper, eyes widening and your heart beating with a heavy, aching pace in your breast. You had never thought yourself strong. You possessed more evidence to the contrary, in fact, but when the Mandalorian said it, it sounded so true that you were left bereft of fight.

He rests the ear of his helmet against your arm, and you feel him inhale deeply before relaxing against you. “I will not believe anything less, Mesh’la.”

An alarm sets off, flashing green from the console, and you gently extract yourself as he turns in his chair to turn it off. “We’ll be dropping out of hyperdrive, soon.”

“Where are we going?” you ask, moving towards the cockpit doors. Now that you had your meager vision back, you felt steadier on your feet.

“Arvala-7.”

You perked up, spinning around just as the children appeared from the end of the passageway. “Kuiil’s home?”

The Mandalorian turns to look at you now. “You remember,” he says, sounding pleased.

You laugh when the baby huffs and puffs, running toward your ankles at full speed as fast as his little legs can manage. You pick him up, smiling when he coos in happiness, and cradle him in your arms. “Of course I remember. He is your friend,” you say, ushering the two siblings into the chair you’ve just vacated. The Mandalorian watches as you help them fasten the belt of the chair across their laps. It’s only meant for an adult, but they’re small enough that they fit snugly.

“Associate.”

“I’ve seen married couples with less rapport than you and Kuiil,” you throw back at him, to which he only grunts and turns back around to face the controls. You smirk, shifting the child’s makeshift cradle from the other seat to sit with him in your lap. “And why the visit?”

“I have a sick fathier in my cargo hold, and I need someone to take care of it.”

Your eyes widen in understanding, glancing in the direction of the other two children who swing their feet happily from their co-pilot’s chair.

“I don’t know if-”

“Hold on,” the bounty hunter chuckles, and all of you seem to yelp at the same time, slamming forward from hyperdrive and pitching over the familiar planet. Both children beside you laugh and clap their hands, and even the baby in your arms giggles. You narrow your eyes at the back of the Mandalorian’s blurry shape, knowing without a doubt he was showing off, but you don’t find it in yourself to be anything other than amused.

So much for a fearsome, cold bounty hunter, you think.

When the ship lands, the Mandalorian takes care of post-flight checks, and you pack a small bag with a change of clothes, some medicine and food, and the child’s stuffed bantha. When you emerge from the chilly captain’s quarters and enter the hull, the captain in question has offloaded the large animal from the holding partition, helping the two children on top of it. That takes care of your worry that their bare feet would be without protection.

The floppy eared infant floats beside you in his pram, giggling when the Mandalorian touches a tiny finger to his brow. You take his other arm, grateful when you can begin to walk with his assistance over the rocky terrain.

“You don’t think Kuiil has enough to do?” you ask, slightly worried as you hear the grunts and clops of the animal that follows behind you. From the looks of it, the creature seems to be more of a responsibility than a gift. “With all the bluurgs, I don’t know-”

“The animal is sick,” the Mandalorian tells you quietly, and you realize that he keeps his voice low so the children behind you won’t hear him. “It has welts that I think are infected. If someone doesn’t do something, it’ll die or need to be put down.”

“Oh.”

“It was left alone in the stables. My guess is they didn’t want to spend the money to get it healthy. You’d be surprised how much one can go for, even sickly or otherwise,” he mutters, an undertone of darkness you’d only heard once before. When there’d been a gun to your head.

“No,” you murmur, watching as the familiar outline of Kuiil’s moisture farm comes into view against the dying sunlight. “I don’t think that I would.”

The Ugnaught in question is outside his hut when you approach. You can hear the loud noises of metalwork echoing from his workbench, and when he turns to face you, he dusts off his gloves.

“Why is it every time we meet, you have more recruits?” he asks, his familiar, rough brogue a source of joy for you. You don’t miss the heavy, irritated sigh coming from the armored man beside you.

You let go of the Mandalorian quickly and cross the rest of the way on your own, unable to keep your smile hidden. “It’s so nice to see you again, Kuiil,” you murmurs, beaming when he takes both of your hands in his way of greeting.

“And to you, my girl,” he rumbles, and you think you see him smile in the dim lighting. He turns toward the floating pram that seems to stay within your orbit, and he touches the child’s forehead with affection. “It is good to see you and the little one in such good health.”

“I’m afraid it can’t be said for all of us,” you murmur, turning toward the animal that folds its legs in to sit heavily on the ground. The bluurgs in their pen shuffle anxiously, and you wring your hands together as the Ugnaught crosses to size up the creature. The Mandalorian rests his gloved hands on his belt, standing beside you as his “associate” takes a turn around the large creature, petting the animal’s hide and muttering to it soothingly.

“Is this yours?” he growls up at Corde and Venka, the former who giggles. He nods to himself, turning to face you and the bounty hunter with a firm nod. “I will help this one.”

“It’s yours, if you want it,” the Mandalorian tells him.

Kuiil looks back at the beast, who rests its head on the ground wearily. Venka pats its ears soothingly. “A generous gift that I cannot accept,” the Ugnaught grunts.

“At least if you keep it,” you say softly. “We would know it would be treated kindly.”

You see the gleam of beskar out of your periphery when the Mandalorian looks at you, and you bite your lip as Kuiil considers your words. He steps up to the side of the animal and holds out his hands. The children immediately slip off into his arms, one by one, staying away just far enough that anyone watching would know they were not entirely comfortable yet.

“I will do this,” Kuiil mutters, turning to face you and the Mandalorian once more. “And you are welcome here, as my guests.”

The bounty hunter takes a step forward, hesitation in his voice. “Really, you don’t need to do that.”

But you hide your smile, already knowing the toughened Ugnaught will not be told what to do.

“I have spoken.”

-

Mando’a Translations:

Kandosii - Well done

Gar serim, ad'ika - "That's it, little one."

Cyare - Beloved

Ori'haat - "It's the truth, I swear it."

Ka'ra - stars - ancient Mandalorian myth - ruling council of fallen kings

Ner cyra'ika - "My darling"

Mirjahaal - peace of mind, healing, general term for emotional well-being especially after a trauma or bereavement

Mesh'la - Beautiful

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#din djarin has sad hours #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #The Lovely Moons #mandalorian x you #mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #my writing #my fic #how are there 15 chapters of this #better question #how are people still reading after 15 chapters of this #lmao i'm so sorry

[rosepetals-flyingbirds]

Don’t Leave.

With: Bucky x Reader.

Words: 3.548.

Yes, i have a similar version with Ivar.

“Do you love me?”

“Yes.”

“Say you love me.”

“I love you.”

She would ask that, she didn’t want to sound clingy, probably why the moments she asked those simple four words were always when they were the most intimate.

How beautiful she is. Bucky could never grasp why she was with him. Y/N would always laugh when he said something as cliche like “I’m so lucky to have you”,“you’re so beautiful, what are you doing with me?”, "my sweet little angel", "my doll".

The truth was that Y/N found Bucky extremely handsome. She could watch him all day if required. She loved his eyes, his lips, his facial hair which seemed to grow by seconds, his soft hair, his jaw, his scars, his metal arm, his nightmares.

Everything.

But she also loved his personality. He was such a complicated person! Traumatized, stubborn, closed off but… he was funny, so damn smart, sweet, surprisingly romantic, and truly cared about her.

Both were too scared to start something when they first fell for each other. Bucky had such a terrible life filled with torture and loss. So even if unconsciously, he expected pain from all the situations, and if he couldn't love himself how could someone else love and accept him?

And Y/N had too much trust issues to trust a guy. Maybe it could be her father’s responsibility for cheating on her mother, hell, even her mother’s fault for cheating on her father!

Maybe it was all the people's fault for cheating on their s/o and acting like it was okay… like it was some animal instinct that overpowered them.

Weak.

But she allowed Bucky in her heart, how could she not? Never a guy has made such sweet displays for her. It was in the details, when he saved the last cupcake for her. When he would give her his jacket. Or offered her a ride on his motorcycle when she needed to go somewhere and Bucky didn't want her feeling crowded in the subways and buses.

Even so much as buying flowers. Back in the day it was normal, to court someone. Buy some flowers, a box of chocolate -or in the case of New York's depression, a flower stolen on the neighbor and some candy his parents had saved in the fridge- but in the modernity, it seemed as "clichê", he thought of asking help to make a cd to you, but then they said now it was a playlist-thing and he excluded that idea because it was getting too weird and he didn't want to ask help. So he did buy flowers, not a bouquet, but a small jar with a tiny flower so she could plant, then another, then a small cactus, and when the idea of receiving flowers from him was something expected; He bought a bouquet.

And it was stunning.

A mix of blue roses, with white tulips, lavender, and blue nemophila. Only the most distinct, so Y/N could feel he thought about her in the whole process. Which everyone could see he did. She was the only thing that mattered to him. He was so gentle, never pushed her to do something she wasn't comfortable with, on the contrary actually, y/n that initiated the first time they had sex, the kisses grew deeper but Bucky wasn't ready so they waited until he felt comfortable. He was honest, kind, and even with his nightmares... he opened up to her, allowed her in the vastness that was his mind. His guilt, his pain.

He trusted her, and Y/N thought it was amazing.

Once -while friends- they went to a small gathering Fury throw to celebrate a successful mission that took a couple of years to be done. And everyone was dressed up, and even that some said it was a small party, it ended up with 200 people. Bucky didn't want to go at first, but Steve told him it would do good, and then Y/N was excited too so he made the effort.

Besides, since he started working with the team, the shield agents took a likening to the metal armed man.

Bucky thought in holding his hair together in a man bun, but then he felt weird so he took it off. So he tried another style but it was also ridiculous. He ended up letting it freely, as usual, she seemed to like in that way.

But deep down he just wanted to look good. For her.

They went together to the place, of course it was high safety so they could relax, even for just a moment. Y/N looked stunning, per usual, she didn't like to use makeup on the daily basis, and she was a fucking piece of art. But she also managed to look striking with those products on her face, Buck giggled as she held his arm for support since she was wearing Natasha's heels, and since people always saw them together and adding that in the party people were sure they got together. 

Steve was proud, very much. Even though his heart broke a bit since he had a major crush on Y/N since the day he saw her for the first time. But the way Bucky looked at her... that was what love glowed like.

But as the night went on and Y/N mixed with her other friends, Bucky kept alert and spotted a man staring at her, he was Jay Halstead, a good guy, great agent, and Y/N's friend, and what pissed Bucky more was the fact that they would look great together.

If Jay was a prick, it would be easier but he was a good fella, as good at the level that he served with Sam in the army, good as he was the one that helped Steve to find the best psychologic on the country.

Annoyingly good. And he would be good for her.

Buck was talking with Steve and Clint when he got a glimpse of Jay approaching y/n, and she was very happy to see him. Hugged him and even allowed him to linger his arm on her shoulder.

Buck's stance changed and Steve realized why.

Clint drank his beer and shrugged. "If she isn't your girlfriend you can't be pissed because other guys like her."

Buck didn't agree, nor responded but he knew what Clint meant.

Before Steve could give some advice Buck smiled, y/n waved at him and called him over.

Buck looked at Steve who told him it was okay.

Jay smiled seeing Bucky, shook his hand and Buck was glad Jay’s arm wasn't around y/n's shoulder anymore.

"Hey, just wanted to congratulate you on the last mission, saw the files and you fixed what Fury has been trying to fix in 12 years."

Taken aback by the praise Buck only nodded, but a small smile lingered on his face. "Thanks, man."

"And also he now beats Steve in the mornings run." Y/N confessed.

Jay laughed and by Y/N’s smile it was clear it was an inside joke. "No one can ever beat Steve Rogers, I fainted last time I tried."

"Well, I have been winning in runs over the punk since we were 10. Some things don't change with time."

"Yeah, i have to go. Mission tomorrow morning, just passed by to say hello to everyone." Jay leaned and kissed Y/N's cheek. "Bye, sweetheart. Good to see you." And then extended his hand again to shake Bucky's. "And congratulations again, i am happy you're in the avengers. The world needs you." With a tap on the shoulder, Jay left and Bucky stood a bit shocked for what the man said.

But after all, it was all Y/N has been saying over the months she met him.

And after what seemed like ages Y/N finally let him in. And Buck also fought his demons and allowed to be loved and cherished by someone.

And it was amazing.

                               ...

Meeting her family took a bit longer than the ’normal’ couples take. Her family was okay, but she was worried about how they would feel and most importantly how Buck would feel.

Y/N’s family lived far and using Tony's jet they flew to her homeland, her cousin flirted with Bucky wich made Y/N glare at her almost all barbecue. Y/N's mom was a bit worried about her daughter date a man in such a dangerous life, but she was happy so that was all that mattered.

And Bucky's family was Steve, so it was clear that he accepted them together. 

Buck has never felt so much like he did with her.

                               ...

Dream.

Dream was the word Bucky could only imagine when Y/N danced for him. Her small satin dress covering her smooth skin, he loved how her hips moved so graciously, the scent of her shampoo, how she kissed his cheeks when he made coffee for her. Y/N could be in her period, feeling awful wearing baggy pants and still, she managed to steal his heart even without trying. He was sure that no one had ever loved someone as much as he loves her.

He could do anything for her.

                               ...

On a mission, Bucky was looking the area of the attack arguing with Sam of where was the best point of attack, he was really close to yell at the man who never agreed with his tactics when his phone made a ping sound letting him know a message has arrived.

Hey baby, I hope you’re okay and you haven’t slapped Samuel! I’m watching you, mister! ;)

I’ll have to make a small trip with Brenda, she had a problem with her parents and she needs me to help her. I’m sorry but I really have to go. See you in a few days.

Bucky, I love you. With all that I am.

Bucky found it weird, Brenda’s family lived in another country, why she would make such travel in a hurry? 

Of course, Y/N was a good friend, but she didn’t do such spontaneous things.

As he glanced at his cellphone with a keyboard (designed for him, since his metal arm managed to break the last smartphones) he re-read the messages before he tried to call her only to be met with a voice message. He tried to calm his nerves down and finish his work. She had warned him after all, it wasn’t like she went away without telling him.

At their apartment, he saw a few notes here and there, one in the fridge telling she left some leftovers for some days. 

Another in the bathroom reminding him to buy shampoo and one on their bedroom saying: “You won’t die if I stay a few days away.”

Silly girl.

But even if Buck was suspicious of the sudden new he needed to trust her, he couldn’t be the crazy boyfriend who didn’t trust his girl.

However on the next day, he found it completely weird that she didn’t call him, she sent a text saying she was okay and safe but she couldn’t call him, he asked why but she just asked him to trust her and quickly stopped answering his texts.

Really really weird.

Was she kidnapped? Was she cheating on him? Was she really traveling with her friend? His mind couldn’t stop making ideas up. Bad assumptions up.

Gladly Bucky had a great memory so he remembered Brenda’s adress when Y/N went there a few months prior, he had to go there and see if Brenda was at home, if his girl was there or if she was actually out of the country. If she was out of danger.

Finally reaching the the street he stopped the car before walking to Brenda's house. He knocked on the door praying for no one to be home, but after a few seconds, it quickly opened with Brenda showing him a confused face. “Hey? What are you doing here?”

Fuck. “Hey, um, is Y/N here?”

“No, actually I haven’t talked with her for weeks now. Why? Did you guys had a fight?” For Brenda, it was almost impossible for you and Buck to fight, but as herself had a realtioship where she thought the man was perfect, she knew to expect anything.

Y/N lied, what was happening?

Knowing it wasn’t for the best to let her know about the situation he made a small smile. “Yeah, we did, I thought she was here. Thanks.” He hurriedly left not waiting for her response.

All the -painful- way home Bucky overthought his whole relationship, why would Y/N lie to him?

He couldn’t place a reason for it, the only things that were hammering on his thoughts were the hypothesis: Kidnap, cheating or she simply got tired of his traumatized self.

But why would she cheat on him? 

Wasn��t he a good boyfriend? Does she suddenly feel tired of his problems?  

Was she tired of his hard personality? 

Wasn’t he satisfying her in bed?

Have you found someone else?

Why?

And most important…if so, with who?

Bucky's mind was around doubts and adding all of his insecureness wasn’t helping much.

He didn’t even realize he reached her building until he saw his neighbor going for a walk with his dog. The whole walk he was pinned by fear and rage that he didn’t even count his steps.

To not help much his case he called her with no answer, he texted her with no answer either.

What could he do? He didn’t know where she was, or with who she was.

Was she safe?

“What is happening, my heart? Why are you lying to me?” He mumbled alone in their bedroom.

His heart cracking each thought he had.

After five longs and painful days, he received a text.

Hey Bucky. I’m going home we need to talk.

Bucky couldn’t answer, he couldn’t possibly ask what she wanted to talk about? Why would she leave him?

                               ...

There she stood, a single suitcase in her hand and a tired face.

Bucky wanted to hug her, to get in his feet, and to say how worried he was… but no! He allowed his rage to consume him when he saw she was alright and no enemy of his has taken and hurt her.

He was mad.

“Hey Bucky we-”

“Why?” Without letting her finish her sentence or even getting up from the couch, he asked.

“What?”

“Why you left and lied? Are you tired? Do you want to break up? Because i re-create the past weeks and i can’t see a reason for this, Y/N. You ran away and lied to me saying you traveled with Brenda to Brazil?”

She didn’t argue, only let the suitcase on the floor and rubbed her face. And with her silent stare, Bucky knew the end was near.

And that would break him, make all of the pieces he built in the last years since he got free from Hydra to fall apart.

Letting a sarcastic chuckle his frustration over the last weeks started to show with full force. “You’re selfish! I always said that i don't need your help, that i was broken and still am but you didn't have to stay with me. I always warned you and now that i'm so fucking deep in love with you-you will destroy this. But please, tell me what is it. Am I not satisfying you enough? Or is the nightmares? Maybe because i ca not go to the library with you or because we can’t go to the movies and i know you always says that Stark's is almost the same but you love movies and Y/N-” 

For more dramatically Bucky sounded, she knew he was self-conscious about his state, of course, he did therapy to help with his self-loathing but seeing the most precious thing getting ready to leave was about to break his cold-mended heart.

Making all his therapy process going to air.

Y/N stood there, looking tired and staring at him. She knew he would be mad, she was mad at herself for lying so blatantly. “Are you done?”

Taking a deep breath and placing his hands on his pockets he nodded, trying to control the tears to leave his eyes.

“I’m not cheating you, I never did, I never will. And i'm not tired of us. I’m not overwhelmed, you are the most important thing in the universe to me.” She took her jacket off and walked to the couch.

Bucky looked at her carefully while she approached him, so what was the problem then. “Tell me.”

“I’m not trying to break up with you, if that is what you think.”

He nodded and let a small sigh let his nostrils. A lock of hair leaving his man bun and Y/N's fingers itched to pull it behind his ear.

“I… I needed some time to think, I didn’t want to lie to you but I really needed some time alone without you getting worried.”

Was she sick? Why was she so sad? 

He sat by her side and looked at her lap taking a deep breath, her gaze met Bucky's and she nodded her head almost telling herself it was the proper moment. “I’m pregnant.”

The time seemed to stop for Buck, such a brilliant man and that was the only thing he hasn’t anticipated to leave her beautiful’s lips.

It made sense for him now, Y/N was always predicting the worst. Always waiting for the day he would grow tired of her and leave, or only try to have some “fun” and fool around with someone else. 

She didn’t want to have a child because she was afraid she would have to do it all by herself.

“Y/N… baby, I’m-”

“I don’t want it.” Her answer was firm but her lips were trembling with nerves. “I-” Her eyes filled with tears, even with the past days being of pure anxieties and sorrow, she still had tears left. “I can’t have it, Bucky. I- I-, I’m so scared.”

He couldn’t control his eyes when they glanced at her belly, his child was there, growing each day. He wanted the baby, wanted a boy or a girl to cherish and take care.

And only the thought of a baby so pure and ethereal as Y/N meant a lot. 

It was his.

After everything he suffered, everything he did that provoked people to suffer, he was blessed with a son or a daughter.

But he needed to focus on her.

“Will you try ab- abortion?” He didn’t want her to do that, he would try to change her mind if she said yes but he knew it was her choice.

“I… I don’t know! I mean no I won’t. I can’t! But Bucky, I’m so so scared.”

“You think I’ll leave.” He said softly, she looked at him startled, but she shouldn’t. Bucky always knew her. “You know I would never abandon you, especially not with our child.”

She nodded, her heartbeat going faster and faster by the second. He could hear it, of course he could. Apparently, the time to “cool off” didn’t help as she has thought.

Bucky gently held her waist and thigh and pulled her to his lap, Y/N hugged him tightly and started to sob. Bucky was her home.

And she was terrified he would leave her, especially with a child to take care of.

“Shh shh, pretty girl. It’ll be okay.” His hand started to caress her scalp softly trying to bring her some comfort.

Some minutes of pure comfortable silence passed before Y/N straightened her back and looked at the deep blue of his eyes. “I’m sorry I lied…” She murmured.

Bucky chuckled at the thought of how angry he was 20 minutes ago at her, now it seemed really stupid the way he allowed his demons to make him think the worst of his angel. 

“I forgive you. Y/N,” He raised his hand and touched her cheek softly, she leaned in and kissed his palm. “I know you’re worried I’ll leave or that you will have to raise that child alone but I promise you that I won’t let you down! I won’t let our child down!” He placed his other hand on her belly, Y/N smiled at the vision. 

Of course, she didn’t have a bump yet, but seeing Bucky hand touching a place where half him and half her was growing was a new comforting feeling.

Y/N nodded and smiled at him, lifting her pinky she pouted. “Promise? Even that the serum has some effect or if someone tries to take them away from me. Promise you will be there for me?”

He chuckled at her cuteness but realized how deeper the worries about a child was, interlacing his pinky with hers he nodded. “I promise.” She leaned in and kissed him lovely. She missed him.

He gazed at her, and as he passed his thumb under her eye to dry a tear, he was more sure than ever that she was the light of his life. “We got this, my love.” He affirmed his hands holding her face softly. “We do.”

Bucky Barnes is good at protecting the ones he loved, so he will do the possible and impossible to protect his perfect little family.

                        …

<3 <3 <3

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you

[manychocolatefactories]

CatCF Dark Chocolate: Part 2, the tour

Willy Wonka and his factory:

For the Factory in this version, I wanted to give a feeling of the factories of the 19th century. Something between a place where a mad scientist would work and a steampunk fantasy. Willy Wonka himself is based on Jules Vernes.

Willy Wonka himself is a man with an "impressive beard", a solemn but kind air on his face, and an overall feeling of knowledge and wisdom. Wearing a thick and tight jacket, a black top hat and a dark green coat, his appearance actually gives mixed signals: his short hair is fluffy and shaggy, like a man of free spirit, of amusement and not much care, but his beard and mustache are neatly trimmed and cut, like any serious and respectable man. His hair is brown, chocolate-colored, but with touches of white and gray here and there. His eyes are kind and twinkling, but his mouth is a harsh thin line. He is the kind of man that will say the most extravagant things perfectly seriously, but treat serious and common business as a joke. Don't think however that is an extravagant or funny man. Again, he rather gives the feeling of a kind mad scientist.

As for the Factory itself, actually the locals, the people of the town over which the Factory looms, dislike it. Sure, the Factory is admired by people wordlwide - tourists come to see it, painters come to paint it, it is a landmark admired in foreign countries. But the locals do not like it at all. It is a tall, dark, cold and stern building, with no color of beauty, only locked doors, metallic fences, thick walls and high chimneys. The Factory does not employ anyone of the town, in fact no one ever saw the Factory workers arrive or leave. Wonka himself has never left his factory for decades now. Couple that with strange white silhouettes seen at the windows, and the ramblings of the local homeless man who apparently hates the Factory and keeps insulting it, and quickly a bad reputation was built for it. Adults believe Wonka is trying to hide a shameful secret, the kids tell tales of "the haunted chocolate factory"...

In fact, I wanted an air of creepiness for the Factory. I took back the original idea of Dahl that all the workers are regular humans dressed in white, and I pushed it a little further: they are basically so covered in white you can hardly see them anymore. They have white blouses and jackets, white gloves, white masks, white caps, white helmets... After each kid's demise, a mysterious poem is recitated (like in Dahl's original drafts), mysterious voices that could be eithe the worker's or something else... In fact, with each kid demise there is an element of sppokiness which may be the kid hallucinating out of fear, or not (Augustus in the river thinks something is tying to catch him or drag him down  ; Wilbur and Rice in the dark hear and feel creepy things...). And Wonka himself keeps making ominous references to "selling your soul to the devil"...

But in truth the Factory isn't a death trap at all. Behind the scenes, the workers are just normal people with their own life and their usual office routines, and who happent to leave very discreetly the Factory. The Factory is also based a lot on the Menier chocolate factory, which is the "real-life" Wonka factory. I may speak more about it one day.

Anyway... now let's go on with the tour!

# The Labyrinth. Behind each entrance, before each exit of the Factory, is a labyrinth, a maze Wonka designed after the works of Penrose and Möbius. Only he and his workers know the way out of them. This is merely a security measure.

# The Edible Garden. For this garden, I wanted to insist on the idea of it being fake and artificial - Wonka didn't try to create a perfect replica of a landscape. This room doesn't even have any real sense in the Factory, it is merely a piece of art he created so that he could come in here to relax and mediate. There are no windows, all the lights come from spots on the far-away ceiling and the ground is grey stone (because Wonka is revolted at the idea of making grass out of candy, it would be too dirty). There are trees of hard caramel and mint candies, orchards where the fruits are made of gummy, lollipops shaped like flowers and numerous sculptures of sugar - none of this is to be eaten however. At the back of the garden, there is the Chocolate River. The River serves a double use: on one side, it is merely an aesthetic addition to the Edible Garden. On the other, it is a source of energy for the Factory - it used to be a water mill, and Wonka kept the ancient structures but replaced water with chocolate. As such, the production of chocolate actually helps create energy back - and the river ends with a series of different pipes, each one leading to a different room where the chocolate will be used.

This is where Augustus Pottle meets his demise. The competitive  glutton tried to empty the river of its content, and fell into it. Sucked up by one of the glass pipes, he did a long travel through the tubes and pipes of the factory, which crushed and reshaped his fat into a cylindric body - before he fell into one of the boiling vats. There, the heat was enough to have all his fat melt, like in a super-intense sauna. Hopefully, he was rescued before being boiled alive - but Augustus left the factory as a mass of sagging, extra-skin, his wrinkled folds dragging on the ground, like a skeleton wearing a bride's dress made of human flesh.

# At the back of the Edible Garden, there is a long hallway that passes by a balcony. Said balcony allows one to see the "Mosaic room", a place where Wonka makes mosaics out of pralines - and since the room is really vast, he can make giant mosaics.

# The Vanilla Fudge Mountain. While it looks like a miniature mountain kept inside a giant room, this titanic hunk of vanilla fudge is actually a fragment taken out of the Honeylaya mountain range (located somewhere between the great Black Thunder chocolate mines, and the sugar marshes of the Sea of Marmelade). [References to the Himalaya, the Black Thunder coal mines, the Black Thunder chocolate bars, the Sea of Marmara and salt marshes ]. This room is basically a copy-cut of Dahl's deleted chapter of the same name, with workers breaking down the mountain, piling the fudge in wagons and then sending it to the Cutting and Pounding Room.

This is where Wilbur and Rice meet their demise. Unruly, and tired of having all their pranks and "fun" sabotaged by Wonka and Bertie Upside, they decide to ride the wagons. Of course, they are sent down the Cutting and Pounding Room - hopefully for them, Wonka has installed an intelligent wire strainer/net that can catch all impurities detected, to clean the fudge. So the kids are saved, right? Well the thing is that, while waiting on the wire strainer for someone to save them, the kids, bored and gluttonous, ended up eating all the fudge that fell down around them. They ate so much of it, that the machine ended up identifying them as "fudge" instead of "impurity" (since they were basically 80 percent fudge after their gorging Xp). So they where sent down in the Room, thrown on a conveyor belt... ready to be pound and cut into slices. The workers realized this of course and stopped the conveyor belt before the knifes - but the kids still got pounded. Wilbur, who was lying on his side when he got pounded, became tall and thin ; while Tommy, who was standing up, got pounded on the head and became small and large. In fact, when they got out of the Factory, their angry parents ended up mistaking one for another and going home with the wrong boy.

# After the Vanilla Fudge Mountain, the tour goes by another hallway, this one with numerous tall and colorful windows - stained glass made of sugar. Each window illustrates a famous chocolatier or candy-maker, but in the style of saints in churches. You have Philippe Suchard (the grandfather of Milka), Henry Isaac Rowntree (the maker of the Fruit Pastilles and Fruit Gums), the Menier family (the biggest chocolatiers of 19th century and first half of 20th century Europe, and distant relatives of Wonka) ; the Murrie family (creators of Hersheys) and the Mars famly (bheind the Mars bars, the M&Ms, the Snickers and the Milky Ways). "All families" Wonla notes with an air of sadness. Indeed, Wonka always wanted a family - or rather at this point in his life he regrets to not have a family and an heir, isolated that he is in his factory.

# Inventing Room number 3. There are numerous "Inventing Rooms" in the Factory, dedicated to developping, inventing, testing, studying products or just do crash tests. The number 3 is clustered with huge, squat and heavy dark machines, with vats, cauldrons and ovens, and all sorts of other structures dragon-like due to the steam and fire they spill out. It quite a grim and sinister place, but it is also where Wonka tests his most fantastic inventions, like the Rainbow Drops, the Luminous Lollies or the Three-Course Meal Gum.

As you guess, this is where Violet Beauregard will meet her demise. I set myself a rule to avoid all blueberry transformations when dealing with the demises of the Violets, so here I rather use the tomato soup: after chewing (not only did Violet took the gum due to her "talent" but also because she misheard Wonka and thought it was a "tasting" room), her face becomes red and chubby, her skin smooth and glossy, her cheeks puff out, her nose bulges, her forehead bloats, her throat becomes big, her lips thick and her ears thin, pointy, green. Result? Her face looks like a mass of tomatoes. Tomatoes for cheeks, a tomato for a forehead, tomatoes instead of eyelids, a tomato for a nose and two for the lips... Think of the Arcimboldo paintings, how he made faces out of flowers and vegetables. It is the same thing here. And while her parent is furious at first, they end up actually realizing it might be for the better - because now she is truly unique and attention-attracting, and that's what her parents always wanted...

# Follows a long hallway with a series of different rooms: two are taken from the original book, the Fizzy Lifting Drinks and the Squares that Look Round. One I changed slightly: the Chocolate Milk Room, where Wonka keeps special cows that have a chocolate-flavored milk.

# The Heating Room. A room taken from Dahl's deleted chapter "The Warming Candy Room".

This Heating Room looks like the negine room of a submarine or a freighter, filled with turbines, pistons, pipes, wheels and pressure gauges. This is where Wonka creates all of his heat-related products: hot ice-creams to fight chilling days, hot ice-cubes to give back warmth to a cold drink, and finally the warming candies (see the original deleted chapter). Marvin Prune, absolutely outraged by what he perceives as Wonka breaking all laws of science and physics, tries to prove that he is a quack by stuffing himself with handfuls of warming candies. Which results in him over-heating: he becomes red, sweaty, thirsty, removes all of his clothes (save for his underwears) and screams to death.

Wonka will have him put in the freezer, and also covered regularly in water, to avoid him drying up to death or combust. But even as he is leaving the factory, he is still red, sweaty, steamy and in underwears - the falling snow melting as it touches him.

# The Nut Room. Another classic piece of the original factory that I wanted to reinvent. Basically, here the kids do not visit the Nut Room proper, but the Under-Nut Room, or Sub-Nut Room. You've got the Nut Room where the white-clad workers separate good nuts from bad nuts Then the "bad" batch is then in this under-room, where trained squirrels will sniff out any potential "good nut" the workers may have missed. All the nuts are on a conveyor belt, that is getting then thrown down a chute.

Of course, Elvira Salt meets her demise here by trying to take one of the squirrels by force, resulting in a squirrel attack. However, the squirrels do not push her down the chute. Rather, she climbs on the conveyor belt to avoid them and has her fur stuck in the belt. She could have escaped if she had let go of it, but she refused to let it go, so she fell down the chute... and Wonka cannot remember if this particular chute leads to the compost vat he uses to grow his fruits, vegetales and berries   - or to the furnace...

But don't worry, she actually falls down in the compost. Elvira will leave the factory extremely dirty, unbearably stinky, so much not even an entire week of baths and showers can remove it, and probably with one or two diseases, but alive.

# The Television Room. I did not had time to clearly prepare this one, but it will be where Michael (Mike) T-V meets his demise. Discovering he can go inside television, he is more happy to oblige, and is absolutely thrilled to be in his favorite shows. But as soon as he leaves the television, he realizes that he is now as small as a television character! No bigger than the screen! He will be sent back to his home, now only able to play with his toys and figurines, the only things at his doll-like size.

# The Molding Room

This room is also taken back from Dahl's original draft. Basically, it is where Wonka creates many of his chocolate sculptures - he has an entire zoo of chocolate animals, and very recently created a machine able to form men, women and children out of chocolate. And this is also where Bertie Upside will meet his demise.

You may be wondering: Bertie? What has he done wrong? He is kind, gentle, generous, perfect. He helped Charlie on numerous occasions, he stopped the mischief of the brats... Isn't he a good kid?

HE IS NOT. Grandpa Georges was right all along: if he appears better than the others, it means that he twice as worse.

Bertie Upside truly has a heart of gold. Which means a heart of cold and hard metal, not of flesh.

Bertie Upside is a psychopath, a sociopath, an evil little boy. Sure he knows how to put on a nice and gentle facade, but it is just manipulation. If he is orphaned, it is because he killed his own parents, and now that he is left alone with Charlie (Wonka being busy elsewhere), Bertie will try to kill him, just for fun, by putting him in the "Chocolate Boy" mould so that he would be smothered in a chocolate statue.

However (I have to admit this part is a bit blurry), Charlie will resist and Bertie will end up thrown inside another moulding machine... A piñata-creating machine. When Bertie will get out of the machine, he will still be a living boy... but now with a flesh as fragile as papier-mâché, and insides filled with candies. Now he is really a sweet kid inside as he is outside. And  he will have to be really gentle... if he doesn't want to break.

And of course after that Charlie gets the factory, as it turns out that Wonka was looking for an heir with this tour. Happy end!

   Now, as I mentionned a poem forms itself through the story, rhymes being added after each kid's demise (an idea originally taken from Dahl's first drafts of the story). It goes like this:

"Nine little children, in the garden they went,

But one fell, and then they were eight."

"Eight little children, an unruly mix,

Two rode to Chicago, and then they were six."

"Six little children went into a room as busy as a hive,

But one did not listen carefully, and then they were five."

"Five little children, less and less at every door,

One had a fever and then they were four."

"Four little children saw squirrels down the tree,

One fell down the squirrel hole, and then they were three."

"Three little children, and none are new,

One went to play and then they were two."

"Two little children, we are soon to be done,

One got his trickandtreat, and then there was one."

"One little children, everything he won,

He lived ever happily, and now we are done."

#charlie and the chocolate factory #catcf #willy wonka #wonka factory #tour #dark chocolate #demise #veruca salt #augustus gloop #violet beauregarde #mike teavee #charlie bucket #bertie upside #marvin prune #tommy troutbeck #wilbur rice

[libralita]

Way of Kings Reread

This is my post Rhythm of War reread so if you don’t want spoilers for Rhythm of War then come back later. These are essentially just the notes I took during this read through so things like “Szeth is darkeyed” isn’t really stellar commentary but there are a few interesting things in here. Also this reread was like…very sporadic so I probably missed things.

“A man with a long grey and black beard slumped in the doorway, smiling foolishly—though whether from wine or a weak mind, Szeth could not tell.

‘Have you seen me?’ the man asked with slurred speech. He laughed then began to speak in gibberish, reaching for a wineskin.”—Page 23

 Oh god, it’s Jezrien. Nooooo.

I’m curious to see how Humans being voidbringers plays into Szeth’s punishment.

“Occasionally, light would flash without the thunder. The slaves would groan in terror at this, thinking about the Stormfather, the shades of the Lost Radiants, or the Voidbringers—all of which were said to haunt the most violent highstorms.”

Interesting that they’re called the “shades”, perhaps referring to cognitive shadows?

“Talenelat’Elin, bearer of all agonies.”

Wait…do people know about Taln?

“This room is called the Veil…That which comes before the Palanaeum itself. Both were here when the city was founded. Some think these chambers might have been cut by the Dawnsingers themselves.”

First of all, Veil, haha. Second, interesting bit of lore.

“Thaylens had their own systems of rank.”

I’d like to know what it is.

It’s very interesting that philosophy and history are feminine arts and yet the merchant is still trying to sell Shallan on a romance novel

I wonder if Yalb still has his drawing. It was probably ruined so that sucks.

“There, she used all her remaining sphere to fill of all nine colors and all three sizes.”

Hmmmmmmmm. Nine and three. Interesting

“Then he’d have someone to talk to in Damnation. They could reminisce about how terrible Bridge Four had been, and agree that eternal fires were much more pleasant.”

K…Kaladin please don’t joke about that.

“His ways were odd—though Lirin made certain that his son didn’t mix up the Heralds and the Lost Radiants, Kal had heard his father say that he thought the Voidbringers weren’t real. Ridiculous.”

RIP

“He reached the base of the slop, wind-driven rain pelting his face as if trying to shove him back toward the camp.”

Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

“She looked exhausted. ‘These things are heavy!’ She lifted the leaf. ‘I brought it for you!’”

I love her so much I could cry.

Szeth is a dark eyed.

We need to get the void sphere back.

“It was fairly ordinary, a simple piece of rock with a few quartz crystals set into it and a rusty vein of iron on one side.”

Iron.

“‘Today,’ King Elhokar announced, riding beneath the bright open sky, ‘is an excellent day to slay a god. Wouldn’t you say’”

Owwwwwwwwww my heart

“One might say that gods, as a rule, should fear the Althei nobility. Most of us at least.”

Y’know…Sadeas has a point

Actually they should probably fear Taravangian.

Sadeas wears red plate. I always imagine him in green.

Shardplate is naturally slate gray. I wonder if it’s the same color as what your limbs go if they’re cut by a shardblade. Hmmmm.

“Adolin found himself wishing, passionately, that his father would do a little more these days to live up to that reputation.”

Adolin, sweet pie, NO

I miss Elhokar so much

Also the Thrill of Contest, that’s interesting.

“I felt like a youth again, chasing after your father on some ridiculous challenge.”

Dalinar, we all know that it was Gavilar chasing you

“There was someone watching me in the darkness that night.”

My poor baby…

“‘I defy you, creature!’ Elhokar screamed. ‘I claim your life! They will see their gods crushed, just as they will see their king dead at my feet! I defy you!’”

Elhokar…

“Adolin—stalwart as always—had dismounted beside the king. He tried to stop the claws, striking at them as they fell. Unfortunately, there were four claws and only one of Adolin.”

Hmmmm, Adolin v 4 is becoming a pattern.

“Dalinar should have been there to defend him. Only two things remained of his beloved brother, two things that Dalinar could protect in a hope to earn some form of redemption: Gavilar’s kingdom and Gavilar’s son.”

Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

“Let me first assure you that the element is quite safe. I have found a good home for it. I protect its safety like I protect my own skin, you might say.”

It has been ten years and I still have no idea what this means.

“Kaladin punched Moash right in the gut, where he knew it would wind him. Moash gasped in shock, doubling over, and Kaladin stepped forward to grab him by the legs, slinging Moash over his shoulder.”

Ahhhhh I could read this paragraph over and over again.

“He worked himself ragged. In fact, he felt close to collapsing several times, but every time he did, he found a reserve of strength from somewhere.”

I wonder where.

“Rockbuds had opened nearby, their vines reaching out to lap up the beast’s blood.”

Gross.

Insult his son and the Blackthorn will peek through

“I had…things to be about.”

I don’t like the way Wit said that.

“You going to do Alethkar a favor and rid it of both of us?”

That is a very interesting line for Wit to say…Also concerning. Wit what are you up to?

It’s very interesting that without Sadeas and Gavilar, Dalinar has to learn how to be a politician. It’s clear that both men maneuver others while Dalinar is blunt force. Good character development, I really love it as a political scientist.

“Brother, follow the Codes tonight. There is something strange upon the winds.”

Hmmmmmmmmm, I think Gavilar was planning his death.

“We’d protect Gavilar’s son. No matter what the cost, no matter what other things came between us, we would protect Elhokar.”

…Would…Elhokar have died if Sadeas was still alive?

“The book was used by the Radiants as a kind of guidebook, a book of counsel on how to live their lives.”

That…something that I forgot. Dalinar maybe you should have some required reading in your Radiant generation.

It’s interesting that Shardplate and Rsyhadium have no problem with humans using them but shardblades do.

“Dalinar was shocked that he could remember the story word for word,”

Hmmmmmm

“Could he train himself out of freezing in battle like that?”

End me.

“You sure he’s not decayspren wearing a man’s skin?”

S…Syl…is that a problem we have to deal with?

“They break the land itself! They want it, but in their rage they will destroy it. Like the jealous man burns his rich things rather than let them be taken by his enemies! They come!”

The…humans?

“‘Hm,’ he said. ‘Yes. We’ll be getting right to that soon. It’ll be grand. Lots of prancing, sauntering, and er…’

‘Promenading?’ Yis the leatherworker offered.

‘Isn’t that a type of drink?’ Adolin asked.

‘Er, no, Brightlord. I’m fairly certain it’s another word for walking.’

‘Well, then,’ Adolin said. ‘We’ll do plenty of it too. Promenading. I always love a good promenading.’”

He and Shallan are truly made for each other.

“Highprince Aladar has begun to talk of taking a short vacation back to Althekar. I want to know if he’s serious.”

Oh?

It’s very interesting how Gavilar after death is portrayed as having grown weak and yet there’s so much reverence for him.

Three gods, huh?

It’s interesting that Dalinar can feel the thrill in these visions.

“It was a topaz entwined with a heliodor, both set into a fine metal framework, each stone as big as a man’s hand.”

Is that some kind of fabrial? Is she an edgedancer/truthwatcher? She seemed to have Stoneward shardplate. How confusing. I guess she could have borrowed Shardplate.

DABBID MY SON!

“‘Next time it could be you!’ he called. ‘What will you do if you’re the one that needs healing?’

‘I’ll die.’ Moash said, not even bothering to look back. ‘Out on the field, quickly, rather than back here over a week’s time.’”

Oh that would be so unfortunate.

REREADING THIS BOOK WITH THE TEFT SECTIONS OH OHHHHHHHHH BOY SUFFERING. LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE

“I was under the impression that you were going to aid the queen in protecting the king’s interests in Alethkar.”

That is interesting to think about. What would have happened in Navani had stayed in Alethkar? Did the Unmade compel Navani to go? Or would she have been under the influence of the Unmade?

“I have determined that the queen is sufficiently endowed with the requisite skills needed to hold Alethkar.”

Uhhhhhhhhhh

“‘Well, I suppose that’s all right,’ she said. ‘I kind of trust Sadeas.’”

Interesting. Also my son, my love, Elhokar...you are so dumb.

“‘You still argue he isn’t a bad king?’ Navani whispered. ‘My poor, distracted, oblivious boy.’”

HE COULD HAVE BEEN GREAT

Ishar is the herald of luck?

WAIT ROION! TURTLE MAN! My baby!

My god I sometimes forget that Dalinar has no fucking chill and no impulse control.

“The Almighty himself depended on the Alethi to train themselves in honorable battle so that when they died, they could join the Heralds’ army and win back the Tranquiline Halls.”

Is that…Honor’s influence or Odium’s? Or has Odium corrupted this idea? Because judging by Rhythm of War, Odium’s end goal was to raise an army from Roshar and then send them across the Cosmere.

“My sense of honor makes me easy to manipulate.”

Whaaaaaat? You Dalinar. Pffttttt Noooooo. Pfffftttttt.

“‘He is well, though you presence here is sorely missed. I’m certain he could use your counsel. He is relying heavily on Brightness Lalai to act as clerk.’

Perhaps that would make Jasnah return. There was little love lost between herself and Sadeas’s cousin, who was the king’s head scribe in he queen’s absence.”

First, there’s another Sadeas we must deal with besides Sadeas’s nephew that I’m sure will be around in arc 2. Second, interesting wonder where that drama stems from.

“They may be a little too stable. The world is changing outside, but the Shin seem determined to remain the same.”

Hmmmmmmmmmm

“Gavarah hadn’t reached her twentieth Weeping when she proposed the theory of the three realms.”

WHOA WHOA WHOA WHOA WHOA WHOA. Lemme hear this theory, my dude.

“He reminds me of my uncle Dalinar. Earnest, sincere, concerned.” “We could do with more men like Taravangian,”

I…mmm….aw man…I…that’ll be a yikes for me.

“He found a half-finished bridge. It had eventually grown out of that one plank Kaladin had used.”

ASODFKJSLDFJSLDF JUST LIKE THE FOURTH BRIDGE

“Had something moved in the darkness?”

His spren?

“‘Roshone lets them know he finds them contemptible. And so they scramble to please him.

‘That makes no sense,’ Kal said.

‘It is the way of things,’ Lirin said, playing with one of the spheres on the table, rolling it beneath his fingers. ‘You’ll have to learn this, Kal. When men perceive the world as being right, we are content. But if we see a hole—a deficiency—we scramble to fill it.”

This feels like how Lirin is acting in Rhythm of War.

Y’know it really makes sense why Kabsal would be working for Thaidakar.

Is…Kabsal attempting to get Shallan to join the Ghostbloods? Rhythm of War makes me wonder how honest Kabsal was towards Shallan. Yeah, Jasnah thought Kabsal was just manipulating her but she didn’t say how she knew this.

“He smiled, then drew the bow across the edge of the metal plate, making it vibrate. The sand hopped and bounced, like tiny insects dropped onto something hot.

‘This,’ he said, ‘is called cymatics. The study of pattern that sounds make when interactive with a physical medium.’

As he drew the bow again, the plate made a sound, almost a pure note. It was actually enough to draw a single music spren, which spun for a moment in the air above him, then vanished. Kabsal finished, then gestured to the plate with a flourish.”

Well, Rhythm of War certainly made this more interesting.

“Bridgemen aren’t supposed to survive. There’s something about that. He wouldn’t be able to ask Lamaril. That man had gotten what he deserved, though. If Kaladin had the ability to choose, such would be the end of all lighteyes, the king included.

Your inner Moash is showing.

“I want you to go back into the barrack and tell the men to come out after the storm. Tell them to look up at me tied here. Tell them I’ll open my eyes and look back at them, and they’ll know that I survived.”

No wonder a religion might be forming around Kaladin.

“Teft lingered too, as if thinking to spend the storm with Kaladin. He eventually shook his head, muttering and joined the others. Kaladin thought he heard the man calling himself a coward.”—Page 517

Brandon Sanderson, leave me the fuck alone.

“‘Taking the Dawnsahrds, known to bind any creature voidish or mortal, he crawled up the steps crafted for Heralds, ten strides tall apiece, toward the grand temple above.’—From The Poem of Ista. I have found no modern explanation of what these ‘Dawnshards’ are. They seem ignored by scholars, though talk of them was obviously prevalent among those recording the early mythologies.”—Page 524

Wait…who’s he? And aw man this becomes more relevant in a few years.

“‘Then you’re not a murderer,’ Kaladin said.

‘Not for want of trying.’ Sigzil eyes grew distant. ‘I thought for certain I succeeded. It was not the wisest choice I made. My master…’

‘Is he the one you tried to kill?’

‘No.’”

We need some backstory.

Marabethia sounds similar to Twitter.

“It claimed that humming of all things, could make a Soulcasting more effective.”

Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

“That isn’t the kind of thing the Dawnsingers did. They were healers, kindly spren by the Almighty to care for humans once were forced out of the Tranquiline Halls.”

Is…that right?

“‘We believe that the Voidbringers were real, Shallan. A scourge and plague.. A hundred times they came upon mankind. First casting us from the Tanquiline Halls, then trying to destroy us here on Roshar. They weren’t just spren that hid under rocks, then came out to steal someone’s laundry. They were creatures of terrible destructive power, forged in Damnation creature from hate.’

‘By whom?’ Shallan asked.

‘What?’

‘Who made them? I mean, the Almighty wasn’t likely to have ‘created something from hate.’ So what made them?’

‘Everything has its opposite, Shallan. The Almighty is a force of good. To balance his goodness, the cosmere needed the Voidbringers as his opposite.’”—Pages 634-635

Thaidakar’s reveal really makes Kabsal a more…suspicious character. Like how much does he actually know? How much does Thaidakar actually know? Also, I don’t know if Odium is the opposite of Honor. I guess we’d need all 16 shards names to compare.

“A city where people lived in gigantic, hollowed out stalactites hanging beneath a titanic sheltered ridge.”

EXCUSE ME WHAT

“‘I doubt many would disagree. But I mention these horrors for a purpose. You see, it has been my experience that no matter where you go, you will find some who abuse their power.’ He shrugged. ‘Eye color is not so odd a method, compared to many others I have seen. If you were to overthrow the lighteyes and place yourselves in power, Moash, I doubt that the world would be a very different place. The abuses would still happen. Simply to other people.’

Kaladin nodded slowly, but Moash shook his head. ‘No I’d change the world, Sigzil. And I mean to.’”

Hmmm, yeah that didn’t exactly work out.

“‘That makes you wiser, presumably?’

‘Damnation no,’ Teft said. ‘The only thing it proves is that I’ve more experience staying alive than you.’”

Brandon. Leave. Me. Alone.

“Cenn stopped wheezing. He convulsed once, eyes still open. ‘He watches!’ the boy hissed. ‘The black piper in the night. He holds us in his palm…playing a tune that no man can hear!’”—Page 671

Is…is that a reference to El?

“I’m sorry I drove you to suicide. Here’s some bread.”

How people on this website think Moash’s redemption arch is gonna go.

“‘…why Thaidakar would risk this?’ Amaram was saying, speaking in a soft voice. ‘But who else would it be? The Ghostbloos grow more bold.’”—Page 701

Jasnah was complaining last chapter how she hates being wrong but she was wrong about Shallan’s intentions and that Amaram is not as smart as he seems. Yeah, he’s wrong about who sent the shardbearer to kill him but if I was in the cosmere and someone tried to kill me, I would assume it was Thaidakar. On that note, holy fuck, I need to know what conversation prompted both Gavilar and Amaram to assume that someone trying to kill them had to be Thaidakar. I really hope that Gavilar’s pov is next for KOWT for his death so maybe we could get a conversation where they talk to Thaidakar through cube skype or maybe this avatar (whatever the hell that means.) God Rhythm of War makes this scene so much funnier.

“You’d have changed your mind. In a day or two, you’d have wanted the wealth and prestige—otehrs would have convinced you of it. You’d have demanded that I return them to you. It took hours to decide, but Restares is right—this is what must be done. For the good of Alethkar.”—Page 703

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa—this is why we reread—aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa Kaladin is going to have some words with Restares.

What happened to Baxil and Av?

?????????????????????????? Why do these two Ardents know about the Physical/Cognitive/Spiritual realm?

“Eight weeks? Forty days of winter at once? That war rare.”—Page 728

Did the weather used to be more consistent on Roshar?

Oh god Rhythm of War has made the Recreance so hard to read.

“If I abandon my principles, then I become something far worse than they. A hypocrite.”—Page 741

A hypocrite is a just a man changing or something. I forget the quote.

“Have you been paying much attention to the conflict between the Tukari and the Emuli?”—Page 753

“And the Tukari are led by that god-priest of theirs, Tezim.”—Page 754

Look at the foreshadowing.

“‘Just as Hatham wishes his partner in negotiations to know of his goodwill, I wish you to know of our goodwill toward you, Brightlord.’

Dalinar frowned. He’d never had much to do with the ardents—his devotary was simple and straightforward. Dalinar got his fill of politics with the court; he had little desire to find more religion. ‘Why? What should it matter if I have goodwill toward you?’

The ardent smiled. ‘We will speak with you again.’ He bowed low and withdrew.”—Pages 756-757

OKAY AT FIRST I THOUGHT THIS WAS FUNNY BECAUSE THE ARDENTS GET VERY MIFFED AT DALINAR IN OATHBRINGER BUT “we” HOLY SHIT THAT’S ONE OF BUG PEOPLE NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

I can imagine why this bug man wants his goodwill because they’re pretty sure he’ll destroy them.

“‘This thing will not happen,’ Rock said. ‘Is impossible to get sphere out of the chasms.’

‘We could swallow them,’ Moash said.

‘You would choke. Spheres are too big, eh?’

‘I’ll better I could do it,’ Moash said. His eyes glittering, reflecting the verdant Stormlight. ‘That’s more money than I’ve ever seen. It’s worth the risk.’”—Page 766

I swear to god, one of these days Moash is going to swallow a sphere.

“You call him the Stormfather, here in Alethkar.”

So people in Alethkar think that Jezerin and the Stormfather are the same person?

“Light grows so distant. The storm never stops. I am broken, and all around me have died. I weep for the end of all things. He has won. Oh, he has beaten us.”

O…Oh man, I hope this isn’t foreshadowing for KOWT.

“We should have expected this, Dalinar thought. We started bringing two armies to a plateau, so they have done the same.”—Page 781

Interesting that Kaladin thought about this when fighting the Fused by Dalinar didn’t fighting the Listeners

“When other men failed, a field of crops got worms in them. When a surgeon failed someone died.”

Well…if your crops fail then you could very much cause a town to starve to death.

“Though there was one thing he clung to. An excuse, perhaps, like the dead emperor. It was the soul of the wretch. Apathy. The belief that nothing was his fault, the belief that he couldn’t change anything. If a man was cursed, or believe he didn’t have to care, then he didn’t need to hurt when he failed. Those failures couldn’t have been prevented. Someone or something else had ordained them.”

Those are some fucking foils right there.

“They watch me. Always. Waiting. I see their face in mirrors. Symbols, twisted, inhuman…”

Babbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbby

“I wish to sleep. I know now why you do what you do, and I hate you for it. I will not speak of the truths I see.”

The sibling?

“I’d surrendered my plans, but you’ve returned them to me. I’ll guard you with my life, Kaladin. I swear it to you, by the blood of my fathers.”—Page 881

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

LISTEN I KNOW ELHOKAR IS AN IDIOT BUT HE’S MY IDIOT

“The further you look, the more pieces that wind breaks into.”—Page 995

That’s interesting

“A champion could work well for you, but it is not certain. And…without the Dawnshards…”—Page 997

Well, we’ll see how Rysn plays into this.

#Brandon Sanderson #way of kings #Stormlight Archive #cosmere #TaylorRereadsSA