#have a good night! a good pair of boots is worth the money but only if you can tie the strings together & wear it on ur neck in emergencies | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

forever-rogue · 1 year

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Hi Bee! I've been a long time reader and fan of your blog! The way you write for Eddie is insane 😭😭😭❤️❤️❤️ I love it 🥹 if you feel comfortable, could you please write something for fem!reader x Eddie where she has a history of being bullied (physically & verbally) and one day they could be arguing or something and Eddie is on edge and raises his voice and moves too quickly and she flinches (or maybe has a panic attack or something) I would really appreciate this ❤️🥺 comfort and fluff at the end because I need that rn ❤️

AN | Okay, but this is a little angsty but mostly soft 🥺🥰

Warnings | Language, mentions of past verbal abuse

Pairing | Eddie x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 2.3k

Masterlist | Main, Eddie

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It had been a long week. Weeks, really. And you felt like you and Eddie were like ships passing in the night more than anything else. You were busy with college classes and your part time job, and he was busy working at the shop. He’d been working a lot lately, even more than he normally did, but you hadn’t questioned it. You knew that you didn’t bring in a lot of money only working part time while you finished your degree, but it would be worth it in the end.

But Eddie, good, kind hearted, wonderful man that he was, insisted that you it was okay. He wanted you to be able to focus on your studies, rather than have to worry about working. He was the main provider for your little family of two, and while it was a lot of pressure, he wouldn’t have changed a thing. In fact, one of the reasons he’d been working even longer hours and helping a few customers on the side, was so he could save up to buy you an engagement ring. You always insisted that you didn’t need anything fancy, but Eddie wanted to do this right, he wanted to do all the things with you, including proposing with a pretty ring.

Right now though, you were desperately wanting to spend some time with him, so you went ahead and planned a little date night for the two of you. You’d gotten a few very generous tips at the cafe lately and stashed them away in the rainy day fund; and now it was time to use them. You wanted a nice night out for both of you.

“Eddie Spaghetti,” you were grinning from ear to ear as you walked into your shared apartment. You’d just gotten out of class and he should have been home a few minutes before you. He didn’t respond to your excited call for him and you wondered if he was home yet, “babe?”

You walked into the bedroom and found him sitting at the edge of the bed, boots off and a fresh change of clothes. He was breathing deeply, eyes closed and leaned back on his hands. Poor thing looked tired, and you knew he deserved the rest.

“Babe-”

“I heard you,” he said, not altogether rudely or kindly either, “hi sweetheart.”

“Hello my love,” you kneeled at his feet, reaching for his hand to take in yours, “I missed you today! I’ve been missing you a lot lately.”

“I’ve missed you too,” he responded with a gentle squeeze of your hand, looking into your eyes for a split second. You could see the exhaustion in them and it made your heart constrict.

“Listen, I set a little bit of money aside for us and I thought we could go out tonight,” you were grinning, but there was an unreadable expression on his features, “get dinner and maybe catch a movie?”

“Not tonight, sweetheart.”

“I just think it would be nice to have a night out to ourselves-”

“I can’t tonight,” he repeated as you pouted at him, “I’m sorry - maybe this weekend, okay?”

“But Eddie-”

“Please!” he snapped suddenly, dropping your hand as he gave you a sharp look. You’d never heard him raise his voice before…especially not at you. The only time you really heard him get loud was when he was in the thrill of the moment during a new campaign, “I’m exhausted and I have to go back to work tonight.”

“I don’t think you should-”

“Really?” his eyes narrowed and you gulped nervously, “then who is going to pay for everything, huh?”

“Eddie,” you stepped back, your heart racing as you felt the stinging of tears in the back of your eyes, “I-I-”

“Not all of us have the luxury of going to school and working a few hours here and there at a coffee shop!” you’d never heard him this mad before, not in over three years of dating, and it frightened you. You didn’t like this Eddie and wanted your Eddie back. You flinched away from him, trying to hide how scared you were.

“I just thought you could use a break,” your voice sounded so small and hurt that it broke Eddie’s heart. He shouldn’t have snapped at you, shouldn’t have taken his momentary anger (which was not even at you) out on you, “you’ve been working so hard. I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Sweetheart,” he tried to reach for you but you shook your head and pulled away to where he couldn’t reach you, “honey - I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. Will you come here, please?”

“No,” you shook your head and clambered to your feet before scampering towards the door, “please just don’t.”

“Angel,” he got up and tried to walk over to you but you ducked in the hallway, “what’s wrong?”

“I-I’m going to go,” you stammered nervously, almost running into the living room to grab your bookbag. Eddie followed you slowly, trying to keep a bit of distance that you obviously needed, “I-I’ll see you later.”

You were gone and out the door before he could say anything else, heading to your care. You weren’t sure exactly what to do, but you just needed some space. You’d never had a single moment with him like that before and it felt terrible. This wasn’t Eddie, and you knew that he wasn’t going to turn into some monster, but the moment had settled harshly in your bones.

Eddie’s eyes welled up with tears as he stared at the door. He hated the look on your face; he hated himself more for snapping at you. He’d just been so tired and run down, and it had all come to a head. Unfortunately, it was you that was caught in the crossfire; his love, his princess, his angel. The last person he ever wanted to hurt. And he’d just gone and done that.

“Fuck,” he sighed at himself, closing his eyes and letting out a long breath. He wanted to come after you, figuring you’d more than likely have gone to Steve and Robin’s place. But, more than anything, he wanted you to be comfortable, so he opted to give you space instead.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

By the time you got home, Eddie was already in bed. But he wasn’t sleeping, instead he was staring at the ceiling, unable to calm his worried mind down. He heard the front door open and close, followed by your soft tread, but remained still and silent. He noticed the hesitation in your tread after he heard your bag settle on the floor, followed by your shoes. He hated the idea that he was the reason for your quiet shyness.

You paused outside the bedroom door, noticing that it was still partly open, almost like a sign of apology. You paused with your hand on the knob before slowly pushing it open and letting yourself in. There was a soft glow from the bedside table where the small lamp was still on. It illuminated his body, but you knew immediately that he was still awake.

“E-Eddie?” you whispered softly, padded over to your side of the bed, cautiously sitting down. Your boyfriend rolled over so he was facing you, blinking softly but not yet saying anything so he wouldn’t push you further. You met his eyes and offered him a small little half smile. He visibly relaxed when he saw that you weren’t shying away, “I know it’s late, but can we talk?”

“Yeah - y-yes,” he sat up and leaned against the headboard, lightly patting the space next to him. You didn’t even bother to take off your clothes before crawling into your side of the bed, sitting cross legged next to him, “I…first of all, I want to say how sorry I am. I should never have talked to you like that. I know you probably don’t believe me right now and I don’t expect you to, but I will never talk to you like that again. I swear it.”

“I know,” you nodded softly, playing with a loose thread hanging from the sleeve of your sweater, “I know you won’t, Eddie. I know that a one time thing isn’t going to change our entire relationship.”

“Yeah?”

“Of course,” you raised a tentative hand before reaching over and touching his cheek, brushing your thumb over the apple of his cheek. He leaned into your touch, eyes fluttered closed at the feel of your soft palm on his skin, “I think I owe you an explanation too.”

“Sweetheart,” he wrapped his fingers around your wrist and brought your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles, “I am tired, and I’ve been tired and I know you have been too. And it’s not because you don’t work hard - I know you do. I know it’s not just going to school full time and working part time. And it’s nothing I hold against you, because that’s what we agreed to, and let’s be honest, school ain’t for me.”

“Eddie, you’ve been working so much,” you whispered, “and I don’t want you to run yourself into the ground. We’ll be okay if you cut back your hours, especially the extra ones. I can always pick a few more hours on the weekends…but we’ll figure it out.”

“I…” he swallowed thickly, taking a moment to collect his thoughts before continuing, “I know I can cut back and we’d be okay….I took the extra shifts and hours because I was using them to save some extra money.”

“Oh,” your brows furrowed in surprise; you spotted the dark pink flush in his cheeks, “whatever for?”

“I was saving up so I could buy you a ring,” he confessed, looking like a shy boy rather than a grown man. Your eyes widened in surprise and you couldn’t prevent the small gasp that escaped your lips. A wave of emotion caused your eyes to prickle with tears, “I know you said you didn’t need an engagement ring or a big proposal or any of that, but baby, I want to do this. I want to do it right, and get you that ring.”

“Oh Eddie,” a few tears had prickled up and rolled down your cheeks, which he tenderly wiped away, “I had no clue…I…I love you so much.”

“I love you,” he promised, “I hope you’re not mad…”

“Of course I’m not mad,” you beamed at him, “I think you’re a stubborn man that won’t change his mind, huh?”

“I won’t,” he agreed, causing you to giggle at him, “I’m gonna cut back my hours, I swear. But I’m also going to get you that ring, yeah?”

“Okay,” you didn’t need or want fancy material things like shiny rings, but damn. You weren’t about to say no to Eddie. You knew now that he’d spoken his piece, it was your turn to speak yours, “I, ugh, also want to apologize for how I reacted earlier. I, umm, growing up kinda sucked, you know? Well, I know you know. I never really gave you the full details, ‘cause it never felt necessary. But in school I was bullied a lot, especially when I was young because of being different. Home wasn’t much better; my mom, she…liked my older brother and sister a lot but with me it was different. For whatever reason, she hated me and my life a living hell half the time. She used to call me names, tell me I was stupid and unlovable, and would never get anywhere in life.”

“Sweetheart…”

“She liked to yell, a lot, almost like it was her form of a drug,” you shrugged, “I’m sure that’s why I don’t like any sort of yelling nowadays. I never really left like I fit in anywhere. Not until I met you….you and the rest of the gang.”

“I…I’m sorry,” was all he managed to choke out as he settled his hand on your neck, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into your skin, “I had no clue…I-I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“We all go through our own things,” you put your hand on top of his, giving it a gentle squeeze, “I should have told you sooner…but I want you to know that you are the best thing that has happened to me. I love you very much, Eddie.”

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he leaned in and pressed a soft barely there kiss to your lips, “will you forgive me? I know it’s a lot to ask for.”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” you leaned your cheek against his, breathing in slowly, “we both…it’s not that we made mistakes, it’s just that….we just didn’t quite sync up today. And that’s okay, because we’ll learn and it won’t happen again.”

“It won’t,” his eyes were soft and bambi-like, making your heart melt. You loved this man beyond measure, and you knew he left the same, “how about we use some of that extra money we’ve stashed away and go away this weekend, huh? Just the two of us, no cares in the world.”

“I’d like that,” the smile on your face was breathtaking and electric and Eddie was positive he’d just fallen a little more in love, “let’s do it.”

“Let’s do it,” he agreed softly, “I love you so much, sweetheart.”

“I love you too, Eddie.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson imagine #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn x reader #tw: mentions of verbal abuse

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wraithsoutlaws · 2 months

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TITLE: Perfect Drug CHAPTER ONE: Jawbreaker WORD COUNT: 4,309 PAIRING: Dagger/Dum Dum CW: Light violence, gore mention The story of how two fucked up guys become one fucked up couple.

The sky changed colors in the city. The endless scroll of neon gave it an artificial glow, and from the first moment he crossed the desert line, Dagger had resented it. Nothing looked real. Nothing was–not the food, the music. Certainly not the people. He found himself looking up as he drove further into it’s clutches, searching for a sliver of sky that felt familiar, but the only thing he found was a thinly veiled layer of bullshit. Northside was different, though no less oppressive. The smokestacks kept the air murky, and no matter how many times he blinked or re-calibrated his optics, he couldn’t quite clear his vision of the red haze that defined it. But unlike Night City, it took pride in it’s own ugly. And he liked that.

The All Foods factory sat like an icon at the center of it all, more mythical to the locals than even the crumbs of Arasaka littering the district. Dagger stood outside with a cigarette, gazing into it’s shuttered maw.

A week had passed since he found his way to the building for the first time, toting a severed head in one hand, and a duffel of recovered Militech cargo in the other. He had taken both from a smoldering warzone in Sierra Sonorra where two behemoths fought their last battle; a cadre of Maelstrom gangoons and a unit of corpo dogs. He could have taken the wreckage back for the Wraiths. The gear would have fetched a pretty enny, and the head of a Milietech sergeant would make a lovely hood ornamented for his Quadra–but Dagger never cared for money, and he had plenty of heads already.

He brought the cargo home to Northside instead, head in hand like a peace offering, still bleeding fresh after decapitation. He wanted a deal, not a payday. Something worth more than a shiny new car, or a pair of genuine leather boots, and after one long blurry fucking night, he got one.

The Wraiths would protect Maelstrom’s interests in the Badlands and the ‘borgs would give them leverage in the city, pushing to wipe Sixth Street from Santo Domingo. Dagger would move between them, lending his skills to one while extending his power in the other.

In the end, he'd puppet them both.

His mama always said to dream big.

He pressed at a dwindling bruise over his ribcage as he double checked for his smokes in his jacket pocket. Each breath came with a dull ache that hadn’t quite quelled from that night, even a week later. He’d paid his price for admission. He could still feel the wreckage in his bones as he stood at the entrance of the garage, cigarette half smoked already, waiting for an answer at the door. The security camera at the edge of the roof peered down at him, it’s blinking red light a mimic of the trademark optics that were watching him from inside. And they were watching him. Making him wait, though they were the very ones who had set the meet. When he glared up at the lens, he could feel them on the other side.

Another minute passed. He threw his cigarette down, banging a fist to the rusted metal with impatience. After a moment of waiting he considered going around to the intercom, but it felt too much like defeat. He knocked again instead, kicking with a steel tipped boot for good measure and flicking another glare up to the camera.

The noise must have worked. The door swung open with a growl, sudden enough it nearly took an inch off his nose. Before he could blink, the front end of a revolver shoved itself against the scar on his cheek, forcing his back to the wall with its presence. Seven eyes peered over the muzzle, a shiny chrome scowl beneath them. Dagger’s fist moved on instinct, nestled now against the underside of Dum Dum’s chin where the skin still felt human. The steel claws in the chassis of his hand inched in the sheaths between his knuckles, hungry for a drop of blood. They stood still, entwined in each other’s violence, neither one ready to budge.

“Keep that gun in my face any longer and I’ll get real acquainted with your fleshy bits.” He wasn’t sure which lens he should look at, or which ones were looking at him. His icy gaze settled on the ones that looked most like eyes, though he couldn’t read them. The tip of his claws met skin, just slightly. Enough bite to prove he wasn’t lying.

Dum Dum didn’t sweat it.

“You think your trigger is quicker than mine?”

“Might be fun to find out.”

The sound that came from his throat could have been a laugh. A moment later, Dum Dum drew the gun back and slid it into the waistband of his pants. Slowly, Dagger followed suit, letting his hand fall away with a tinge of disappointment. A click of his tongue.

“Scared?”

“My bullet would rip through your meatpan before your chrome even touched me,” Dum Dum said. He sounded sure, the weight of his optics nearly prying Dagger apart, scanning his hardware in bemusement. He wouldn’t find much, except maybe that his assessment was correct. Which begged the question: why not pull the trigger?

Dagger grinned.

“You gonna invite me inside?”

Dum Dum didn’t answer, turning a corner toward the street without looking back at him. “Nothing in there for you.”

“Is that right?” Dagger pulled his cigarettes from his jacket and lit one as he followed. A busted up Chevillon was parked on the corner, garish Maelstrom colors splattered across the rusted paint like a badge of honor. Ugly, like everything else around it. He smiled. “Taking me out to pasture then?”

Smoke slithered from his lips as they walked.

“You wanna play with the big dogs you’re gonna have to work like a bitch.” Dum Dum stopped at the car, and spared him an indecipherable look. “That means you do what I say, when I say it, how I say it. If I tell you to lick the shit off my boots you better fucking get on your knees and do it, yeah? Piss me off and it’s bye bye with a bullet. We’ll sell your meat to the Scavs without a second thought.”

Dagger raised a brow, amusement flickering in his eyes as he took another drag from his smoke. “My god, I think I can see Royce’s hand up your ass using your mouth like a little puppet. Don’t you wanna be a real boy?”

Dum Dum looked tough, but Dagger had seen enough already to know that he folded for the big man as easy as paper. He half expected the gun again, but to his surprise, he only saw a smile on the other man’s face–teeth that looked too human to belong to him. The tension in his shoulders seemed to drop.

“You are one stupid motherfucker.”

He almost sounded impressed.

Dagger stared him down with the same grin, head tilting. Anyone else, he might skin them alive for the assertion but Dum Dum could be useful. No doubt more than any of the other rusted lugnuts lurking in the gang who’d still be more than happy to kill him. If he wanted this to work out, he’d need someone watching his back, and he’d already proved he wouldn’t pull the trigger.

Dum Dum slid into the driver’s seat and gestured for Dagger to go around. He wasn’t thrilled about playing passenger, his own car parked down the block, but he decided not to push it. He didn’t know his way around the city yet, let alone wherever the fuck they were headed. Or why.

He climbed into the Chevillon, choosing to play nice, a decision quickly waning as he waited for an explanation that never came. He blew smoke toward Dum Dum, a juvenile attempt to get his attention as the engine turned over.

“Got a problem, princess?” Dum Dum asked without looking. At least his head didn’t move.

Dagger leaned back in his seat. “Just wondering what the fuck I’m doing here.”

“You’re the one who knocked.”

“Funny.”

The car pulled onto the street.

“Got a pick-up.” The flat drone of his voice gave away his own annoyance in the silence. “And I wasn’t bullshitting before. Do as you’re told and we won’t have a problem.”

Dagger rolled down his window to vent the smoke from his cigarette. “Pick-up? And here I was hoping for a little fun. Ain’t you lot known for your violence? No offense but thats a waste of my talent and I’m keen to believe it’s a waste of yours too.”

“Royce wants to know you can follow orders. You might be hot shit to those desert dogs but you’re a long way from the top out here.”

Something in the gravel of his tone indicated a warning, but Dagger flicked it off with the ash from his cig. He glanced at him from the corner of his eyes, watching the city blur past the tinted glass. Northside was less colorful than the rest of Night City, all smoke and concrete. In a way, it reminded him of home–the badlands, an endless sprawl of sun bleached dirt, harsh and rigid. Vibrant in its decay. They bore their similarities alright. He could smell fire in the air. A laugh lodged itself in his throat as he finally looked over.

“So that’d make you what, then? The babysitter?”

A grunt. There might have been humor in it. Or a threat.

“You should count yourself lucky. Anyone else prolly woulda shot you by now.”

Dagger didn’t doubt it for a second. Dum Dum was different from the rest, and somehow just the same. He followed orders, and crumbled like soggy paper for the top dog. Out of fear or loyalty, he couldn’t tell yet, but he lacked the self-respect to see that Royce would throw him out as soon as he wasn’t useful. He wondered what might happen if those strings pulled taut. If something sharp happened by to whittle them down.

Dum Dum’s voice caught him by surprise.

“I’m actually impressed you’re still walking. Didn’t think you’d show up after that beating last week.”

“That right?” Dagger said, casually flipping down the visor ahead of him and examining his face in the two inch mirror. The bruise beneath his eye had faded from plum to a brown rot and for a moment he could feel the impact of the metal punch that knocked him on his ass again. It wasn’t the only one. His body was littered, like the canvas of an old painter–splashes of color hemorrhaging against his skin. He knew there was a cracked rib, probably a concussion, too. A few busted teeth, and more. Welcoming gifts from Maelstrom. It was his own suggestion, a last ditch effort to get close to the gang without having chrome shoved up his ass. An initiation plucked from his smuggling days. Each member got a single hit. If he was still alive by the end of it, he’d get in.

And Dagger always got in, smiling and spitting blood. He’d do it again just to prove that he could.

“Hell, I thought that left hook from Lars might kill you.” Dum Dum laughed.

Dagger flipped the visor closed. “You kiddin’? My Daddy hit me harder for stealing a cigarette when I was eight years old.”

“You were prolly just a pussy back then.”

A grin cut across his lips as naturally as the sun cresting over the cityscape. “Well, he had a harder swing than you, at least.”

“Makes sense.” The car turned a tight corner and Dum Dum’s head tilted toward him for the first time. “Considerin’ I pulled my punch.”

Dagger met those empty red lenses with a raised brow. “The fuck you did.”

The crack of his own teeth rang out in his ears again, as if that chrome fist was crashing into his face all over. He could still remember his seven eyes watching him as he stumbled back, spitting blood and enamel in his face. He tongued the empty space on his bottom gum where the molar used to sit. Dum Dum had extracted it more seamlessly than the world’s best dentist ever could.

Pulled his punch.

Dagger scoffed.

Dum Dum didn’t show any sign of humor. His silence said it all.

“And why the fuck would you do that?”

A pause. And then finally a smile.

“‘Cause the harder we hit you, the louder you laughed. Didn't wanna give you the satisfaction.”

Dagger’s face fell, as expressionless as the red lenses in front of him, which seemed now to burn holes through his chest in the silence. He should cut them from his skull, but the feeling passed at the sight of a smile on Dum Dum’s lips.

“Fuckin’ lunatic,” he said, somewhere between affection and dismay.

Dagger took it for a compliment. He grinned, and a bruise sang triumph beneath his skin.

The car pulled off the street beside a painted wall that looked nearly identical to every other street corner in Northside. Dagger could find his way through every small vein of dusty road across the Badlands with his eyes closed but ask him to distinguish between one block or the next within the industrial sprawl of the district and he’d be lost. He pressed his forehead against the window and looked up. Not even the sky could help him. The shadow of the city all but smothered it.

Dum Dum cut the engine.

Wrecked cars littered the crowded alleyway where they sat now, nothing but skeletal remains, picked clean by the vultures. But there was one ahead of them, a black van that stuck out among the rest. The pick-up, if he had to wager.

“What are we waiting for?” he asked, his cigarette almost nothing but ash. He finally flicked it out the window.

Dum Dum didn’t answer. He studied the van ahead of him in the quiet, and after a moment Dagger pushed his optics to scan it too. Standard. No heat signature inside, though there was something stored in the back, a chemical signature he couldn’t get a specific read on. Drugs, more than likely. Of course it was. He had heard the ‘strommers had their own brand of shit. The kind with enough kick to push past the thirty pounds of chrome in their head.

“Something the matter with it?” On instinct, Dagger looked in the rearview, scanned the surrounding area. A flash of light flickered somewhere behind them and disappeared. He waited for it to happen again, but he saw nothing.

“Gadge ain’t here,” Dum Dum said, tone flat. Once more unreadable.

“Taking a leak?”

A grunt. He leaned back in the seat, hand dropping down to the revolver wedged between his seat and the middle console. He flicked his head forward, toward the van. “Well, go on, bitch boy. Check it out.”

Dagger’s eyes narrowed, but he pushed back the urge to tell him to fuck off. He lit another cigarette on the way out. The street was quiet, though somewhere a few blocks down a siren echoed off the smokestacks. He paused when he reached the back of the van, head turning over his shoulder. There was nothing here. Nobody in sight beside those seven glowing eyes behind the glass, and still the hair rose on the back of his neck.

No Gadge. No blood. No struggle. So why did he have a bad feeling? He focused his attention back to the van as Dum Dum waved a hand at him impatiently. Another quick scan told him the same information before he finally reached for the handle and pulled the bed open. A creak of metal cracked through his ears.

It almost deafened the gunshot.

Dagger ducked, dropping low without thought. His cigarette fell to the ground half burned, mocking him as another bullet riccochetted against the back of the van. His first thought was Dum Dum. Royce had changed his mind on the deal, ordered his execution. A quiet hit didn’t sound like his style, and Dagger was almost disappointed he wouldn’t get to see the ugly bastard one more time just to call him a fucking pussy to his face, but a moment later he could hear the ‘borg’s static voice yelling at him from the car to get the fuck up.

He stayed low, unable to pinpoint the direction of the gunshot, and made his way back to the passenger’s side of the Chevillon.

The engine sputtered to life at the same time as the van in front of him. He crawled inside just in time to witness the driverless van crash through a charred Mackinaw to the next street over.

“Fuck!” Dum Dum yelled, flooring the pedal before Dagger could get his foot pulled in all the way. “Shit’s hacked. Gonk’s don’t know who they’re messing with.”

He rammed through the same debris as the van but caught a harsh edge of metal, and the Chevillon stalled for a moment before struggling through. The ringing in Dagger’s ears hadn’t stopped, and he only realized his hand was bleeding when he reached for his third smoke.

“Hack means their close.”

Dagger rolled the window down and stuck his head out, catching the stale air of Northside in a suffocating wind. He could see the van ahead of them like a black smear, but it wasn’t the van he was interested in. Quickhack on a vehicle was useful, but it had drawbacks. One being proximity. Had to be close or you lost connection, even with boosted gear.

A small Hatchback swung suddenly out from a sidestreet, narrowly missing their car as it sped past. Dum Dum swerved and lost a foot of paint on a fire hydrant in attempt to keep steady. Dagger scanned it as it followed track with the van, spitting chooh2 to catch up. Two signatures inside. A runner.

He ripped the gun from Dum Dum’s seat and pulled himself halfway out the window to take aim. He shot quickly and near blind, bullet lost in the wind as the chase veered left.

“Fuckin’ shoot steady,” Dum Dum yelled over at him.

“Drive fuckin’ steady,” Dagger snapped, and this time he held his breath as he aimed for the speeding car. A shot came back at him in response and he ducked back into the window before firing again. The windshield spiderwebbed but the car stayed true, zipping through a line of traffic as they headed into a busier part of the district. A horn blared beside him. The hatchback disappeared between two trucks, and Dum Dum struggled on the wheel, crashing into the edge of a turning car and nearly throwing the gun from Dagger's slick, bloody grasp when he shot again.

He couldn’t track where the bullet hit, but he could tell that it missed.

With a growl, Dagger reached over for the wheel.

“Switch me places.” It was a command more than a question, but Dum Dum didn’t protest. He ripped the gun from Dagger’s hand as Dagger pushed his leg over to the gas pedal and shimmied across the seat in an awkward dance, climbing over him without slowing the vehicle until they both settled into their new positions.

Dum Dum took aim as naturally as Dagger did the wheel. He was no stranger to this, or to the electricity running through his chest as he gripped the wheel knuckle tight, grin spreading over his lips.

The tight streets were no match for an open road, but it got his blood pumping all the same.

He could barely make out the back of the car up ahead, but he could see the rear light explode as Dum Dum fired beside him, leaving red glass sparkling on the pavement like blood. Another shot bellowed, and the hatchback veered wildly, nearly toppling sideways as it made a sharp turn.

Dagger followed, cutting the same corner with the ease of sharpened steel. He couldn’t see the van further up, but he locked his optics onto the car. Blood splattered the window, and he knew that Dum Dum had hit one of them inside. The engine groaned as he pushed it further. The Chevillon didn’t have the same gumption as his Quadra. He could feel the waiver in her gait, but they were close now. Dum Dum felt it too. He braced his arm on the roof. One good shot is all they’d need.

Dagger seamlessly crossed over the center line, taking the opposite lane to blow past several cars that separated them from their goal. Traffic sped by, so close it rocked the car, but he didn’t flinch.

One. Good. Shot.

Dum Dum fired.

Blood sprayed the windshield.

The hatchback veered suddenly into a passing car, which came to a skidding stop, halting the traffic behind it and keeping Dagger from passing back over into the right lane. His mind raced, and on instinct he took a quick left to avoid collision, and then another.

Dum Dum screamed in his ear, but the words were deafened from wind, the ringing, the sirens. Neon lights burned together, flashing against his corneas.

“Wrong fuckin’ way!” He heard finally.

The streets grew narrower, and then he understood.

He could smell the ocean.

Northside’s warehouses were a shadow in the rearview as they headed toward the bay into Kabuki. Tyger territory. They had crossed the district line.

Dum Dum reached for the wheel in a last ditch effort to change course. The momentum of the turn threw them upward, tires leaving the ground. The car spun uncontrollably, flipped, crashing through the barricade on the side of the road in a explosion of crunching metal.

He could see the ocean.

A smear of open blue that could match the sky his heart yearned for. It was beautiful.

Almost.

And it hit like a fucking rock.

His vision blacked for a moment before the water caved in around them. Slowly, then all at once. He barely had time to take in a lungful of air. Kicking at the door wildly, he swam away from the wreckage as the sea pulled them under. His gaze shot upward, searching once more for the sky to lead him. He followed the light up and up, chest starting to ache, until finally he found it.

Dagger gasped as he breached, shaking water from his eyes. He didn’t recognize the city around him, but he spotted a dock nearby. He swam toward it, then stopped. Looked back. The only remains of the Chevillon were petering bubbles at his back, and smooth water beside that. There wasn’t any sign of Dum Dum. By the look of him, he’d sink as quick as the car.

He glanced between the dock and the bubbles and back again.

All that fucking chrome…

Walking back to All Foods without the drugs and their sergeant at arms might earn himself a spot in that industrial microwave that Maelstrom liked to boast. Dum Dum was the only one who didn’t want to kill him, after all.

“Fuck.”

He spit water then took another breath and dived.

The car left a trail like ink in the murky water. Dagger clawed toward it, dragging himself further down into the dark depths. Day turned to night. The city was different here, peaceful, and if not for the pounding in his ears, quiet.

The distant red glare of those eyes shined like a beacon further down. He followed them like the north star, pushing himself to go faster. Dum Dum kicked despite himself, maybe instinct, maybe panic, but his weight worked against him, pulling him down quicker. Dagger pushed harder, reached further. Dum Dum finally noticed him, lenses fixed and unwavering, a calm coming over him as he finally got close enough to grab. Dagger heaved upward, working against the ocean’s cold grasp and the anchor like weight dragging him down. His chest began to burn, and the sky still looked so dark above them.

He considered letting go, eyes squeezed tight, angry ‘ganic lungs ready to burst.

And then he could breathe again.

He reached blindly for the dock ladder, trying hard not to heave. Dum Dum climbed up beside him, still as a corpse.

“Fucking gonk shit,” he muttered.

Dagger almost didn’t catch it over the sound of his panting. He laid flat on his back, taking in the welcome blue above him. He could finally see a break in the cityscape, clouds sneaking in at the edge of his vision.

“Quite a fuckin’ thank you,” Dagger said without taking his eyes from above.

“Oxygen reserves. Could sit down there all day.”

He sat up slowly, running a hand through wet, matted hair. “All the good it’d do you. Be a pile of rust by the time they found you. If they found you.”

Dum Dum laughed. Short, quick static. Somehow it sounded genuine.

“And I’m sure you did that outta the kindness of your heart.”

“What fuckin’ heart?” He said flat, patting down his pockets for his cigarettes. He pulled the pack out, sopping wet. He didn’t bother trying to light one before he tossed them into the bay with a sigh. “Owe me some fucking smokes.”

Dum Dum opened his mouth to speak, but the words never made it. He lifted his head, and though he couldn’t see exactly, Dagger knew he was looking past him. A gun cocked at the back of his head. Cold barrel against his skull. He clenched his jaw, and turned to see a woman he didn’t recognize staring down at him behind glass eyes.

His automatic translator picked up her words better than his ears.

“Welcome to Kabuki, bitch.”

#cyberpunk 2077 #oc: dagger #dum dum #x: perfect drug #my fic tag #well i fussed over this too much so im just gonna say yolo and post it #that also means i have to start on the second chapter. hm.#anyways..........its been a long time coming dklsajfdlsa #linked the song i got the title from for soundtrack purposes if it suits you UwU #sad to tell you all that cockroach won't appear until ch.2 despite being in the above image v.v #false advertising im sorry

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sjsmith56 · 3 months

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Customer Service

Summary: Bucky’s former girlfriend helps him buy a new suit, but he’s there for other reasons. First part of a two part series.

Length: 3.6 K

Characters: Unnamed OFC, named minor OFC, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson.

Warnings: Bucky showing up unannounced at her workplace, OFC remembering the not so good times, anxiety.

Author notes: Once upon a time I worked retail. An ex-spouse or lover showing up unannounced was always problematic. I’m not terribly knowledgeable about what men’s suits go with an athletic build, although my research did lean to a preference for the Hugo Boss and Calvin Klein labels.

🥾 👔 💔

“There’s a customer here that wants to speak to a manager,” said Lynette, the clerk at the customer service desk, sticking her head in the door of the office. She had a big smirk on her face. “I’m just warning you to be careful.”

I pulled my glasses off to glare at her as I really didn’t have time to deal with a grumpy customer. She shrugged.

“That’s why you get paid the big bucks.”

I followed her out and turned the corner where the most beautiful man I had ever seen leaned on the counter, someone I knew well and hadn’t expected to ever see again. Tall, broad-shouldered, with soft dark brown hair, rugged good looks, and a pair of blue eyes that pierced me as sharp as a knife. He had a smirk on his face as if he knew exactly the effect he had on me.

“Good afternoon, sir,” I said, trying to modulate my voice so that I didn’t give away that I knew him. “How can I be of assistance?”

He looked at me in surprise. I was going to be like that was I? Well, two could play that game.

“I would like to return these work boots,” he said, in a manner that indicated he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. “They fell apart the first time I used them at work.”

There was a black garbage bag on the counter that I assumed held the boots in question. Before I looked in it, I looked at him, trying to gauge if he was going to be one of those customers to me, in front of a witness. You know the type, someone who buys something to replace the worn-out ones he already has, then tries to pass the worn-out ones off as the newer model in order to get his money back. It’s a scam, and I could always pick out the type of person who would do that, which he wasn’t but it would be just like him to push the boundaries, trying to make me react to his being there. Internally I really hoped he wouldn’t go this far to punish me for ending it with him but his manner, although brusque, had none of the tells of someone who was trying to make life hard for me.

“Do you have your original receipt, sir?” I asked politely.

He nodded, pulled his wallet out of his jeans and opened it, revealing a carefully folded receipt that he handed to me, from his gloved hand. Lynette noticed the glove but stifled her reaction to it, except I could tell he noticed, as his eyes narrowed slightly, as if he was a little bothered. Briefly, his eyes flickered to mine. Had I not told anyone about us?

Swallowing, I opened the bag and looked inside at a pair of boots that had definitely seen better days. Although the top portion of them and the tread looked fairly new it was obvious that whatever mission he used them for was too much for the boots to handle. In several places the top part of the boot had pulled away from the sole. The stitching had also split in several of the stress points. I could only imagine what he went through that had caused this much damage to the boots. It was one of the reasons we broke up; nights of imagining the mission, wondering if he was alright but not hearing from him, not until he walked through the door all bruised and battered, sometimes still bleeding because he didn’t want to bother the medical staff. Meaning that I had to patch him up and deal with the stoic suffering he inflicted on himself by not believing he was worth being looked after.

“May I ask what line of work you’re in?” I asked politely. “These were new but seem to have been subjected to a lot of ….” I didn’t want to say the abuse word. “Um … stress.”

“I have a stressful job,” he answered, still playing the part of the customer who was a stranger to me. As if he hadn’t ever touched me in ways that no other man had; had never told me he loved me, who hadn’t argued with me sometimes just for the sake of arguing and liked seeing me all fired up because it meant the makeup sex after would be incredible. “It sometimes involves a lot of … running, jumping, kicking, and often moving through uneven terrain of all types.”

“Okay,” I replied, taking in a breath and deciding I couldn’t do this anymore. “I’ll authorize the refund, since your receipt shows you’ve only had them a week but obviously this brand won’t stand up to the pressures of your job. I would suggest you try a specialty footwear store that can provide something sturdier for you.”

His face changed when he realized I wasn’t going to prolong this moment anymore. Mentioning he should buy elsewhere could also be taken that I didn’t want to see him come back here, to where I worked. I entered the refund in the cash register, asking him to insert his bank card to finish the procedure, then had him sign our copy of the new receipt. I looked at the signature, J.B. Barnes, then at him.

“Is there a problem?” He looked at me with his eyebrows raised; as if he was willing me to say something, anything that he could respond to.

“No, no problem.” I made the mistake of getting caught by those eyes, becoming a little lost in them. It wouldn’t have been the first time those eyes made me change my mind, but not this time. “You have nice handwriting.”

“Thank you,” he smiled sadly, making my heart flutter a little. “I appreciate the good customer service.”

“You’re welcome,” I replied, then smiled my customer service smile as he turned around and walked away.

That should have been the end of it, except he turned around and looked at me one more time when he met up with Sam Wilson. He almost waved at me, but Bucky shook his head at him, and instead he just put his hand on his friend’s shoulder, in support. I heard Lynette gasp.

“That was Captain America,” she exclaimed. She grabbed the receipt that he signed. “That meant he was Bucky Barnes. He looked at you.”

“Of course, he looked at me. I was processing his refund.”

She wouldn’t stop talking about it, so I went out on the floor, wanting to get away from her incessant blathering about how I should go out with Bucky as it was obvious to her that he was sweet on me. Although I normally worked as a manager in the clothing department, I sometimes acted as customer service manager when that person had a day off. I still had a duty to walk around the store, making sure everything was working the way it should. That’s when I saw him again, Bucky, that is. He and Sam were in men’s wear, looking at shirts. By the sounds of it they were having a disagreement.

“Can I help you with something?” I asked.

They both turned to look at me then shared a look that can only be described as polar opposites. Sam grinned at Bucky, who scowled at him.

“He needs a dress shirt,” said Sam, playing along for the benefit of the male clerk on duty in men’s wear. “There’s a little problem in that he thinks a button cuff will be too tight. But he hasn’t worn a French cuff since the 1940s and thinks they’re old fashioned.”

“On the contrary,” I replied. “A French cuff is very fashionable. Personally, I think it offers a classy look to a man. Are you wearing a suit or a blazer?”

“Suit,” said Bucky, who seemed taller now that he wasn’t blocked by the customer service counter, taller than the last time he held me; broader than the last time I placed my head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat, sexier than the last time we made love.

“What colour of suit and what colour of shirt do you want?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t even have a suit yet.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“A formal event that he doesn’t want to go to because he doesn’t have a date,” smirked Sam. Trust him to be blunt.

“Sam,” glared Bucky. He turned to me, looking a little flustered. “Sorry, I really don’t know what I want. He’s right. I haven’t bought a suit since the 1940s and the one suit I had then was what I could afford.”

He looked a little lost, not that I could blame him. Outside of his missions, his wardrobe consisted of black jeans, blue jeans, long and short sleeve T-shirts, and Henley shirts, and those plain black combat boots that he wore constantly. He never wanted to go out anywhere that required a suit; always saying that he just wanted to stay in, as I was all the entertainment he needed. It was nice until it became stifling. The male clerk was helping another customer, and I suddenly didn’t want Bucky to leave. When we were together, I offered to help him buy a suit, but he always turned me down, saying he didn’t want to be my customer. But if this was the only way I could show him that he would be more than that then I was going to take my shot.

“Would you like me to dress you?” I blurted out.

“Excuse me?” His eyes opened wide. “What do you mean?”

“Sorry,” I smiled. “What I mean is, would you like me to help you find the right suit and shirt for this event?”

“I don’t want to take you away from your manager duties,” he answered, still looking unsure.

“Our store prides itself on its customer service,” I stated. “It would be my pleasure to help you find the right clothing for this event, Mr. Barnes.”

“She knows what she’s doing, Bucky,” said Sam, in a low voice. “I think you should listen to the lady.”

“Alright.” Bucky’s acceptance of my offer was said softly but loud enough for both me and Sam to hear.

I called up to the office to advise them I was helping a customer in men’s wear, taking measurements for a new suit so I wouldn’t be available for the next half hour. Then I pulled a card out of a drawer and wrote James Buchanan Barnes in the Customer Name portion.

“I’ll mark all of your measurements here,” I said. “That way, you won’t have to be measured again if you ever decide to buy another suit with us. It will also mark your preferences in suit style, shirt style, colours, and shoe size.”

“Shoe size?” he asked.

“You will need a pair of dress shoes,” I replied, looking down at his combat boots, all worn and scuffed. “Those won’t exactly complete the look you’re going for.”

“No, I guess not,” he agreed. “What do you need me to do?”

“Well, we can start with taking your height and weight measurement,” I began. “We have a scale here, unless you’re pretty sure of what you weigh.”

His eyes went soft. “6 feet even, 220 lbs., it doesn’t change.”

I wrote it down. “We need to take your body measurements; in one of the dressing rooms if you want privacy as you’ll have to take your jacket off and your Henley. We can choose a shirt first then wear that while I take the suit measurements, so the jacket fits properly.”

“Let’s do that,” he agreed, and waited for me to lead him to one of the larger dressing rooms.

He took his jacket off, then his Henley. Sam took them while he sat in a chair. I got the measuring tape and stood in front of Bucky, before wrapping it around his neck, taking the neck measurement.

“How are you?” he asked, in a low voice meant just for me.

“Managing,” I answered, getting a slight grin from him at my pun. “You?”

“Existing,” he replied, making me look up at him, and noticing how tired he seemed.

I took his arm measurement and wrote both measurements down on the card. “So, what type of shirt would you like? Classic fit, with room for your shoulders? Close fitting to display your physique? Button cuffs, French cuffs?”

“Why don’t you pick out some suitable choices, so I can see them on me?” he suggested.

Nodding, I left him and Sam there and went out to our selection, looking for some candidates. I picked white ones, thinking that if he wanted a coloured shirt, he could grab one with the same size and features. Taking them into the dressing room I was surprised to see he had his T-shirt off.

His physique never failed to impress me. His vibranium arm and shoulder had been made to match his right arm and shoulder, and the Wakandans had done a superb job of duplicating the musculature of that limb. As I removed the updated classic look shirt from its package, then removed the pins holding it together, he watched me, standing close enough so that I was aware of his scent. That mixture of citrus and sandalwood, from a cologne I gave to him on his birthday, brought back memories of burying my face into his neck during our more intimate moments, breathing in his unique essence. Fumbling with one of the pins, I stopped and took a breath, recenterring myself before handing the shirt to him. Without a word, he took it and put it on then buttoned it up. I handed him some cufflinks to go with the French cuffs. Taking the glove off of his left hand he attached that cufflink first, then the next one before standing in front of the mirror and taking in the fit.

“That’s almost perfect,” I said. “The length is enough to tuck in, without the threat of it coming out. The shoulders are snug enough to show your form but roomy enough for your muscles to move. The French cuffs give you a tailored look with enough room not to bind your wrists.”

Sam coughed and we both looked at him, at his timing. “I didn’t say anything.”

With the shirt on I began measuring Bucky for the suit jacket, starting with the chest, over arm, neck, and sleeve length. Then I continued with the shoulders, waistcoat length, jacket length, bicep, wrist and stomach. The next set of measurements were for the pants, waist, hips, thigh, knee, then the rise, running the tape from the front of waist down over the crotch and up to his back. We both glared at Sam who pointedly looked elsewhere for that measurement as well as the inseam measurement, before finishing off with the out seam.

“We can go look at the suit styles,” I said. “I think with your broad shoulders and slim waist that you should stick with Hugo Boss or a Calvin Klein suit. They’ll need minimal tailoring to be fitted properly. You can leave the dress shirt on, while you try the jacket on the sales floor.”

Both men came out and I showed them the suits, not surprised when Bucky gravitated towards the black ones. Colour was hard for him, as he always thought it made him too visible. The arm already did that, in his opinion. He tried on several jackets in his size before he found one that he liked, nodding his head as he looked at himself in the mirror on the floor. I found his waist size in the matching slacks and draped them over my arm.

“Ties?” I asked, walking towards our display. “You have your choice of plain, patterned, paisley, stripes.”

“Plain, black,” stated Bucky. “Could I try a black shirt as well?”

As much as I wanted him to experiment a little, I also knew he would look stunning in a monochrome suit ensemble of black. I found a black shirt to match the white one he wore then took them back to the dressing room. While he put them on, Sam came with me to the shoe department to find a pair of shoes. As soon as we were some distance away, he stopped and hugged me.

“How are you?” His eyes were full of concern. “This must be hard for you.”

I shrugged. “I miss him, even with all of his quirks. He can’t just show up here unannounced. Why is he really here? He wouldn’t even step foot into the store before even though I offered to help him find clothes many times.”

“I know.” He looked back towards the men’s wear department. “This formal event is mandatory for him. We’re going to the White House to receive a commendation and attend a banquet. It’s made his anxiety level go up through the roof. You always had a way to keep him level. It was my idea to come here and hopefully get your help. The work boots still had to be returned. He just bought them on impulse when he came here by himself the first time to ask for your help but couldn’t find you.”

I began walking to the shoe department; suddenly angered that Bucky was only here so I could make him feel better. Sam hurried after me.

“Seriously? You thought I could give him an emergency psychological bandage to get him through an anxiety episode? You’re better than that, Sam.”

“He needs you. He’s pretty lost without you.”

I could feel the need to cry bubbling up from my stomach and stopped at a display of men’s shoes, plain black Oxfords. Picking up a pair I held them up to Sam.

“What do you think? He’s going to look great in the suit and these will be just the thing to finish it off.”

“Yeah, he’ll like them,” replied Sam. “Size 12.”

I went in back to find the shoe, taking the moment to compose myself before coming out with the box. We began walking back to men’s wear when Sam stopped me again. With a sigh I looked at him, feeling almost at the end of my tether.

“Tell me the truth, are you happier without him?”

What an unfair question to ask. I wasn’t happy. I was miserable but I just didn’t know if I had it in me to put up with everything else. The moodiness, the lack of communication, the emotional withdrawal that happened around every anniversary of his fall, the possessiveness … the good things we had never seemed to outweigh the negative. Without even answering Sam knew what I would say, and he touched my arm, then nodded his head sadly. As we stepped into the dressing room Bucky stood there in the suit, wearing the black shirt, with the black tie, and the black pocket square poking out of the chest pocket. I took the shoes out of the box, doing up the laces, then kneeled in front of Bucky, helping him on with the shoes, before pinning the length of the trousers to fit the shoes and stepping back to look at the almost finished product.

“There you go,” I said. “You look great.”

“I feel good,” he replied. “Thank you.” His eyes flickered to Sam.

“You do look good,” said his friend. “The all-black look suits you.”

“I’ll take it,” said Bucky. “All of it, and the white shirt as well, with a tie of your choice. Just so I have two looks.”

“I’ll pick something out while you get changed,” I said. “Then I’ll meet you at the desk. The slacks can be left here for our tailor to shorten. They’ll be ready in two days.”

I found a tie, a paisley design, black with silver and gold accents, that matched the colours of his vibranium arm. There was even a pocket square to match, and I tossed that on the pile. I entered the information of the suit on the card. It would be entered into our database so that anyone could help him find what he needed in the future.

Sam came out with the suit, shirts and shoes, placing them on the desk. Bucky came out a few moments later, seeming a little more withdrawn. After entering the work order for the slacks, I handed him a claim ticket. It seemed odd that in this digital age we still used paper claim tickets, but it was what our customers liked, as part of the service. I tallied up the total, presenting the amount to Bucky, and he didn’t bat an eye as he pulled a black credit card out of his wallet. It seemed the superhero business had finally started paying off. As he entered the code on the terminal, I placed the suit jacket and shirts into a suit bag, the shoes and ties in a paper shopping bag. Then the receipt was handed over, and I looked at him, wanting to say something other than my usual customer service ramble.

“You should launder the shirts before you wear them, just so they’re softer on your skin,” I suggested. “In the shoe department are some protective sprays that will help keep them looking good in wet weather. You can also polish them with regular shoe polish.” Those blue eyes met mine, boring into me, maybe for the last time. “I hope your event goes well. You’ll look great and you’ll be fine.”

“Thank you for your help,” he smiled softly, seemingly accepting that it was over.

He gathered up his bags and stood awkwardly for a moment before turning away. This time he didn’t look back.

Part 2>>

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anjelicawrites · 1 year

Text

To honor and protect

Paring: Aemond Targaryen x reader x Osferth and all the combinations thereof, I mean there’s three of them, so…

Synopsis: filling this prompt from anon (thank you!!!!) “hiii! so, I'm absolutely LOVING the aemond x reader x osferth fics and had a request of my own that I wanted to share for the pairing. kinda angsty, maybe so smut and good ol fluff too.I was wondering if you could do an aemond x reader x osferth fic where the 3 of them have been super comfortable about their relationship with each other. however, there's always those times in public where others like to ruin their fun. that happens one night while they're out and reader gets upset the most about it. osferth is the one to comfort her first and soon brings in aemond. the two of them tell reader that it doesn't matter what others think, they'll still love each other no matter what. they end up having a love session too. please? thank u”

Warnings: 18+ only please. Body shaming, doxxing, talk of bullying. Smut, lots of it. P in v sex, oral (f receiving), talk of blowjob, rough (ish) sex, overstimulation, dom!Osferth, sub!reader, service top!Aemond.

A/N: I am not sure this is what you wanted? I’ve let the muse roam free and that’s what I got so let me know!!!

A/N 2: it’s >7000 word. I am so sorry. One day I’ll learn how to write less, I promise!

You and your boys have hectic schedules and rarely have the chance to go out together. It doesn't help that you and Aemond are a bit reclusive and would rather spend time home chilling, than being out and about. Osferth is usually the one who has to convince the two of you to go out and you both love him too much to deny him this small happiness.

Tonight, you all meet directly after work in front of this new, fancy restaurant freshly opened and that's all on Aemond: he wouldn't want to go to one of those pubs you and Osferth love so much, because he is classy like that. For your outings he wants only the best, he wants the pride of knowing that he had managed to book in a reservation in zero time, in a place where it takes weeks to obtain one, because he is Aemond fucking Targaryen, who will do anything for his lovers. You and Osferth would be happy anywhere: the fanciest place in town or a picnic in a small park, as long as Aemond is happy you both are. If flexing his muscles is a way he prefers to express his love for you two, neither you, nor Osferth would stop him, not after all the work he has been doing on himself and his self esteem.

The place is impressive and you feel a little out of place, even with Osferth by your side as you both wait for Aemond. From the outside you see big mirrors, warm lights and a huge amount of metal, the people going in just ooze money, you can smell how rich they are and you feel uncomfortable in your vintage clothing. You have always found Edwige Fenech and Florinda Bolkan, in those ‘70s gialli movies, style icons and started copying theirs and the other amazing actresses's dresses from the moment you had a paycheck to support yourself. You are, most of the time, proud of how you look, but you have to admit the amazing clothing you see on all these stylish people, makes you feel self - conscious and painfully aware that one of the dresses you see on any of these women, is worth your annual earnings. You think you should have made a pit-stop home to change into that Valentino dress Aemond gifted you for your first birthday you celebrated together, that was probably more appropriate than the suit and blouse you are wearing now. Are your boots too old? Is your make up ok?

Almost on cue Osferth hugs you from behind and kisses your cheek, the smoky scent of his leather jacket is comforting as is his body heat

“You look ravishing, my love - he says - I might just steal you away on my bike and have my wicked way with you”

“You look dapper yourself - and he does, he manages to rock the hot youth pastor style and the leather jacket without effort - and your suggestion is enticing, but I fear Aemond might have killed someone to get us a table here. You can steal me away any other time, though!”

“I count on that”.

You bask into one another’s presence as you people watch the fancy businessmen and models entering the premise. You have always felt a bit out of place in Aemond's world, most of the time you try to approach it with the eyes of an anthropologist, but sometimes you feel like the odd one standing out. Tonight, you feel like your anthropologist goggles are harder to wear and you are not really sure why.

Osferth, on the other hand, has a fuck it attitude. On birth alone, he should have been one of those wealthy people, but his father had never stepped up and he had rather ignored his child out of wedlock. You know it is a complicated matter between the man you have never met and his lawful wedded wife and you are not sure how much his absence had been his own will, and how much his wife’s, the result is the same, though, Osferth suffers from this and his reaction is to double down on being himself and ignore those people's judgemental stares. He had chosen to forego the life his father had decided for him, sheltered and where Alfred didn’t risk meeting him, for a more complicated one, but where Osferth can be himself, with all his contradictions.

Your reverie is interrupted by Aemond's arrival in his posh car. He gives the keys to the valet and smiles when he sees you and Osferth. Aemond is an extremely private person, the public doesn't know his face, since he has no social media and prefers to leave all the PR to his sister Rhaenyra and her gaggle of children. This permits him to enjoy the perks of being part of Targaryen Corp., minus the harassment from the press. The downside is that he doesn't do PDAs and is always a bit aloof in public, even when in your company.

He saunters towards you and Osferth; he looks a bit tired around the edges and you muse that he might need this night out, just to break from his routine. When he gets to you, he kisses your hand like the gentleman his mother has raised him to be and hugs Osferth briefly.

"Shall we go in? - you ask - it's a bit early"

"Drinks on me, raqiarzy, we celebrate" beloved in High Valyrian is one of his favorite pet names for you

"No dead and no injured today?" Osferth knows Aemond has had a big meeting with the stakeholders and was afraid of Rhaenyra's side of the family messing up

"None. Daemon has been his usual unpleasant self, but I haven't canceled to bake a Kek Lapis Sarawak, so I'd say we should celebrate".

Aemond stress bakes and his whole family stresses him a lot. Usually, according to the amount of stuff he prepares, you can easily understand who has been a problem. When it's his uncle Daemon, he goes with the Kek Lapis Sarawak, which are extremely difficult to prepare and require all of his concentration. You and Osferth both love this kind of cake, but you would rather buy it than eat Aemond's, just because it means that Daemon has been terrible with him.

You are having drinks while waiting for your table to be ready, sitting in a nestled corner where you can talk without being overly disturbed by the people walking by; you are sitting between your lovers, just chatting about your respective days at work. You are telling your boys about one of your student's outrageous translations of Herodotus, when you feel a sensation between your shoulder blades, as if someone is staring at you with intent; you glance at the big mirror behind the bar, but there's too many people chatting so you decide to ignore the weird feeling, even though it is persistent and it bothers you, forcing you to act more natural than you truly feel. It's between Osferth's recollection of a funny story concerning Uhtred's offspring and Aemond's telling of that one time Helaena scared one aunt with her collection of crawly friends, that you notice the sheer amount of beautiful girls casually bumping into your men, it is almost like the floor around your table is all potholes and those women feel the need to use your men's shoulders to keep their balance. Or are you being paranoid in this environment?

Aemond's work phone rings and he has to excuse himself for a moment, he has been waiting for some important news from one of the international branches and has to leave you to get this call, it won't be a moment.

The moment he is not by your side, you start hearing chatting coming from your right side, a little behind you: a group of beautiful women is sitting around a table, staring at you openly with aggression and hate. You hear easily how they are commenting on your body and your clothes; you recognise them as the girls using your boyfriends' shoulders for balance and you try to ignore them, talking a bit louder, hoping that between the general chatting and your voice, Osferth wouldn't hear their words.

Aemond is still on the phone somewhere when Osferth excuses himself for a moment and you are swamped by these women’s hatred: how your hair is too frizzy, your figure too full, your clothes so out of fashion you must have raided your grandma's wardrobe and why are you with such handsome men? They were surely with you here out of pity, you must have pestered them that they must have felt obliged to be here with you, no wondering why they have already left you alone, they must have already gone home, what a fool you were to be sitting at the table, nursing your drink, waiting for two men far above your station who would never come back. And who has a date with two men? Are you that desperate? Or are you a whore like all ugly women are?

You have been bullied mercilessly from elementary well into high school and you have learnt how to build an armor around yourself to let awful comments slide. Most of the time it works; those are not the first women commenting on why two beautiful men such as Aemond and Osferth are with a normal looking woman like you and you usually laugh in their faces. The ugly truth of trauma, though, is that it might come back whenever you least expect it to be; just when you start believing you have healed the young girl you once were, these jabs seem to hit you where you still have unknown open wounds and you feel tears stinging in your eyes. You want to run to the bathroom when you feel Osferth's voice behind you

“My lovely lady here might not conform to your standards of beauty, but you are the ugliest women I have ever seen in my entire life. You might look beautiful on the outside, but you are hideous on the inside”.

He walks to you, his hands are on your shoulders, big and strong, but his voice is cold. You have never heard him be like this, your Osferth is sunshine, always and now he is a hailstorm, cold and destructive.

One of the women tries to retort but is stopped by Osferth’s words

“You work for a feminist publishing house and you go around belittling another woman. I bet this would make a great publicity stunt for your bosses”.

You see the color drain from her face, you want to say something but Osferth’s hands curl tighter on the meat of your shoulders and you keep silent.

“Mmmh, it is quite stupid to go around freely giving your phone numbers to complete strangers. In this day and age it is too easy to find out every information about someone using only that”.

Aemond appears out of nowhere behind those women, who jump out of their skins. This Aemond is also a stranger to you, cold and cruel as he reads off his phone all the personal information about them: names, addresses, marital status, job position and random information about their families.

You know he can be ruthless, but you have never seen it happen in front of your eyes; even when he didn’t know you, he was aloof but never this cold, his voice had never dripped venom the way it does now. He is scary and imposing. Even the stare he exchanges with Osferth is foreign to you.

“We should have you on your knees, groveling for our beloved’s forgiveness, but you are undeserving even of that”.

Osferth? You want to ask, but you stay still, trying to recognise the compassionate man you fell in love with, in the emotionless voice coming from behind you; it’s the voice of someone who knows he can cause damage, both physical and psychological, and would act on this knowledge, if pushed. You never knew he could be like this and you wonder if the people he sometimes have to deal with at work, get to see only this side of him.

“Go, before we make you” Osferth says matter of factly and the group just scampers away, one of the brunettes in tears.

As soon as the women are outside the big, glass doors, the cold spell enveloping your lovers breaks and you see your Osferth and Aemond revert back to the gentle people you know them to be.

Osferth’s hands leave your shoulders to grab your left hand in a concerned manner, his voice soft as he asks you how you are feeling. Aemond surprises you with a kiss on the crown of your head, him who has issues with expressing his affection in public

“I think I might need to go to the bathroom” you say with a shaky voice

“Raqiarzy…” Aemond starts to say, but you stop him with a hand on his chest

“I need to be alone for a moment, please my love” he lets you go, but his stare is weighted by his concern for you.

In the bathroom, you check that the stalls are free and you lock yourself in one to cry in peace. Those awful women’s words and the reaction from your lovers have rattled you; you know a good cry will help you and so you let the tears run freely down your cheeks until they stop on their own accord and you feel better, even though you know your next session with your psychologist will be a valley of tears, because of tonight.

Once you stop crying, you manage to salvage your makeup with the products you have in your bag and hope for the best.

You don’t really feel like eating anything but you don’t want the comments of those awful women to taint the rest of your evening; your lovers have different plans though.

“Let’s go home” Aemond says the moment you reach him

“But the dinner?”

“I thought this place was worthy of your presence, I was wrong - he says with contempt - a restaurant like this should vet its clientele, not let anyone book a table. The lack of manners of half of the patrons is not excusable”.

He has lost you at that. You have always thought that only one’s earnings were considered in a place like this: if you are poor you are out, if you are rich you are in, you never thought that not being an obnoxious asshole has ever factored.

“Let’s go” Osferth takes you hand and starts heading for the door

“Really baby, I am fine” you are not, not completely at least, but you don’t want to rain on your collective parade

“We’ll go somewhere else another day”

“And you are not ruining our night” Aemond whispers in your ear

“You promise?”

"I swear. I want only the best for you and Osferth. This place is not the best" and with that he helps you with your coat.

The sudden coldness of the night makes you shiver and huddle yourself closer to Osferth, who happily hugs you tight as you wait for yours and Aemond's car to be bought in by the valets, Aemond stands tall and proud in front of you, almost like a protector, ignoring the cold wind whipping your bodies.

When Aemond's fancy Mercedes arrives, he opens the passenger door for you

"I'm driving you home, raqiarzy. Give Osferth your car keys"

"But I can drive, my love, I am fine"

"I know you can - he lets out a soft mmh - but I want to drive you home".

Your old jeep is waiting behind Aemond's car and the valets stare at you funnily. You decide to bend your stiff neck and give Osferth your keys. It's when you are already in the Mercedes that you ask, your head hanging out from the window

"What about your bike?"

"It's light enough to strap on the back of your car, love. I'll see you home" his smile is tight and you know he is still angry; from the way Aemond clutches the steering wheel, he is still fuming himself, but keeping it under wraps for your sake.

Aemond drives with one hand on the steering wheel and the other on your thigh, possessively, the heating is at full blast for you, he usually runs too hot and rarely needs to turn it on. Even if angry, he drives with grace and doesn't get mad at the car cutting right in front of him; at the first red light you scoot closer to him and kiss his cheek

"Thank you. You shouldn't have done it though. They were nobodies, not worth your rage and I really don’t know why I let them hurt me so"

"Those nobodies insulted my dāria, my queen. I don't take that kindly. And you are still suffering, I can see that".

You can hear the controlled rage in his voice, his stance rigid again; you caress his thigh to relax him

"How did you manage to know all about them?"

"Osferth's useless friends. The wonders Sihtric can do with only a handful of phone numbers and one internet connection".

You put two and two together easily. Osferth had overheard the chitchat you had tried to drown and went looking for Aemond when he had left you alone. A chirurgical operation, so to say.

"You shouldn't have done that. Those women could have gone to the police"

"It's their word against mine, and mine weighs far more than theirs".

The way he says it gives you chills. You know that the Targaryens like to spread around the rumor that they have dragon blood running in their veins, but this is the first time you see that in action. He would have burned those women to a crisp, if he only could, you think, he just settled for the next best thing.

"You and Osferth showed me a life I never thought possible and it's only my duty to protect you two".

You burrow yourself closer to him as physically possible in the moving vehicle.

“Not at yours of Osferth’s risk”

“There’s really not much in this world that can be a risk for me. I come from very old money, that still counts in many important circles - he adds with a hint of regret in his voice - I wasn’t there for you when you were hurt, in the past. I know it’s something I can’t change but I can be here for you, now”

“You know I won't accept to be a damsel in distress. Tonight those words cut me deep but it’s not going to be always like that”

“I know. Tonight you needed to be protected, the same way I did when we first met. That’s what we do, we keep one another safe in our time of need”

“Do you really want to make me cry tonight?”

“No - he slows down to look into your eyes - I want you happy, always”.

By the time Osferth arrives home, you and Aemond are on the sofa, all the pets but Santanico are huddled around your forms. You are not completely asleep, more lulled by Aemond’s body warmth into a relaxed state, even though he is not: you can tell by how Vaghar has still not settled for the night. You can hear her enormous form move about. Every once in a while she would let out a huff and change position and the house would slightly vibrate with her.

Osferth has used the longer drive home, an old dirt road, since he needed time to decompress. Once he locks your jeep, he sees how dirty the car is and makes a mental note to wash it during the weekend.

He opens the back door in the kitchen and walks silently, unsure of whether or not you and Aemond would still be awake

“Osferth?” Aemond’s voice in the darkness makes him jump out of his skin

“Are you two awake?”

“Yeah - you answer, reluctantly leaving your lover’s warmth - how are you feeling?”

Osferth has to dodge the dogs’s attempt at being petted and the cats unwillingness to move from their positions; once he has reached your outstretched hand, he kisses your palm and proceeds to lie on you, thus loading your collective weights on Aemond

“You ok on the bottom?” “I’ll let you know when my legs start to numb Os”

“Are you good, my love?” you ask again, concerned

“I am, ish” he adds, unbuttoning your blouse to kiss your tummy

“Osferth… - you try but your words are cut short by Aemond’s lips on the side of your neck - boys…” you try again and it goes nowhere, their lips and fingers seem able to strain any line of thoughts you have.

“We really need you” Osferth murmurs against your belly button, before blowing a raspberry on the soft skin there, forcing a laugh out of your mouth

“You can have me, always”

“Now - Aemond says as his nimble fingers go for the zip of your skirt, his voice heavy with despair - please raqiarzy”

The pieces go together in your brain as your lovers undress you with care: they need the comfort of your embrace after tonight’s fiasco, the oblivion only your body can provide them, to know they are safe inside of you and that you feel the same in their arms.

You don’t protest when Osferth removes your boots, skirt and stockings before helping you on your feet, Aemond’s fingers unhook your bra and his hands mold around your breasts as the garment falls on the floor; only your panties remain and Osferth makes a short work of them, after he has kneeled in front of you.

There’s nothing as erotic as standing naked between your still clothed lovers and they know how much you like this, how many goosebumps bloom on your skin where the elegant material of Aemond’s suit touches you, how much your legs tremble as Osferth kisses over your mons pubis as his fingers splay on the front of your thighs.

You don’t know where to put your hands, all of the sudden, as if this is the first time with them

“Hold on me” Aemond whispers in your ear and your hands go to the nape of his neck, fingers crossing there, leaving you gloriously exposed to your lovers.

“You have the most delectable pussy, my love” Osferth’s hot breath tickles your mound and you know this is going to be a long night, where fight as you might, you won’t have the upper hand, even with Aemond who is usual the subbest of you three

“And the best hips to grab a man could have ever asked for and the softest breasts” Aemond says, his left hand on your hip, the other making his way slowly from you neck to your bosom

“You… you planned this” you manage to say, your voice already broken with need

“Teamwork” Osferth beams, before burying his face in your pussy.

HIs tongue kitten licks your clit and your hips move forward on their own accord, giving him the chance to grab your ass to plaster your cunt against his face. He wants to eat you out slowly, with long licks up your slit, using the flat of his tongue as his nose moves against your clit with each of his moves until you sob, the stimulation not enough to bring you to orgasm and he decides to have pity on you, his tongue licking your bud with broader strokes until his lips curl around it, sucking harshly on the hardened nub without pity and you orgasm for the first time tonight. You are thankful that your lover’s hand are there to support you, because your legs quiver as Osferth doesn’t stop, his long fingers in your pussy entering and moving in and out at a slow pace, meant to prolong your orgasm as Aemond keeps kissing you neck, his fingers spreading you lower lips for Osferth to see how your hole clenches around his fingers. You keen at that, feeling exposed, seen in your desire. A long litany of please fall from your lips as Osferth finds your g-spot and focuses all movements there, wanting to make you come just by his fingers only, as you move your hips desperately, knowing he won’t stop until you finish, but you are not sure if you are capable, not after your first orgasm being so close; he seems to know and his free hand pushes against your lower belly as Aemond’s hands pinch your nipples and he is whispering in High Valyrian in your ear. It is too much, too much pressure, it is too hot to breath, your nipples sending shockwaves of pleasure directly to your clit as pleasure builds and builds and builds until you squirt violently, the pleasure makes you knees bend

“You are so good, love” Osferth’s praises come from far away

“You did great - Aemond kisses your sweaty temple - do you think you have another one in you?”.

You shake your head while he helps you on the floor and kisses your trembling lips the moment you are both lying there, his tongue softly playing with yours as you try to focus, but you can’t, not with the way his hands roam your torso and lower belly. The moment he helps you spread your legs, you realize Osfeth’s fingers haven’t left your pussy and your hole is still contracting around his digits.

“I believe she does Aemond, she just needs a little push” he says, his fingers curling while his lips attack your clit again.

You try to move your hips but there’s nowhere to go, pinned by Osferth’s arm over your belly and Aemond’s scorching hot body behind you, his lips kissing your neck, his hands keeping your labia open for Osferth’s fingers and lips again. You can only let your head loll on his shoulder as you cry out, your hands instinctively scratching Osferth’s back until another orgasm crushes you and you scream, incapable of understanding how this one is even stronger than the other two before.

Your lovers curl around you, their caresses delicate as they help you come down from the high, their body heaths lulling you into relaxation

“Was it too much?” Aemond’s voice is laced with worry, he is still scared, after all this time, of bedding you too hard, of hurting you unintentionally

“I… I’m ok” you slur

“Do you want to be carried to the bedroom?” Osferth knows you can endure so much more, but he is going to give you nothing less of the best care, in between lovemaking sessions

“Yes, please”.

Both men help you on your feet and Osferth carries you bridal style to the bedroom, where he lies your body on the sheets

“I haven’t kissed you yet”

“Not this set of lips, at least”

“I should rectify that immediately”.

His mouth slants over yours, his tongue already seeking entrance, which you give with a moan and he ravages you, he is still too wired up to be gentle, needing to use you to vent his frustration; if it was just the two of you, you’d already be bound and pinned like a beautiful butterfly and he’d be listing all the depraved things he’d wanted to do to your body, with your permission.

Your hands tug at his clothes the moment he is on you, you need to feel his skin over yours and you don’t care about the ripping sounds you hear, you want him naked, you want Aemond naked as well, their bodies yours to explore, their cocks ready to be buried inside of you.

You loathe that he has to move backwards, away from you to remove his trousers; you try to follow him with your lips on his and this warrants you a laugh from him and a tiny slap on you cunt, which makes you moan and fall back on the bed, your legs splayed, your core already glistening.

You notice Aemond at the end of the bed, naked, eye patch off and cock erected, the pupil of his lilac eye swallowed by the black of desire

“Seeing something that you like?” you ask, fingers opening your lower lips, he groans

“Everything” he answers, one hand cupping his balls, his teeth worrying his lower lip. He needs you so much

“You look like you might need a hand with that - you say, trying to go on all fours - let me suck your cock”.

Aemond lets out a strangled hmm as his fingers curl tighter around his balls; you are such an erotic vision he’s not sure for how long he is capable of resisting coming just by seeing you crawling towards him. You would have happily sucked him off but Osferth’s hands wound around your hips, forcing you backwards against his body

“Be good love” he chastises you

“But I really want to suck cock” both men groan at your words, the phantom memory of your lips around their manhoods is a threat to their composure

“Later, if you behave”.

You want to pout, but you don’t have the time to, since Osferth lies on the bed, with you stretched over him and Aemond crawls towards you until he is over you, his cock straining for your pussy

“May I?” he asks

“Yes” you moan.

Slowly he grabs his member and guides it to your slit, moving it up and down to collect your juices to lubricate himself before breaching you. He moans as if this is the first time your pussy welcomes his cock, your warmth intoxicating; in truth it’s the intimacy provided by the position you three are that makes him shiver, the fact that he can kiss the two of you at the same time, your soft moans as his hips move deep and slow inside of you give him the guidance he needs to know he is doing good. Osferth’s praises directly into his ear are heady and the way he cups your breasts to offer them to his hungry mouth, make his control crumble and his hips move faster in your heat. You are a trembling mess, sandwiched as you are between your lovers, your clit continuously stimulated by Aemond’s pubic bone, his thick cock tearing you in two as he pushes and pulls against your G-spot; God you can feel every inch of him searing inside of you, molding your pussy into the perfect sheath for his cock and you hands fly to his buttocks, forcing him to go as deep as he can, to split you in two, to ruin you for anyone else but him and Osferth. The moment his hips pick the faster pace, the only thing you can do is cant your hips and moan, his lips ghosting over yours as broken High Valyrian spills from his mouth, a string of “Kessakessatolīkessakostilus'' yesyesmoreyesplease, against your lips as the friction increases as does the brutality of his peace and the squeeze of your cunt’s muscles until you come, kick starting his own orgasm. You both scream, your body curling around his, never wanting to let him go and he loses all strength, falling inside your embrace, his breath short and Osferth is forced to turn all of you on the side, before you crush him.

You frantically kiss Aemond, your hands still on his hips to prevent him to leave your cunt, needing to feel that connection as both your orgasms subside; you don’t need to ask him if he’s all right, the joyous way he kisses you lets you know he has enjoyed himself

“Avy jorrāelan” he whispers against your lips

“I love you too, and you as well” you say, burrowing against Osferth’s front

“You were both beautiful - Osferth says with a soft smile, even though his cock hurts - perfect”

“Kirimvose issa jorrāelagon” thank you my love, spills from his lips, the pleasure forcing him to revert to High Valyrian, until his brain starts working normally.

You reach backwards into Osferth’s hair to grab the blond strands to press your lips against his; your body is tired but you need him as well, wanting him to find peace in your depths

“Osferth, please”

“Are you well enough to have me, love?” as much as he likes fucking you until you are midless with pleasure, he knows he is walking a thin, fucking line here

“I am. You need this, do whatever you want to me”

Your submission is heady now, as it had been the first time; it sucks the air from his lungs, the knowledge that you are happy to have him, even though you must feel tired and sore, that part of your pleasure derives from him using you to pleasure himself. It’s convoluted and not many people would understand that, sometimes, this is what you two need. He can’t torment you the way he would were Aemond not here, he would have you dangling from your delicate wrist, your feet barely scraping the floor as he prepares to mingle pleasure with pain, but that doesn’t really matter. His other lover's hard limits are a way for Osferth to be creative with his use of you like his personal whore.

He lets you kiss Aemond one last time and then helps you on your knees, he spreads them open and keeps you in this position using his, bearing the weight your legs cannot right now. You let your body against his, safe in the knowledge he will not let you fall, while his right hand travels to your navel, to dip in your pussy to play with it and with the combined comes dripping down your tights, tortured moans escape your mouth. His fingers breach you long enough to collect enough spunk to lube his own cock and then he enters you with a swift movement that makes you scream in pleasure and pain, your walls still reeling from the orgasm Aemond has given you. Osferth’s right hand flies to your neck and curls there, his left grab you hip to make you start to move on his shaft. Every upward movement is met by your hips going downward, each pass forcing a bit more of his cock inside of you as your hands scrabble uselessly at his arms, trying desperately to release his hold on you, but you are not allowed to go anywhere, not until his cock has breached you open completely and you sit on him, his manhood buried completely in your heat. The hand around your throat constricts you airflow and you feel dizzy, torn between moaning and breathing

“I should keep you like this for the rest of the night, warming my cock, would you like me to use you like this?” his hand uncurls to let you speak

“Yes, please, whatever you want”

“Or shall I fuck my load inside of you, mindless of your pleasure? I made you come with my mouth, haven’t I? You had your fill for the night”

“Yes, I love you” you start feeling your mind unraveling and fight to answer his questions

“I think I shall fuck you like this, see if I can make you come again - your cunt clenches violently at his words, you know he is able to extract orgasm after orgasm from your body, even when you think you don’t have any more to give - Your cunt is far more honest than your mouth, I shall expect that from you, my beloved whore”.

His hands curl on your hips to move your body in tandem with his and your knees give up after the first pushes, the pleasure too great for your body to compute and you let yourself feel, your head lolled back on his shoulder, your lips seeking his. Each and every thrust tears you asunder and knits you back together, never quite pushing against your G-spot, keeping you dancing on the edge as your nerves scream, too overwhelmed to properly carry on the right message. It’s pleasure, it’s pain, he’s killing you and making you feel alive and you start screaming, mindless, animal-like wails as your mind takes off and the mixed signals of your body make you quiver and shake. You don’t really feel Aemond’s forehead against yours, his words don’t register in your ears, but his warmth does and you let yourself grab at him, scratching the delicate skin of his shoulders as he helps Osferth move your spent body. The moment Osferth decides to focus on your G-spot, your body starts thrashing violently, every cell screaming that you can’t come any more, but the heat builds and builds and builds the moment he fingers your abused clit and you scream and beg that you can’t, please and he just continues, his thrust focusing on that spot inside of you; he needs you to come around him for him to sink into oblivion with you. When the knot in your belly snaps violently, your brain blanks and you don’t feel Osferth coming inside of you, his groans of pleasure as his cock spurts ropes and ropes of cum inside your walls, you are just a rag doll in their combined embrace, your body too heavy for you to move and you close your eyes, not even shivering when his cock leaves the embrace of your spent cunt.

You come back to your senses in the bathroom, sitting slouched on the counter, Aemond in front of you, making sure you don’t fall over

“Hey” you croak, trying to smile

“Welcome back, raqiarzy. How are you feeling?”

“Like I have run three marathons at the same time” this elicit a quiet smile in Aemond, who kisses your nose

“Do you think you can sit without my help?”

“I should - your body feels loose, every muscle overused - Why is the water running?”

“Osferth is drawing us a bath”

“Get you a man who can do both: fuck you into unconsciousness and then bathing you.”

“You looked like a goddess - his forehead finds yours - so beautiful. I couldn't stop staring. You, being taken like that… you were the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my entire life”

“You look quite dashing yourself when we manage to fuck you into unconsciousness - you smile at the way he blushes still, after all this time - I love you, I’ll love you always”

“Nyke jāhor va moriot jorrāelagon ao” I will love you forever; how are you supposed not to cry?

Osferth joins you in the bathtub after a while, you and Aemond already chilling in the hot water. When you had bought this home, the boys were not part of your life and you still compliment yourself for choosing such a big tub that three adults can fit without a problem.

Osferth stares at you two for a moment, you look so relaxed, eyes closed and hair up (God forbid Aemond gets his hair wet, his ridiculous thirteen step hair care routine would take all night to complete) and his heart swells with love for the two of you. He is not sure what he has done to deserve you both, but he is simply grateful that you are in his life.

Gently he slips into the water and you and Aemond open your eyes lazily. Slowly you lift your arms so that he can hug you and he is mesmerized, as usual, by your breasts: the delicate skin and the darker hue of your nipples make his brain short circuit

“Earth to Osferth? Do you copy?”

“Yes” he burrows his face against your neck as Aemond’s long arms embrace you both.

You stay like this for a while, Osferth needing the closeness after the gift of your submission, after your lips desperately seeking his as he fucked you brutally, as if you needed him to own you in every way. The whole experience gives him a high nothing else can compare to and requires him to be close to you afterwards, his body seeking yours as a safe haven.

“Let me wash your hair, Osferth” you say softly.

You are still so surprised of how much of a softie your Osferth can become, after dominating you. It’s not only his need for close contact, it’s his whole posture, the soft sounds he makes, how sleepy he looks and how thicker his accent becomes. It’s like there’s two men sharing his body: one cruel and domineering in the bedroom, the other delicate like a dandelion; the first one you can’t win against, when he decides to pop up, the second can fold just by the push of your full breasts against his chest.

“Yes, please, I would like that” Osferth says with a mellow voice as he turns in your embrace.

You try to reach for his shampoo but it’s actually Aemond who passes it to you with a grimace (he just hates the stuff. The ingredients list only gives him a rash and how good can a product be, when it’s shampoo, conditioner and body wash, three in one?), reminding himself that he truly needs to kidnap Osferth for a full day, in order to teach him some skin and hair care routine; but that’s for another day, at the moment he only wants to lie his head back on the rim of the tube and listen to Osferth’s moans of pleasure as your hands massage and caress his scalp. Oh boy does he moan after every single time your hands work the lather in his short hair, your fingertips pushing in the right places, relaxing him even more than he already feels and you keep going for longer than it should be needed to wash someone’s hair, just because he needs this form of closeness as he does need to dominate you and it’s a way for you to show him how much you care about him and how grateful you are for the way he protects the gift of your submission.

The only reason you decide to dry yourselves and go to bed, is the cooling water, making you all shiver, even Aemond who usually gives off ridiculous amounts of body heat. You can stand, even though your legs shake a bit and you thank God tomorrow is Saturday and you don’t have to go to school; kids are way too good at noticing things.

You dry one another with love and care, you and Aemond focusing especially on Osferth, who is still in that headspace where he is soft and needs to feel loved and cared for.

You let Aemond take your hand to guide you back to bed, Osferth is plastered against your back, his breath hot against your cheek; he’ll need a good chunk of the night to come back from the drop of endorphins he is experiencing right now.

Your lovers still need you, thus you are positioned in the middle, so that they can sleep with their heads on your chest and belly. Their anger is gone, drowned by the depths of your body and now they need your softness to reach their balance again. You are the only person capable of quiet the storm inside of them and they are never letting anyone hurt you. You’ll ask them tomorrow to delete all information they have gathered about those women, they kept you safe when you needed to, their job is done for tonight.

#aemond targaryen x reader x osferth #aemond targaryen x y/n x osferth #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen #osferth x reader #osferth x y/n #osferth

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velidewrites · 1 year

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Summary: When 19-year old Feyre Archeron voluntarily takes her sister's place in the Hunger Games, she expects nothing but her imminent demise. But Feyre is a survivor, and as she is thrown into a battle between life and death, she discovers there are things worth fighting for.

Pairing: Feysand

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, graphic depictions of blood and gore, Feyre being sexy and unhinged, wait a second is that Rhysand? Is he also sexy and unhinged? AKA Feysand (literally) slaying the game

Read: Chapter I || Fic Masterlist || AO3

Chapter VII: Burn Them All To The Ground

THIRTEEN HOURS AGO

The air was thick with shadows, exactly as Rhysand preferred.

He soaked up the darkness, swirling along the narrow space of the corridor, and let it swallow him fully—let its gentle tendrils wrap around his body, calm and soothing. A moment of peace in a life of turmoil.

Rhysand hated the Capitol.

He didn’t care much for the landscape—it had stopped bothering him about five years in, ridiculous and pretentious as it was. In some way, he’d even become part of it—blended into the glittery crowd, into their pompous lifestyles and, as he’d recently found, their expensive tastes. At times, he loathed himself for it—and today was one of those days. He loathed his extravagant suit, made of the finest, black velvet and perfectly tailored to his measurements. He loathed his hair, carefully combed and gelled back instead of ruffled over his forehead in soft waves. He even loathed his posture, the way he walked—as if he owned the fucking place when, in reality, he was nothing but a cockroach quivering under the Capitol’s golden boot.

But what he truly loathed—what he completely, wholeheartedly despised—were the people.

He was in the sponsors lounge when the neck of the boy from District Three—Thesan—snapped with a loud crack. The Capitol woman sitting beside him covered her mouth at the sound, her gasp rippling through the room. The other women followed suit, and soon, every hand, adorned with heavy, golden rings, was laid over their hearts, mouths, anywhere to display their shock. But Rhysand didn’t miss it—didn’t miss the slight curve of their lips, the twinkle of delight in their eyes as the boy dropped to the ground.

He’d spent the entire night in his bathroom after that, retching his guts out and into the shiny, porcelain bowl.

They loved it—the same way they loved him, bloodied and nearly starved to death, exactly ten years ago. The boy he killed was the same age as Thesan, then, only two years older than him at the time. And he would’ve bet all his money that when that boy fell under his sword with a heavy thud, the Capitol cheered all the same.

He’d nearly reached the corridor’s end when he heard it—the barest sound of footsteps over the stone, almost impossible to make out in the darkness despite the silence that filled it. But he had been doing this long enough to notice—to recognise who they belonged to.

And so, Rhysand stopped, and the sound died out immediately, stopping a safe distance behind him.

He made himself count to three before he turned.

“I don’t have much time,” he said.

The response came with cool indifference. “Neither do I.”

“Make it quick, then,” he urged.

He could almost feel the darkness narrow its eyes on him. “You forget yourself, Rhysand.”

“I am simply trying to do my job.”

A low hum. “Perhaps you should try harder.”

Asshole. “I would, if you would stop getting in my way,” Rhysand said.

The shadowed figure stared at him, its disdain almost palpable. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Rhysand scoffed. “Have you seen that fire? Who the fuck thought it was a good idea?”

His companion merely shrugged, the small movement betraying that a person hid in those shadows, watching. Waiting.

After a moment of silence, Rhysand asked, “Will it happen again?”

The man snorted, a sound that sent his blood boiling every single time they met. “I’m afraid that information is outside of your pay grade, Rhysand.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit,” he snarled. Today was not the time for bickering.

“Believe it or not,” the man said, “but I, too, have rules that I need to follow. There are too many prying eyes in the Gamemaker’s room, and I’d very much like to avoid their attention.” A brief pause. “I’m sure that, in my particular position, you’d do the same.”

At that, Rhysand said nothing.

The man continued, “Besides. She survived the fire without a scratch, so I’m not exactly sure what your concern is.”

Rhysand’s fists tightened. “She has bruises,” he gritted out. He’d seen them—splattered all over her swollen ankle in a spectrum of purple, blue, and a sickly shade of green that somehow made him hate the Capitol even more.

Another shrug that sent his vision flashing red. “So what? It’s not like she broke her leg. That would be an issue. Grow some guts, Rhysand. Your own arena, from what I remember, was much worse.”

Rhysand’s entire body went rigid, the comment like a cold splash of water. “I don’t want to talk about my Games,” he said through a tight throat.

“No,” the man mused. “I’m sure you don’t.”

Rhysand surveyed him, the tall silhouette standing no more than two feet before him. His voice was cold as he challenged, “Excuse me?”

“Your temperament hasn’t changed, it seems,” he hedged, something like amusement creeping into his tone. “I’m merely saying that for all that hate you’ve got for the Hunger Games, you sure seem to be enjoying your…ah…victor privileges.”

Rhysand’s jaw clenched. “Privileges? Are you hearing yourself right now?”

A hand motioned towards him, towards the silver-lined suit draped over his body. “Am I wrong?” he asked.

“Do you honestly think I want any of this?”

The man angled his head. “You signed up for it, did you not?”

Rhysand bristled, “I did—but I did not do it for what you so inaccurately describe as privileges.”

“Who did you do it for, then?” he asked, and Rhysand went still.

Who, not what. He doubted it was a mistake.

Rhysand knew exactly why he’d agreed to this all those years ago—knew exactly who he’d done it for, but it’s been so long, and sometimes…sometimes it was difficult to hold on. Sometimes, he wanted to give up.

And this question…it was a reminder—a reminder that it wasn’t time to give up just yet.

So, when Rhysand said nothing, the man continued, “What is she doing now?”

“Sleeping.”

“Sleeping?”

Rhysand said, “They didn’t exactly leave her much choice, now, did they.” Not a question—he wanted to be done with this conversation, and this man was not superior in position enough for him to keep caring about formalities.

With a roll of his eyes, the shadow asked, “Is she still in that cave?”

Rhysand nodded. “Yes. She hasn’t come out since the fire started.”

“This isn’t good,” the other noted with a click of his tongue. “It’ll be the first place they search once the fire fully dies out—it’s already gone in the north of the arena. If she had some brains, she’d get out of there the second the flames subdued,” he added.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Rhysand snapped.

He could practically hear his eyebrows perk up. “And I suppose you do?”

“Yes, I do,” he told him stiffly. “You don’t know what it’s like out there.”

A small chuckle. “I thought you didn’t want to talk about your Games.”

“I will if it makes you stop talking shit. She’d barely had any water over the summer day, and she’s dangerously dehydrated.” He tried not to think about that right now. So Rhysand continued, “Not to mention, she hasn’t had anything to eat since that pathetic squirrel she’d caught earlier. You can’t think straight in such conditions—the only thing you can think about is finding wherever seems safest at the moment. Right now, it’s that cave. She’s doing everything she can to survive.”

Silence fell, and Rhysand could only interpret it as the man shooting him a long look. “Don’t tell me you’ve grown to care for the girl.”

“I’m just trying to do my job,” Rhysand repeated.

“Fine,” he agreed with a sigh. “Tell me what they’re saying.”

Rhysand blew out a breath—at last, they were moving on to the point of this meeting.“They’re betting on who’s going to die next.,” he told him.

“And?”

“Ressina,” he said, something tightening in his chest. “The girl from Eleven.” Her only friend.

“I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Rhysand frowned. “Why is that?”

“Come now, Rhysand,” he drawled. “You and I both know you’re much smarter than this. They want to get rid of her, obviously.”

He knew—of course he knew, though that didn’t mean he didn’t want to be proven wrong. Unfortunately, the girl had signed her own death sentence the day of her interview at the Capitol, the day she’d proclaimed its mistreatment of the poorer Districts.

Rhysand’s face had been made of stone as he watched it, sitting far back in the audience. He didn’t let them see the pride in his eyes—didn’t let them hear his heart cheering at her words.

“Who, exactly?” he asked through clenched teeth.

The man’s voice was solemn. “You know who.”

He was afraid of that, Rhysand thought, his lips forming a thin line. “This isn’t good,” he said.

“No, it isn’t.” The darkness heaved with his sigh. “Anything else?”

“The boy from Twelve is the favourite. Tamlin,” Rhysand tried not to grimace as he spoke his name.

“I’ve heard.”

“You have?”

“Yes,” he told him. “From my observations, it seems that even the Gamemakers feel inclined to be more…lenient towards him.”

“How so?” Rhysand asked.

“Let’s just say he…miraculously avoided most of the fire.”

Then bring it back, he wanted to say, thought the ridiculousness of the thought stopped him.“This isn’t fair,” he argued instead.

“Nothing about this is fair, Rhysand,” the shadow told him. “Tell me what else the sponsors said.”

He bit on the inside of his cheek. “Most of them still talk about his love confession from the interviews. They’d even invited Spell-Cleaver to join them in the lounge tomorrow.”

Something shone in the darkness at that—like a pair of eyes sparkling with surprise. “Did they now.”

“Yes,” he nodded.

“You’ll know what to do, then.”

Rhysand nodded again. “I will.”

“Be careful,” the man advised, and Rhysand tried not to laugh. He’d been nothing but careful for the past decade.

“I always am,” he told him anyway.

“Anything else?”

Rhysand considered. “Two of them have sent him food so far—Tamlin. Since he’d saved her from the Careers. Another sponsor was talking about sending medicine, even though he doesn’t appear to be injured.”

“You’re telling me they liked the double spy act?”

Rhysand shrugged. “Apparently so.”

The man hummed. “Is he still with them?”

He shook his head. “He got away after Briallyn died in the fire.”

“The girl from One?”

“Yes.”

“Thank fuck.”

Against his better judgement, Rhysand’s lips twitched. “You shouldn’t say that,” he told him.

A scoff. “Please. You and I both know she was dead meat, anyway. If it was down to her and Feyre, which one would you choose?”

Rhysand said nothing—as if the answer wasn’t obvious. If it came to it, he thought—if, by some cruel fate, Briallyn’s sword had been pointed at Feyre’s neck and about to strike, he’d force his way onto the arena and make the girl rip her own throat out—and delight in the massacre.

He blinked at that thought, at the murderous intent behind it, one he hadn’t felt in years—since his very own Games, to be exact. His shoulders rolled back, and he made himself take a breath.

Feyre Archeron was the mission—that was why, for the briefest of seconds, his restraint had snapped. She was meant to be their salvation—she was meant to be their hope.

“That’s what I thought,” the man’s voice reached him, as if he had somehow managed to hear the thoughts in Rhysand’s head. “Now, onto the more important things since we’re running out of time. What are they saying about her?” he asked.

Rhysand’s eyes lifted back to the shadow. “Not much. She hasn’t had any direct confrontations since the Games began, save for the one with Ressina yesterday.”

“Ah, yes,” the darkness mused. “That one was…problematic.”

Rhysand knew. He could still hear Feyre’s voice in his head, her words little distorted through the holo transmission, though their meaning clear as day.

Surely, if we all refused to kill each other…I doubt they’d keep us trapped in here forever. What could they do if we all stood our ground?

“How bad?” Rhysand asked calmly, even if he wanted to scream.

“Bad,” the man answered. “The Star of the Capitol is dimming fast, and it seems like everything she does ends up working against her favour. Which is exactly why I called for this meeting with you. I need you to act—and fast.”

There was no hesitation in his tone as he asked, “What do you need me to do?”

“What you were meant to do from the beginning.”

“And you?” Rhysand crossed his arms. “What can you do?”

“Not much, unfortunately,” came the response. “I have very little control over this matter. Last I heard, they want us to draw her out. They’re frustrated that she’s managed to stay hidden so well.”

His heart stopped for a moment. “Draw her out…how?”

“Again, I can’t share this information.”

“I swear to—”

“Rhysand,” the man pressed. “You do your job, and I’ll do mine. Call your sponsors, do whatever it is you do that makes them spend their money with their dicks perked up. Keep her alive.”

He could all but stare into the darkness. “I will.”

***

The snow was fucking everywhere.

A labyrinth of snow and ice—that’s what the forest had become. In less than twelve hours, the Gamemakers had somehow managed to create her worst nightmare.

Back home, the winters were unbearable—but at least they were home. Here, she was navigating a space where everything had been designed to kill her, and the frost building up at the tips of her shoes was not helpful whatsoever.

Sure, the forest was beautiful. The snow-capped trees glistened in the sunlight, and the wintry breeze was as refreshing as it was cold. That didn’t change the fact that Feyre was in hell.

There was absolutely no chance she could find food—any food—out here. The squirrel was long gone, and the soup…

Feyre stopped in her tracks, sinking an inch deeper into the snow. The soup.

Last night, Rhysand saved her life.

There wasn’t a single doubt in her mind that the package had come from him—the encrypted message had told her as much. Just as he’d told her before she entered the games, she only had to pray to the stars—and salvation would arrive.

For some strange reason, the man she’d almost killed had taken it upon himself to save her life, and Feyre could not wrap her head around it. Was it the fact that they’d both come from the same District? She’d never seen him in Twelve—if she had, she would definitely remember. It was hard to forget a face like that.

She shook her head. Fine, they shared a background—why would that be enough reason to save her? Perhaps he used to know Nesta, or Elain—they were closer in age. But, no—Feyre remembered the night he’d won his Games. Even though she hadn’t watched them herself, her sisters did—and she’d never once heard them mention him by name. “The boy from our District,” they’d only ever called him. They were never friends, then.

Perhaps he’d bet money on her, then? Alis did tell her he had plenty—a fortune he’d amassed as a Capitol favourite, whatever that meant. Still, Feyre doubted the possibility—after all, there were plenty of Tributes with chances higher than her own. If she had the money, she would’ve bet on someone like Brannagh. It only took one look at the girl to know she would rip her throat out with her bare teeth if given the chance. At times, Feyre wondered if she’d prefer it—to feel the metallic tinge of blood on her own tongue instead of a blade.

Feyre flinched. Brannagh was still alive, and with each passing day, Feyre grew more restless. The Careers were quickly making their way through the group, with almost every murder committed by their hand. The cannon had already gone off once this morning—mercifully, somewhere far away from her, its loud boom only echoing through the trees. Feyre wondered whose death it announced. Wondered if her death was coming next.

Had it not been for Tamlin, she would’ve been dead already. He saw her—their eyes had locked then, and he could’ve betrayed her with ease. He could’ve broken the promise he’d made her all those days ago, and Feyre wouldn’t have blamed him. In the end, they were all there to survive—and in the Hunger Games, the survival of one Tribute meant the death of twenty-three others. And yet…and yet Tamlin had chosen to spare her.

Feyre’s mind was racing. Had Tamlin truly…loved her, then? The idea had always seemed impossible—she had nothing to offer in return.

Loving Feyre had always been a means to an end. Back home, in Twelve, the black market merchants would show her kindness, and she’d bring the skins of her prey in return. In Twelve, Isaac would go out to accompany her in the forest, and she’d take his mind off the things he wished to forget. Back home, she’d bring food back home, and Nesta would smile tightly as she laid it on the kitchen table. Back home, Elain would draw her a bath, and Feyre would take her place in the Hunger Games.

Maybe…maybe love could be different. Maybe Tamlin would save her life, and Feyre would get to live it. Maybe he could love her, and she could love him back, and that would be it.

If things had been different…if things had been different, then perhaps she could love him—freely and openly, a love based on nothing but their happiness.

But these were the Hunger Games, and it meant that at least one of them was bound to die.

For some reason, the thought filled Feyre’s heart with sadness. Her one, true chance at love—and the Capitol had taken it from her, too.

Finally, she realised she’d been standing ankle-deep in snow for the past few minutes, completely still and consumed by her own thoughts. Her cheeks heated at that, and she truly hoped the camera had not been on her throughout this whole time. She must’ve looked ridiculous, and not in a funny way that the sponsors would’ve found entertaining. What if Rhysand was watching her right now? Was he wondering what went on inside her head?

Feyre sighed, and started moving again. She’d allowed herself to lose awareness, and anyone could’ve killed her with little difficulty then. She’d always experienced a similar trance when she painted—a state where there was nothing but her and her own mind, running at an impossible speed yet somehow making perfect sense as it reached its final destination.

That was what Feyre needed, she realised—an end goal. And with only ten of them left, she needed to act quickly.

She promised her sisters she would try to survive, just like she promised Ressina to never lose hope. If Tamlin thought she was worth saving…then perhaps Feyre could believe it as well.

Brannagh was out there somewhere—her and her cronies, smiling as they plotted her death. For the first time, the thought didn’t freeze her veins with fear—no, it poured fire inside them, hot and raging with fury.

Feyre made the decision then.

She wouldn’t let the Careers find her—she would get to them first.

***

The sun had already begun to set when Feyre finished installing her last trap.

Her palm stung again, and she hissed, licking off the excess blood. She cringed at its taste, like warm steel in her mouth.

Still, the pain had been necessary, and Feyre had too many scars over her body to weep over one more. If she survived this place, she’d look at it as a reminder of Ressina’s words—a reminder that hope was not a thing to be afraid of.

By her careful design, her blood now stained the fresh snow, sinking into the plush, white path that led straight to her hideout in the trees. She’d set up traps like this one all over the area, hoping someone would take the bait before she bled out completely. After hours of meticulous work, she was starting to feel a little lightheaded.

If, by some miracle, one of the Careers caught on to her bloodied trail, they’d inevitably step over a ditch she’d found and carefully covered with dried-out branches and snow. A hole in the ground, large enough to immobilise a person, appearing in the middle of a wintry forest seemed almost too convenient—but Feyre was in no position to complain. If the Gamemakers had deemed her plan amusing enough to entertain, the least she could do is make use of their help and hope there was no ulterior motive to it.

She’d been working physically for so long that the cold air no longer seemed to bother her. Or, perhaps, it was adrenaline rushing through her veins, a mixture of panic and excitement putting every last one of her nerves on alert.

Feyre reached into her pocket and pulled out the scrap of dark, stretchy fabric—another piece of her jacket she’d cut out now that her body was rising with heat—and wrapped it around the cut. She’d managed to tie a makeshift knot with the help of her teeth when the forest rippled with a scream.

Feyre’s heart stopped beating as she realised it came from where she’d set up her trap.

What have I done?

Ressina screamed again, and Feyre launched for the sound, her feet moving faster than she could think. Her vision blurred out slightly, the evening breeze like sharp little needles prickling at her eyes, but Feyre didn’t stop running, only cussing out the thick roots that peered from under the snow as she continued to trip over them.

When Ressina’s third cry echoed through the trees, Feyre’s eyes filled with heavy, salty tears. How badly was she injured?

At last, she reached the clearing.

“Ressina?!” Feyre called, desperation closing up her throat.

“FEYRE!”

The sound came from the hole.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Ressina!” Feyre shouted, already moving toward the trap. “Ressina, please, I’ll get you out of here.”

“Nice…ah, shit…” the woman swore weakly, her hand peering up from over the edge. “Nice trap.”

Tears dripped down Feyre’s face as she said, “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, I thought the Careers—”

“Don’t” came the reply. “Don’t apologise, you did what you had to do. If I found this hole first, I would’ve done the same thing.”

“Let me help you out,” Feyre reached out a hand.

“Feyre,” Ressina said quietly, “I don’t think you should.”

“What?” She was being ridiculous. “Did you hit your head? Of course I’ll help you. It’s my fault you’re in here, it’s my fault that—”

“Feyre,” the sound was but a breath on her lips. “I think I broke my leg.”

Feyre’s heart stopped beating.

Slowly, she leaned over the edge, tossing the scattered branches aside. A small sob escaped her at what she found at the bottom.

Ressina’s leg was twisted so badly that Feyre felt the burning taste of bile rising up her throat. Down from her knee, the leg jerked to the side in a position so unnatural and disturbing it seemed almost impossible for the human body to be capable of. Sitting in a pool of blood was Ressina—pale and her face contorted in anguish, her chest heaving quickly, each breath more and more wheezing.

“Ressina,” Feyre choked out.

“Feyre,” her friend told her. “You’re gonna have to kill me.”

Feyre’s eyes widened. “What?”

“There is no way I’m going to survive this.”

No, no, no.

“No,” Feyre repeated. “No, we’ll get you out of here, and then—and then we’ll get bandages, medicine—”

A small chuckle, immediately followed with a pained hiss. “Feyre, I guarantee there isn’t a single sponsor in the Capitol that’s going to want to help me.”

Feyre shook her head, leaning further over the hole’s edge. “No, that’s not true, there’s a way—we’ll send a wish to the stars, you’ll see—“

Ressina looked at her as though Feyre had gone mad. “Did you hit your head on the way here?”

“Ressina, please,” Feyre said. “Just take my hand.”

She swallowed hard, hesitating.

“You told me not to lose hope,” Feyre begged again.

Ressina sucked in a breath. “Alright. Alright, I’ll…I’ll move slowly.”

“Thank you,” Feyre whispered. “Thank you.”

A small smile tugged at Ressina’s lips. “You’re a strange one, Feyre Archeron.”

“Just give me your hand.”

Ressina did, and gently, Feyre pulled.

Ressina’s scream was nearly primal—like a wounded animal, left for death in the woods, stirring in its own blood until its time came. She screamed and screamed until her throat was hoarse—but, against all odds, half of Ressina’s body was now up and over the ground.

“Just a few seconds more,” Feyre grunted. “We’re gonna lay you on your stomach, okay?”

Ressina’s lip was bleeding under the force of her teeth, but she nodded.

“Now, what do we have here?” a shrill voice drawled behind her.

Feyre’s head whipped towards the sound, and she fully stopped breathing.

She knew that face—knew the light, blonde hair, the pale blue eyes, the pink lips that twisted cruelly as she sliced the girl from Four’s neck.

She did not dare to rise to her feet as Ianthe met her gaze and smiled. “The Star of the Capitol herself,” she mused, her bow—the same bow Feyre risked her life for at the Cornucopia—drawn in her direction. “I am so glad I beat Brannagh to it.”

She looked behind Feyre, and her grin widened. “Two birds in one stone? Looks like I got lucky,” she said, that infuriating satisfaction shining in her tone. Her eyes settled on Ressina’s battered leg, and the corners of her mouth pulled down in feigned sympathy. “That looks painful, Res. Let me put you out of your misery.”

“Fuck off,” Ressina spat.

Ianthe shrugged, her arrow still pointed at Feyre’s face. “Don’t take it personally,” she told them. “Only the best of us can win this thing. Clearly, it’s neither of the two of you, so really, if you think about it, I’m doing you a favour.”

Ressina snarled, and those cold, blue eyes shifted toward the sound.

Feyre would not waste this opportunity.

In one, swift motion, she pulled the knife out of her belt, her grip tight around the hilt.

Ianthe’s gaze darted back to her, but it was too late—the knife had already flown across the air, released with Feyre’s breath—just like Ressina had taught her.

It delved into her chest, deep into her heart, a second before Ianthe’s arrow flew inches past Feyre’s head.

The girl dropped to her knees with a choked cry, her eyes wide with shock.

Feyre’s hands began to shake as she watched her drop the bow and fall to the ground.

Ianthe missed. She missed, and now she was dead.

I killed her, a voice, cold and unfamiliar, spoke inside her mind, the words hitting something low in her gut. I just killed someone.

Feyre released a trembling breath. It was done. They were safe.

“Feyre…” another voice, so quiet and small, groaned behind her.

Feyre turned, and the world stopped.

Ianthe’s arrow pierced straight through Ressina’s chest.

“No,” Feyre said, her head numb and so, so empty. “No, no no.”

“It’s okay,” Ressina breathed. “It was a good throw. You know…how to handle your daggers, you…you must’ve had an amazing teacher.”

Feyre’s entire body shuddered. “Ressina,” she said, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks.

Silver lined her friend’s own, brown eyes as she told her, “It’s okay. Can you…” she wheezed again, a sharp breath through gritted teeth. “Feyre. Help me lie down.”

Slowly, Feyre’s arms wrapped over her body, gently pulling Ressina over her lap. “Please,” she cried, her hands closing over Ressina’s head, caressing her hair softly.

“It doesn’t…” Ressina coughed, and to Feyre’s horror, twin streams of blood dripped out of the corners of her mouth. “It doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it would.”

“Ressina, please, you need to save your strength,” Feyre begged again, but Ressina was still staring at her, still with that sparkle of mischief, now dimming witch each passing second.

Her friend shook her head just barely, and something cracked in Feyre’s chest. “It’s too late,” she told her. “Feyre. You need to promise me something.”

Feyre took her hand and didn’t let go. “Anything,” she whispered, voice breaking. “Anything.”

Ressina coughed again, more blood spilling down her beautiful face. “Promise me,” she choked, and squeezed her hand lightly. “Promise me you’ll kill them all.”

Feyre laid her head on Ressina’s as she wept, “I promise.”

Ressina’s chest stopped moving.

The cannon exploded above them, and then…and then her friend was dead.

***

Feyre buried Ressina under the stars.

She used mud—the greenest mud she could find under the snow—and painted flowers over her hands, her neck, her face, until every inch of Ressina’s cold skin was covered with things that, wherever she had gone, would remind her of home.

Somewhere out there, District Eleven mourned for their fallen Tribute. Feyre could only hope they would see this—would see their daughter’s, their sister’s, their friend’s final goodbye.

Feyre rose to her feet and took one, last look at the body sleeping in the melting snow.

Promise me you’ll kill them all, Ressina told her.

Feyre wouldn’t just kill the Careers. She wouldn’t simply win the Games.

She would burn the entire Capitol to the ground.

Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added!): @fieldofdaisiies @vulpes-fennec @houseofhurricane @reverie-tales @kingofsummer93 @melting-houses-of-gold @labellefleur-sauvage @shadowriel @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship @headcanonheadcase @cascadingmoon @rhysiedarling @msfeyredarling @itisiyourfemur

#chapter 7/30 #acotar hunger games au #feysand au #feysand fic #feysand fanfic #feysand fanfiction #feysand #pro feysand #feyre x rhysand #feyre archeron #feyre acotar #rhysand #rhysand acotar #acotar fic #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #my writing

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whatsnewalycat · 2 years

Text

Just Dumb Enough to Try

Chapter 7: Good Vibrations

Word Count: 3.8k

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Warnings: angst, swearing, smoking, alcohol use, pining, existential crisis, mental health spiral, attempts at jokes, sexual tension, cheating, boner in public bc i'm an asshole, emotional abuse

Series Summary: In 1993, you met Javier Peña in San Antonio. You made an emotional and physical connection with him. Now it's 1998 and you're starting a new chapter of life in Laredo with your fiancé. And who else walks back into the picture, but the man who left you high and dry five years ago.

Chapter Summary: Our heroes go on a double date to the beach.

Notes: Chapter title from the masterpiece "Good Vibrations" by The Beach Boys. Fun fact: Brian Wilson spent 7 months and $400,000 USD in today's money producing Good Vibrations. It took 90 hours in the studio and 70 hours of tape to make it. I love The Beach Boys. ANYWAAAY - let's go to the beach and get an awkward boner. Spotify playlist for this chapter. Cross-posted to AO3 here (UN: glitter_diety). Update weekly on Sundays.

[ First Chapter ] [ Previous Chapter ]

Lake Casa Blanca, Laredo, TX

June 13, 1998

“You wanna grab the towels, babe?” Dan calls to you as he and Javi haul the cooler onto the beach. Kim swings a beach bag over her shoulder and slams the back hatch of your car closed after you grab the stack of towels.

The beach is crowded with people of all shapes and sizes. The guys find an unoccupied area on in the sand and plop the cooler down as you and Kim trail behind, side by side. She’s wearing a loose white t-shirt dress that’s so sheer you can see her red one piece swimsuit through it. Her long tousled chestnut brown hair is spilling down her back. She is the living, breathing, embodiment of Baywatch.

You look ahead to see Dan and Javier each grabbing a beer out of the cooler and taking their t-shirts off. Thankfully, you're wearing dark-tinted sunglasses, which hide the fact that you're gawking at the men. It’s obvious that Dan exercises regularly; his muscles fill out his tall frame. He’s tan and his beachy blond hair makes him look like a boy band dream boat. However, you couldn’t stop yourself from drinking in Javier in the full light of day. He looks so… soft, but also strong. Which, you think, is fitting.

Despite the view, this whole situation leaves you feeling like you would rather eat glass than be here, honestly.

You and Dan met Kim at the Pour House last night. At some point, Javier walked in with Chucho. Javier popped over to say hello to you and Kim. He introduced himself to Dan. You were able to yada-yada a reasonable explanation for how you and Javi met, which was close to the truth anyway.

"We met through my roommate in San Antonio a few years ago," you spelled out, looking over at Javi, catching his eyes, which made your heart jump into your throat, "We all hung out a few times. It was so bizarre to run into him again here, though."

Later, Kim jumped on the opportunity to invite him to go to the beach the next day.

"Like a double date," she told him.

The thought of him at a beach is amusing to you. He’s almost always in some variation of the same outfit: jeans, button-up, work boots. You wonder if he’s a speedo guy, because it’s entirely possible.

The mystique of seeing him in an environment this out-of-context almost makes it worth the complete misery of watching Kim flirt with him. She was batting her eyelashes and touching his arm while laughing at everything he said. He leaned into it, being the insatiable flirt that he is.

On top of that, Dan put his arm around you possessively and barely allowed you to speak the whole time Javier was near. You would start to chime in, and Dan would cut you off. Eventually you gave up on having a good time.

Javier, for what it’s worth, dismissed himself from the table shortly after you stopped engaging. He spent the rest of his time sitting at the bar with Chucho, frequently observing you from afar with eyebrows drawn together, jaw set, lips pursed.

“Question…” Kim states while you’re trudging through the sand, “Why did you ask me about Javier that one night if you already knew him?”

You choke out, “What? Oh… I, um, didn’t realize that was him. Neither of us recognized each other for weeks, it was weird.”

“Hmm interesting, ok,” she puts her hand on your arm in a reassuring manner, “Such a small word, like, oh my god, what are the odds?”

You reach the claimed spot and set the towels next to the cooler, keeping one to spread out on the hot sand. Dan takes off towards the water’s edge. Kim pulls the t-shirt dress over her head and discards it next to the towel you laid out.

“You coming, Javi?” she calls with a wink while following Dan to the lake.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” he waves back to her.

“It’s so fucking hot out,” you observe while unbuttoning your high-waisted Jean shorts and shimmying them down your thick thighs. You glance over at Javier and notice he’s staring at you, “What?”

“I- I like your swimsuit,” he says lamely.

You look down at your black string bikini, then back up at him, smirking, “I like yours, too. Slightly disappointed it’s not a Speedo but…”

He chuckles, opening the cooler, “Want a beer?”

“Holy shit, please.”

He grabs two, twists off the bottle caps, and hands one to you. You chug about half of it right away, because you may need liquid comfort to make it through this day.

You’re hot, but not ready to emerge yourself in water yet, so you sit down cross-legged on your beach towel. Javier grabs a towel, spreads it out next to yours, and lays down on his back, propping himself up on his elbows.

“So… you and Kim? I thought you weren’t interested,” you ask, shading your eyes eyes and squinting out into the water. Your vision is quite poor, so you can’t tell who is Kim and Dan, but you think you see a red blob out there somewhere, which is probably Kim.

“You sound jealous.”

You glare at him, “Shut up.”

“Does that mean you’re admitting you’re jealous?”

He looks so pleased with himself. Which is irritating. You roll your eyes.

I’ll never admit it. But also, maybe. Yes. Definitely yes.

He looks out into the water, then down to his beer bottle, “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little jealous, too.”

“Jealous of what?” you scoff. It came out a little more bitter than you had intended. He doesn’t say anything in return, just watches you.

A sigh escapes your lips as you try to let the negative feelings go. You bask in the hot sun and the wind rolling off of the water, enjoying the calm, until you remember that you haven’t applied sunblock. Cursing to yourself, you fish the tube of sunblock out of the bag next to you, open it with a pop, and start trying to rub it onto your face, neck, and shoulders.

As you’re struggling to get all the parts of your shoulders, Javi laughs, “Do you need help?”

You bite your lip and consider whether or not you’ll be able to keep yourself from coming undone if he touches you for longer than a moment. The memory of his warm, rough hands squeezing your tits while he begs you to fuck him replays in your memory, making your heart flutter and your face turn scarlet. Your hands tingle as you hand the sunblock over to him.

“Dan isn’t going to come over here and kill me for touching you, is he?” Javier chuckles.

“If he didn’t want someone else to do it, he should have stuck around to help me,” you grumble, “Should I lay down?”

“Sure.”

You flip around to lay on your belly, propping your head up on your forearms and closing your eyes.

You hear him squeeze some of the goop out of the tube. He asks, “You ready?”

A hum from your lips indicates yes, but you quiver in anticipation of his touch. All the air leaves your lungs as he places his hands on your shoulders and starts rubbing the sunblock around. He moves slowly and tenaciously, working his fingers over every inch, seeming to savor the skin-to-skin contact as much as you are. He gets to your lower back and grazes both sides of your waist. You surprise yourself by letting out a small moan and arching your back ever so slightly. He freezes for a second, then continues on until he reaches your bottoms.

“Do you want me to get your legs too?” he asks shakily.

You revel in the intoxication of the contact, desperately wanting it. “If- if you want to," you say softly.

“I’m asking you,” he responds firmly.

You gulp, “Yes.”

He squeezes more product into his hands and starts applying it, working up from your feet. His digits are sliding over the sensitive skin of your knees and you bite down on your bottom lip to keep yourself from moaning again. Goosebumps break out once he reaches your upper thigh.

You gasp when his fingers trail along your bikini bottom, dangerously close to your inner thigh. You hear him move away from you and clasp the sunblock closed.

“I think that’s the best I can do.” He rasps. You roll over on your side, facing him, and he has folded his knees up towards his chest.

You roll over to your back, open the sunblock, and continue to apply it to your front side. First your arms, the fronts of your legs. You move at a lazy pace, dazed and slightly embarrassed of yourself.

Could I be more of a weirdo?

It seems like Javi is staring at you again, but it’s hard to tell with the sunglasses hiding his eyes. He looks far away and pained.

“Sorry if I made you uncomfortable ,” you mumble quietly while starting on your soft belly. You hope he doesn’t press you for more words because you really don’t want to say “ hey friend, sorry for getting turned on when you put sunblock on me” out loud.

His head jerks backwards and he frowns, “It did not make me uncomfortable, cariño.” He looks around, you’re assuming to check on the whereabouts of your fiancé, and looks back down at you as you reach your chest. His face looks tortured… and you understand.

Oh. Ohhh.

“You… look uncomfortable,” you tease, then let your fingers tips slide just a bit into your bikini top, making sure every spot of you is covered.

You feel the need coming off of him in waves as he tilts his head at you and practically pouts. You grin devilishly. He shakes his head, “You’re killing me.”

When he shifts a bit to get more comfortable, then reverts back to hugging his knees, your eyes wander down to his swim trunks. It’s not super noticeable if you’re not trying to see, but you catch a glimpse of the bulge straining against the fabric. You practically drool thinking about what it would be like to suck him off… for him to fuck your throat… what his cum tastes like…

Fuck me.

You avert your eyes as to remain undetected, but can’t help it when your whole body becomes flushed and jittery. It’s suddenly too fucking hot for you to be laying in the sun.

“Where are those Bakers?“ you sit up and look around, capping the sunblock with a pop. He points to a volleyball court down the beach a ways. You shade your eyes with one of your hands and mumble, “I don’t even know why I ask, I can’t see shit.”

“At least I think that’s where they are. I can’t see shit either,” he confesses, then squints, “I think Kimmy is that red… person in red over there.”

“Fucking blind leading the blind," you mutter and look back to him, “Wanna get in the water, or are you gonna play volleyball too?”

Or do you need more time for your raging boner to die down?

“If you want to swim, I’ll be there in a minute.”

Yep, you need more time for your raging boner to die down.

You pull yourself to your feet and dust the sand off your body. As you amble by them, you compliment the sandcastle some children are building. By the time you reach the shore, which isn’t more than 30 seconds later, it feels like you’re walking on molten lava.

One foot plunges into the water, then the other. Sweet relief. You wade forward, enjoying the feeling of soft sand squishing between your toes. It reminds you of time you spent on the lake at your dad’s cabin back in Minnesota. Once you’re deep enough, you hold your breath and let yourself sink completely underwater. There’s a great quiet all around you. Your skin gets over the initial shock of the temperature change and acclimates to the cold lake. When you can’t hold yourself under any longer, you emerge and float onto your back.

The sky above you is bright blue and cloudless. Sun rays kiss your exposed skin. Your eyes flutter shut. Children chatter and squeal with joy in the distance. You even hear the volleyball players yelling at each other further down the beach.

This is fucking bliss .

Water sloshes around as someone approaches you slowly. You crack open one eye.

“Feeling better?” you ask Javier, who is wading in your direction (sans tent in his swim trunks).

He sinks down to his shoulders so his face is level with yours, a few feet away, “What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” you smirk, “Just thought you might need some time to umm… cool down?”

He shakes his head and scoffs, “Ok, so you saw.”

“I hardly know what you’re talking about," you snicker.

He splashes you in the face playfully, which makes you flinch and sit up.

“Giggle all you want,” he moves closer to you and pulls his sunglasses on top of his head, “But I heard you. I think you liked it.”

You splash him back playfully, “You didn’t hear shit , Javi.”

“Oh, no?” He moves even closer, just a foot away from you, voice so low and quiet he’s practically growling, “I didn’t hear you moan ? When I touched you here?” His hands grasp either side of your waist, thumbs caressing your abdomen for emphasis, sending a jolt of electricity across your body.

You gasp, “Javi-“

His eyes flash hot, watching you squirm as his hands linger on your body underwater, trailing down to your hips, where he tightens his grip. The pressure sends a wave of pleasure through your body and makes your knees go weak. Your lips part as a small whimper escapes your throat. He inhales sharply, then utters, “I didn’t hear shit, huh?”

“M-maybe I did like it,” you admit. He doesn’t move his hands from your body. In fact, he pulls your hips a little closer to him.

Or am I doing that?

He rotates the two of you so his broad back is facing the shore and you’re concealed from view. Your hands find his chest and your fingers splay across his skin. The muscles underneath twitch and he groans.

Are you just as hungry for touch as me?

“What the fuck are we doing?” you whisper, finally acknowledging that the two of you are doing something . Dancing around it. Playing dumb. Passing a time bomb back and forth with every look that lingers too long, each touch that feels too good, all the flirting that only occurs when everyone else is at a distance.

Javier shakes his head, then exhales-

And a volleyball skids across the water, settling a few yards behind you. Your heart leaps from your chest and you kick yourself backwards away from him to go get it. Once you get ahold of the ball and turn around, you see Kim and Dan wading up to Javier. Javi turns around and greets them. He stands up and gives a side hug to Kim, who places her hand on his chest and keeps it there while laughing melodically at something Javier says.

A rage bubbles up inside of you that is truly not even logical, what the fuck.

You plaster a smile on when you return with the ball and ask Dan, “Did your team win?”

Dan wades over to you and takes dominion over the ball.

“Did our team win?” he scoffs, “Course we won, babe. Kicked their asses.” Then he plants an unexpected kiss on your lips, making you squeal and jump back.

“We’re playing again in a few minutes if you guys want to join!” Kim says, looking between you and Javi.

Your eyes flick to Javier and he looks… pained. Your guts twist into a knot.

“I think I’ll pass,” you inform them, which is not a surprise to anyone, explaining, “I want to draw a bit and swim while we’re here.”

“Shoulda figured. Javi? You in?” Dan asks.

Javier crosses his arms in front of himself and shakes his head, “No thanks.”

“Why not?” Kim questions, eyes narrowed.

“Don’t want to,” he shrugs. She glares at him and takes a step away.

“Really? Y’all are lame," Dan complains.

“It’s hot as fuck out, Dan. I’m surprised you were able to find anyone to play volleyball with you,” you observe while sinking back into the cool water, floating on your back and closing your eyes, “Just have fun. I’ll make sure Javier stays out of trouble.”

The Bakers concede and the four of you go inland to eat the lunch you packed in the cooler. Kim is obviously cross with Javier for not wanting to play volleyball, and he could give two shits less, which is amusing. You don’t say much because your head is occupied arguing with yourself:

We almost got caught. Caught doing nothing. It’s obviously something. But what is it? And what do we do now? How did I get here? Am I ruining my life? Am I saving my life?

But, thankfully, Dan and Kim share every play-by-play of their volleyball match, which doesn’t leave room for you or Javier to put a word in edgewise. Once they finish eating and drinking a beer, their new sporty friends are ready for a rematch.

Before leaving, Dan plants a kiss on your the forehead and quietly tells you to “not embarrass me now, ok?”

You sit up and nod once in acknowledgement, despite every atom in your body screaming fuck off.

Javier’s gaze is hard as it follows Dan. He sits down next to you, “What the fuck did he just say to you?”

“Nothing, never mind it,” you wave it off with a reassuring smile, but avoid eye contact. He grumbles under his breath in response. Ignoring it, you ask, “Can I bum a smoke?”

He wordlessly hands you a cigarette out of his pack and lights it for you. You look off into the water and sigh because you know more questions are coming.

“Is he always like that?” Javier asks gently.

“Not really… I mean, not at home at least.”

He waits a minute before continuing, “And what is he like at home?”

You blow a raspberry trying to recall what he’s like at home. Not there, you suppose. Or if he is home, he ignores you largely. Sometimes he talks with you, checking in with you, occasionally picking little fights, initiating sex, and telling you about things he's planning to do. There are nice things he does for you… like the way he gets your coffee ready in the morning before leaving, leaves you money to do things, buys you flowers. He can be really sweet.

“I don’t- we don’t have to talk about this,” You shake your head and put out the cigarette in the hot sand.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he raises his eyebrows.

“No,” you say firmly. He nods.

You take off your sunglasses, dig your drawing pad and pencils out of the beach bag, then stretch out onto your stomach facing Javier. He pulls out a book and flips it open to a dog-eared page about 1/4 the way through.

“Do you mind if I sketch you?” you look up through your eyelashes at him.

He lowers his book and furrows his brow, “Sketch me ?”

You nod. He looks… bewildered.

“I- I guess not, go ahead. But why?”

“I think that…” you flip to the first blank page you can find, considering your next words carefully, “you… are very handsome… and I would like to draw you.”

“I can’t argue with that kind of flattery," he grins down at you, “Do I need to move?”

“No, you’re perfect just like that,” you smile.

And you think that maybe… you were able to make him blush. Which makes you absolutely giddy.

While you sketch, the two of you talk intermittently about the book he’s reading. You try not to interrupt, but, c’mon, it’s Christine by Stephen King. He tells you that he read IT after watching the miniseries with you, and has picked up some of Stephen King's books every now and again. This fills your heart with pride. You didn't even think he remembered watching IT with you.

Your eyes flick over the top of the drawing pad to his face, “You should take off your sunglasses so I can get your eyes.”

He obliges, pulling the sunglasses up onto his head. The dark eyes search your face, eyebrows settling, softly knit together. He folds the corner of his page in the novel, then sets it down beside him.

“Sorry, you don’t have to look at me, you can keep reading if you want,” you tell him while concentrating on your pencil to paper.

“I’d like to keep looking at you,” he husks, “if that’s ok.”

Your face instantly turns red and you laugh nervously. You gather the courage to raise your eyes to his, “Of course.”

The quiet that settles is natural and comfortable. Your chest tightens each time you look up for reference and his eyes are already glued to you. It seems as though he’s studying you meticulously, which would normally make your skin crawl, but it doesn’t feel like you’re under a microscope. He asks questions about the artsy fartsy projects you've been getting into now that you're a homemaker. There’s no judgment present. It feels more like he’s learning you.

“Done,” you’re able to tell him eventually. You hand the drawing over to him. He smiles from ear-to-ear and you could just barf it’s so beautiful. He has fucking dimples . He raises a hand to his mouth and lets out a laugh. You laugh, too.

“This is amazing,” he grins up at you, “Thank you.” You steal one of his smokes, light it, and sit upright. He hands the drawing back to you and you tuck it away.

The second you finish the drawing, you start ruminating on this thing between you and Javier. You’re acting like horny teenagers that regret making a vow of celibacy. Finding loopholes that you know aren’t right.

Before you can start processing these feelings out loud, Javi interrupts your thoughts, “What movie are you going to see this Wednesday?”

Your face scrunches up in contemplation, “I’m not sure yet. The Truman Show looks good?”

“Do you want company?”

“That depends,” you squint and tap your finger to your chin, “Your company?”

“Obviously,” he scoffs.

You lean towards him and bite your lip, “I suppose.”

“Can I maybe… take you out to dinner afterwards?” he asks.

Your heart is pounding. A grin spreads across your face, “That would be lovely.”

He returns your smile, “It’s a date.”

[ Next Chapter ]

#narcos fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #javier peña x you #javier peña x reader #javier peña x ofc #javier peña #javier pena x you #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena narcos #javier pena x reader #javier pena fic #narcos fic #pedrostories #pedro pascal #narcos #pedro pascal fandom #javier pena #jdett

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vitusxaydin · 10 months

Text

@eleancr-finch

July 15, 2023 — the morning after Elder Emo Summer Cobblestone Cafe

Hungover wasn't the right word.

Vitus remembered what it felt like to party at a punk show. Thanks to his circle of friends (his best friend in particular, and her preference for New York's musical underground), he'd been to so many shows in his twenties that it was almost second nature, to throw on a pair of leather boots and thick eyeliner and go way too hard. But he should have known better than to try it the year he was turning forty.

It wouldn't have been inaccurate to say he shambled down the street toward the cafe like a newly reanimated skeleton, hunting for a cup of coffee to put some skin back on his bones. Maybe two cups. Maybe five. He only surrendered his sunglasses once he was indoors again, swaddled in the safety of coffee beans and freshly baked goods. This was how Vitus retrieved his order: parched and exhausted and headached beyond belief. But with the satisfaction of a night's worth of good music, fantastic company, and an unending supply of drinks, which made the ache worth it.

So preoccupied with the promise of caffeine was he that he didn't notice a woman arriving behind his place at the counter. He pivoted with his coffee in hand and almost collided face-first with her. He stumbled sideways just in time to keep both their orders from becoming a mess of wasted money on the floor. With a huff, he blinked his eyes clear of lingering sleep as best he could and said, "Shit, sorry. Didn't see you there. Are you okay?"

#eleanor #i'm good w gifs or no gifs so feel free to use whatever and i'll adapt!

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independentzaun · 1 year

Note

💭 + spending/saving habits for Silco

This is an interesting one because at first look people in Zaun seeing Silco’s always perfect vest, and properly done tie, and nice coat and everything else could easily assume that he’s a man who spends without caring much. Particularly with him owning a night club, and the alcohol associated with that, and everything else. Surely he has passed the point of caring, and simply buys what he wants whenever he wants and replaces his coat and simply doesn't have to worry about all that. In reality he does care.

Silco grew up poor, and with the expectation that everything would be mended at least twice if not three times before swapped out for something else. There was a time when he ran around with ankles and a bit above always showing because with how tall he got, and how quickly it happened they simply couldn’t get him pants that came down long enough. He has a very healthy appreciation for the differences in his status now compared to when he was younger. Part of the way this manifests is in being entirely willing to purchase expensive things, but only if it’s worth it.

Silco doesn’t buy expensive clothes because of a label or a brand. He buys expensive clothes that are well made and will last for years if you hire a tailor to do a bit of mending on a stitch here or seam there, and that are comfortable. He has multiple pairs of boots that he bought probably ten years ago that are all very nice, and have been resoled and cleaned and fixed so many times not even Silco remembers. He paid for a large expensive desk because he wanted a statement maker that could be trusted to withstand his fist hammering down onto it or a hundred books scattered across it, or Jinx randomly dropping down onto it. Silco likes things that can be fixed, repaired, cleaned, and restored. In short if spending three hundred dollars now means saving six hundred dollars two years from now he will pay the three hundred dollars without thinking.

At the same time Silco will also get cheap fish from the market place for lunch, shaving cream no one in Piltover has ever even heard of, concealer that’s basically from the corner store (look he could absolutely get nicer stuff that he could blend to make it match his skin more but he doesn’t), combs he keeps until they break, and so on. He has a few small luxuries he allows himself. Cigar’s, and whiskey the main ones. However most of his stuff he’s owned for years and has had fixed, or it’s really cheap.

I will note that if Silco knows Jinx will be around for a meal he does his best to get good food to share with her. If he’s just eating by himself though it’s going to be some cheap fried tentacle, or fish smeared with some weird sauce, or a mix of mushrooms and rice or something else cheap and filling and quick. Partly because he’s always busy, and partly because by himself Silco just doesn’t eat a lot and hates wasting food and kind of feels bad deep down inside if he “wastes money” by getting something expensive and rich and good and then can only eat maybe half of it and has to throw the rest away.

So his spending/saving habits are in essence taking advantage of his status to get things that will last, and otherwise getting cheap stuff.

#justsilcothings #silcoanswers

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scarletwix · 6 months

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any tips on where to get a nice pair o' cowboy boots? >:)

You bet your sweet bippy I do!

So the long and short of it is that, unfortunately for folks like me who hate doing anything new in person, you're going to have to go into a store if you want anything worth the time or money.

Now, I'm going to start by saying that these boots, if you get them from the right places, will be an investment. I say this because you're going to walk in that store, see the price, and walk right back out. But if I may remind you of the Vimes Theory of Boots:

The reason that the rich were so rich, Vimes reasoned, was because they managed to spend less money. Take boots, for example. He earned thirty-eight dollars a month plus allowances. A really good pair of leather boots cost fifty dollars. But an affordable pair of boots, which were sort of OK for a season or two and then leaked like hell when the cardboard gave out, cost about ten dollars. Those were the kind of boots Vimes always bought, and wore until the soles were so thin that he could tell where he was in Ankh-Morpork on a foggy night by the feel of the cobbles. But the thing was that good boots lasted for years and years. A man who could afford fifty dollars had a pair of boots that’d still be keeping his feet dry in ten years’ time, while the poor man who could only afford cheap boots would have spent a hundred dollars on boots in the same time and would still have wet feet. - Terry Pratchett, Men at Arms

But once that knee-jerk instinct of "I can't spend that much on boots" gets out of the way, you will find yourself in potential possession of the longest lasting, most comfortable pair of boots you'll be able to find. They're made for working in, even the fancy-looking ones. They're not marked up for bougie reasons, they're fairly priced because they're good quality and well-made, kind of like a crocheted blanket from someone who hand-makes them.

"But why does that mean I have to go into the store?" Well, I'll tell you: because the sizing is going to depend on your feet. 'Standard' sizing for shoes is wonky at the best of times, and if this is a purchase you're going to be spending upwards of $100 on, you want to make sure they fit.

as for the actual answer to your question: Tack shops.

Generally speaking, you can google "western shop" and generally find a couple of good options, but there are some near me that turned out to be uhh.... how do I say this... the city's idea of what country clothes look like. we're talking flannel that I could put my finger through, 150-buck jeans with rhinestones on the ass, for those moments you just decide that you never want to sit comfortably again. That sort of thing.

On the other hand! You know who's never going to bullshit about what they are? A shop specifically for horse riding.

There's a tack shop near me, because the city I live in is the perfect intersection of "bumfuck nowhere" and "fifteen minutes from everything" so we've got all the amenities, such as a Fred Meyer and neighbors with horses. (However, thanks to the house I live in, we can't get delivery OR ambulance service, so wish me luck the next time I fall down the stairs.) If it wouldn't basically doxx me, I'd share the name of the store, because I had such a pleasant experience there!

Depending on where you live, nonny, you might be able to find loads of places that sell good ones! When I lived in WY, they were uhh,, everywhere. Everyone sold them, because everyone needed them. But we also had a library that a nerdy kid could read through like blazes, so that should tell you the sort of town I lived in. (Small. It was small.) When I lived in Boise... not so much!

A good rule of thumb, though, is to check the brands. Unlike most other things, you're not paying for the label, the brands are known because they're trusted to be good. Check for things by Ariat or Tecovas, for example.

And don't be afraid to ask the folks at your western or tack shop, because they will be genuinely delighted to help you. I've never met nicer people than those that work in tack shops. They'll help you decide, for example, what height you want (ankle, calf, knee, etc.), what tip type (Square, rounded, snip, broad, etc.), and what style! (That's just if you want something with a fun pattern, something for riding, or something for everyday wear).

I wear mine at least once a week, and they were comfortable enough to wear out of the store and haven't had any of the usual "breaking in new shoes" problems that folks are wary of (It's me, I'm folks, I literally have scars from pairs of flats lol).

anyway, that's kind of a long, convoluted answer to say: it depends! If you've got more specific questions, though, I'm more than happy to help there as well.

Anyway, I'll leave you with a gif I found when I searched "cowboy" that is probably my new motto:

#I'm sorry this is so rambly it's 1 am. also sorry that it's so late I am an infant with no object permanence #something is in my drafts? no it isn't.#wix answers

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lamm97russo · 2 years

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wichmann75sullivan · 2 years

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silver-tongued-bby · 2 years

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Could you do one of loki in a tattoo parlour with the quote "if you keep moving like that we will have a problem." With smut please? Thought the reader could be getting a tattoo across the shoulders and loki is sat right against her ass and whenever he hits a soft spot she wriggles her ass or even moans, if that's okay. I love your writing by the way! ❤

Well this ruined me. Tattoo artist Loki?!

Thank you so much for your kind request and for bringing tattooed Loki into my life! I hope you enjoy this as much as I did putting it together 🖤

This fic is a part of A Dark Celebration.

Pairing: Tattoo Artist!Loki x fem!Reader

Words: 6,256 (I couldn't stop, okay!)

Summary: After a stroke of luck, you manage land an appointment with the legendary tattoo artist, Loki Laufeyson.

This is work of fiction is 18+!!!!, and contains graphic descriptions of sex, HOURS OF TEASING, fingering, sex (m/f), dirty talk, and it mentions the tattoo process aka needles. Please do not interact if you are a minor or are sensitive towards any of the themes mentioned above.

Tagging: @lokistoriesblog @sineads-art

Thank you so freaking much to my followers for all of the amazing requests for this challenge! Likes, reblogs and comments mean more than you know 🖤

~~~

You scrolled through the instagram page for the tenth time that day. You peered over the intricately laced designs tattooed so delicately on the skin. Each design was unique, beautiful, perfect in an imperfect way.

No one could hold a candle to the way he tattooed. No one could hold a candle to Loki Laufeyson.

~~~

“The guy’s a vampire,” your friend had told you over drinks once. “He only takes appointments at night, alone in his private studio. He refuses to let anyone in his space except the client.”

“Sounds like more of an axe murderer to me,” you mused. “You’ve got to admit he’s talented. I’ve never seen even a hint of blowout on his lines. And those designs- unique and seriously fucking detailed.” You took a sip of your drink, shifting the glass between your fingers. “If I ever got a tattoo it’d be one of his.”

Your friend smiled pitifully at you. “If you ever get an appointment you mean. He is good though. I’ve seen some of his work from over a decade ago and it still holds up. May be worth being drained of all your blood after all. Too bad he rarely takes appointments anymore.”

~~~

You bit your lip, absentmindedly toying with the raw hem of your shorts as you tapped through the familiar photos of his page. You’d almost memorised each post.

You swiped up to the one you saw by chance a few weeks back. Your heart raced as you remembered seeing it mere seconds after it was posted. He had a cancellation for an appointment at the end of the month. You could book via email.

You immediately shot off an email to the address provided, assuming nothing would come of it. Then the unthinkable happened. You got a response about a minute later, asking for a deposit to hold a spot for you.

You had the money saved for a few years now and forwarded it off immediately. It wasn’t real until you got the scheduling email from his assistant, telling you that “he’d love to freehand something like that on you.”

He’d never posted a photo of himself, and there weren’t any snapshots in the range of magazines he’d been interviewed in. The only posts on his page were of the work he’d done on clients, and the odd text post update presumably posted by his assistant. There was one particularly good shot of his hands in Inked Mag a few months back, the black gloves straining against his long fingers as he held a tattoo gun.

You took a deep breath, checking the time again. You could probably head over now.

Zipping up your knee-high boots and sliding on your jacket, you left your apartment, your stomach full of butterflies.

~~~

You made it to the painted brick building five minutes before your appointment. It was a stand-alone, one-floor building painted black. The tinted windows and lack of sign made for a stylish, discrete shop.

Double checking the lengthy email his assistant had sent you a week ago, you typed in the code on the keypad and were met with a loud buzz. Gripping the door handle, you stepped inside, greeted by a space that was breathtakingly well designed.

The cool concrete floors were accented by various sculptures, photographs, and expensive-looking plants. You could hear the distant sound of Joy Division’s “Disorder” echoing through the space. There was a dark brown couch by the front door, which you remembered was the area you were instructed to wait in.

You slid onto the leather, your hands clammy. You tried to calm yourself, nervous for both your first tattoo and finally meeting the elusive Loki Laufeyson. You took a deep breath. God you hoped you didn’t faint.

Before you could spin out any further you heard footsteps coming around the corner. Looking up, you swallowed hard at the man in front of you. He was tall, lithe, and dark-haired, his black trousers and pointed leather boots making his legs look endless, his crisp white shirt tucked in perfectly. His sleeves were rolled up to expose forearms covered in tattoos, all in black ink. The top few buttons of his shirt were undone, exposing a fair amount of his chest, littered with more black designs that ran up to his neck, stopping just below his sharp jaw. You could make out the tip of a green tattoo at the base of his sternum though you didn’t dare to linger your gaze there long. His hair was slicked back into a low bun, the dark black of it a sharp contrast against his pale skin. His cheekbones were pronounced, his dark brows accenting his clear, blue-green eyes.

“Are you my seven o’clock?” His voice was deep velvet, his accent crisp. He held his hands in his pockets, forearms flexing as he looked down at you with bright eyes and a hint of a smirk. Fuck. You were in trouble.

“I think so,” you smiled, losing yourself in his gaze.

“Loki,” he offered a hand and you stood to take it. You stumbled over your name as your hand slid into his, the feel of his warm, calloused hands against yours made your heart race.

“Nervous?” He asked, his eyes running up from where he held your hand steady.

Fuck.

“A bit,” you smiled. “This is my first time.”

His eyes widened at that. “I’m honoured. It’s not often someone asks for such a big piece for their first tattoo.”

He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze before releasing it from his grip. “This way, darling. Promise I’ll be gentle.” He gave you a grin before leading you towards the back of the building behind the large wall separating the shop.

You took in the room before you, the open space well-decorated with modern, comfortable-looking furniture. There was a sturdy, sleek tattoo bed in the middle, with a large trifold mirror against the side wall. Your eyes fell onto the record player, the antique thing holding a stack of vinyl discs above the turntable as it spun. The large speakers were playing “Candidate” off the same album. There was a Japanese style garden through the back window, a warm light illuminating the few plants immaculately kept before a dark concrete wall.

“You’ve eaten recently, right?” He asked from behind you.

You turned to him and nodded, remembering the advice your friends had given you to prepare for the process. “I’ve kept hydrated too.”

He smiled. “Good girl.”

You did your best to ignore the way those two words made your heart race. You made your way to the centre of the room where a sleek tattoo bed was set up. The black padded leather of it looked soft and comfortable, covered in a dark sheet.

“Take off your top half and lay down on the table. Leave those boots on if you want,” he paused. “I’ve got a sheet there for you. I’ll give you a moment to get undressed, okay?”

You turned towards him and noticed his eyes flickered up to your face. Had you just caught him checking you out? You quickly shook it off as you gave him a small smile and a nod.

He spun on his heel and his footsteps followed him out of the room. You slipped off your jacket, your top and bra quickly following, placing them with your bag on the seat by the wall. You laid down on the sheet covering the bed and perched your head atop your folded arms, angling it to look out the window towards the garden. You took a breath, feeling your muscles loosen on the exhale.

After a minute you heard his footsteps approaching. “Are you decent, darling?” He called.

“You’re clear.” You watched him approach from the reflection in the glass. You could see his eyes moving over your form and wondered once again if his gaze had lingered a little over you.

He came to your side, pulling on some black surgical gloves. You looked up at his hands, straining against the nitrile of the gloves. Just like the picture. You squirmed a little at the thought.

You didn’t miss the way his eyes flickered down to your waist momentarily before he sat in the stool facing you.

“I’m going to have to shave the area first. Is that alright with you?”

You nodded. “Sounds good.”

You heard a cap snap a few seconds before you felt his hands rubbing over your shoulders, covering your skin with shaving cream. It took you every bit of will not to moan at his touch. His hands felt like heaven on you. You felt yourself grow wet at the idea of his sinking his hands lower, or having you turn over and-

“Okay, so you mentioned in your email that you wanted some snakes and peonies. Do you have colour preferences? Any type of snake in mind?” His hands were gone, replaced by the feeling of a safety razor dragging across your back.

You licked your dry lips. “I was thinking of a deep red for the peonies. As for the snakes, I don’t know- really anything but a garden snake I suppose.”

He chuckled. “I was thinking of something a little more dangerous.” The movement of the razor stopped. “How’s this?” He showed you a photo on his phone, a brown snake with black stripes going from its wide, flat head to its skinny tail.

“She’s a beauty,” you angled yourself up slightly to get a better look, your front still mostly covered. “What species?”

“A death adder. Nocturnal,” he put his phone down then rubbed your back lightly with a cloth. “Quick to strike, it’s one of the most venomous snakes in the world.”

You looked up to give him a curious grin. “What made you choose this snake?”

“You seem like trouble.” He met your gaze momentarily and smirked.

You bit the inside of your cheek. “Tough talk from the guy who’s about to jab me with a needle for four hours.”

He smiled, shaking his head. “You’ve got me there.”

He stepped around to the other side of you and you heard him uncap a marker. You could feel him start to mark up your back, one gloved hand firm against you. You could smell the slightest hint of him, a combination of something peppery and deep, almost cool.

“So what made you decide to get a tattoo?”

“I’ve always wanted one,” you closed your eyes, focusing on his movements. “But I wanted to find the right artist and commit, you know? Let them run with something.”

“A purist,” he commented, sweeping a line across your shoulder blade.

You smiled against your hand. “I guess I like what you do, and I like how you do it.”

“So,” he guided one of your hands from under your chin, laying it by your side. “How does it feel to be the ideal client?”

“Hmm, pretty much the same. Do you have any gold stars?”

He chuckled, sketching more lines on you, these ones felt curved. He sighed, “that’s why I stopped taking so many appointments.” He came over to the other side of you. “I love tattooing,” another stroke, his other hand smoothing down your spine, “but I don’t love customer service.” He swapped your arms, bringing your left down by your side.

“I get it,” you suppressed a shiver from the feel of his hands running over your back. “And now?”

“Much calmer. I take a maximum of four clients a week,” you stilled at the feel of his breath over your shoulder, his pen stroked focused. In the reflection of the glass you could see his form bent over you. You swallowed hard. “I can take my time with it and do things right. Speaking of which,” you heard him cap the marker, “time to take a look.”

You sat up, holding the sheet to your front as you followed him over to the set of mirrors. He guided you onto a wooden step in the middle, and you caught a glimpse of the lines he’d drawn on you. He angled one slightly and your mouth fell open at the sketch of the two snakes, one over either shoulder, their tails intertwining between your shoulder blades. He’d drawn rough peonies and leaves to accent their shape, already beautiful and complimentary to your form.

“Wow.” You turned, catching his eye. He was leaning up against the mirror, hands in his pockets as he watched you, the tiniest hint of something simmering behind his gaze. “I love it, Loki.” You found it hard to keep your cool as you faced him, knowing he’d just sketched out an insanely beautiful design in under 10 minutes.

“Thank you, darling. Are you ready to start?” He held out a hand for yours, helping you off the polished step.

“More than.”

He led you back to the table, bringing an angular pillow wrapped in black silk for your front. He helped you prop yourself up so you could lay comfortably.

He pulled a stool over to your side, adjusting it before pulling on a new pair of gloves and turning to squeeze out some blank ink into a little cup on his side table. He picked up the tattoo gun, adjusting his setup so the cord would allow him more reach.

His eyes searched yours. “Take a deep breath for me, okay?”

You nodded and filled your lungs with air.

He turned and the gun started to buzz. In your periphery you could see he’d brought it closer to your skin. “Breathe out.”

You did as you were told and felt a vibrating little scratch on your shoulder, almost as if a cat was scratching your skin. It got a bit harder but it wasn’t unbearable, more annoying than painful.

“Good girl.”

You took in another deep breath at that, the velvet of his voice pushing the feeling further away. You could feel him leaning over you, one hand firm on your back.

“You’re doing so well,” he spoke by your ear, eliciting goosebumps. With that voice, he could talk you into anything. “It doesn’t hurt too much, does it darling?”

You shifted a little. “No,” the distant pain and his voice drawling in your ear had your breath uneven. You bit your lip, feeling yourself grow wet from the combined sensations. “It doesn’t really hurt at all.” Your voice sounded small in your ears.

“I promised I’d be gentle,” you could hear the smile in his voice. “Try to relax a little more, and keep your eyes forward for me. That’s it, right there. Perfect.” He whispered that last word and you held in a little whine.

You let your eyes slip closed, trying to focus on something other than him- his hands, his scent, the warmth of his body radiating against you.

You fell into an easy conversation through the outlining process, though every now and then he’d come a little closer to tell you something, his breath on your shoulder forcing you to grip the pillow harder. Each time he whispered a word of encouragement in your ear you could hear a hint of a smirk in his voice, as if his comments weren’t entirely innocent.

“And,” he added another long line above your shoulder blade, “there we are. Lovely.” He looked at you from his stool, smiling and nodding. “Let’s take a break.”

He got up, stretching as he went, discarding his gloves, massaging his hands. He stepped over to the record player, the stack once elevated now fully on the turntable as it spun. “What kind of music do you like?” He asked, flipping through the shelves full of records in the back.

“A little bit of everything, really. Wait, is this a test?” You asked, rolling your neck to relieve some tension. You took a few deep breaths, attempting to calm yourself after the past hour or so. You could feel how wet you were as you rolled your hips a bit, working out one of the many knots your body had formed while trying to hold yourself still. You sighed.

You looked back over to him, he was leaning against the shelves, the stack in his hand frozen in place as his gaze slid along your body. You gripped the pillow a bit, your heart beating fast. His eyes met yours and he smirked, his forearms flexing as he continued to flip through the catalogues. “No test, just wondering if you’d like to hear something specific.” He kept flipping through records, choosing one every now and then to rest on top of the growing stack elevated above the turntable.

“I guess if I could put in a request with the management, I’d ask for a little Warpaint.”

He smiled before he turned to pull out a record, flashing the cover at you. “Management says good choice.”

He placed the vinyl on top of the stack then flipped the switch, the machine dropping the bottom record onto the turntable. He came back over to you. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine, a little stiff,” you stretched your shoulders back, feeling your muscles loosen a bit.

“Let’s move you,” he nodded towards an angled chair, and your rolled up off the bed, wincing at the distant ache in your body. You loosely held the sheet to your chest, still rolling your shoulders as you settled into the seat, your chest supported by the leather platform in front. The new position definitely felt more comfortable, and you felt your muscles relax into the support of the chair.

Loki came up behind you, lowering his stool to be level with the seat. “Here,” he handed you a glass of orange juice. “Drink this. I’m going to put some numbing cream on you before I start the colour.” He carefully rubbed some cream onto your skin with his gloved hands. You shivered lightly, the pain fading almost immediately as you drank the juice.

“Good girl,” he nodded, taking your empty glass from you. “I won’t lie to you,” he got to work assembling reds, greens, browns, and orange inks from a cabinet. “Shading and colour usually hurts a bit more.” He brought over a sterile package, opening it and holding it up between you. “I need to use a few more needles.” The cluster looked menacing but you nodded. How bad could it be?

He gave you a reassuring smile once you met his gaze. He turned to assemble the dyes in more small cups, and swapped out the head of the tattoo gun with the needle he’d shown you. He wrapped everything back up in sterile cloth and tape. Before moving his setup closer to your new position and settling in his seat by your side.

He turned to you, his face level with yours. He was close, his gaze travelling up from your lips. “Tell me if I need to stop, okay?” His brows were drawn together, eyes serious.

“Okay,” you whispered, suddenly finding it a bit hard to breathe.

“Try to relax,” he rested his hand on your leg. You nodded gently, holding your breath as you kept your eyes on his. “No shame in coming back again to finish things up.” He brought his hand away, rolling his shoulders back as he shot you a grin. “I wouldn’t say no to seeing you again, darling.”

You smiled at him and nodded. You took a deep breath and straightened your posture as he moved behind you, his knees warm on either side of you.

“Ready?” His voice drawled in your ear once more.

“Yes,” you breathed, leaning into the leather a little more. You heard the telltale buzz of the needle and winced as it hit your skin, letting out the breath you’d unknowingly held. Okay, you thought, fuck this hurt a lot more.

“How’s the pain?” You distantly felt his free hand wiping away gently at your skin between strokes.

“It’s definitely worse,” you bit your lip, squirming a bit.

“Don’t focus on it. Relax,” he came up a bit closer to you. You could feel his legs against your own, his trousers soft against the bare skin of your lower thighs. “That’s it, good girl. Relax, just listen to my voice. You’re doing so well.”

You felt him stiffen- and you realised you’d absentmindedly moved your hips back against him. You shifted forward and gripped the leather, taking deep breaths.

“There we go,” he spoke by your ear, “just breathe through it.”

You focused on your breath, but couldn’t help letting out a little whimper. You felt absolutely overwhelmed. The pain was one thing, but the feel of him behind you, so very close, had your heart racing.

He stopped to pick up more ink before coming back over to you. “It’s looking good,” he felt closer to you now.

You moved your hips again, half out of discomfort, the other half out of most of your thoughts slipping away as you felt him against you.

This time he kept going, though you could feel his strained breath against you.

He kept on for a few minutes, before stopping to pick up more ink. Coming back, he drew some repetitive circles and you gasped, gripping the leather tight between your fingers, your hips pressing back farther.

“Fuck,” he sighed, pulling back the needle. “If you keep moving like that we will have a problem.” His voice was rough against your ear.

You could hear the exasperation in his voice. You felt high- the pain, the heat between you two finally too much. You kept your hips angled back against him. You were keenly aware of your situation, essentially naked except for your leather boots and shorts. Pushing your hips back farther, you turned to the side, looking him up and down. “Like this?” You moved a little more against him.

The buzzing stopped and he set the tattoo gun down on the side table. He pulled off his gloves and ran his hands down your sides before stopping at your hips and pulling them back against him. “You are playing a very dangerous game, darling.” His voice was low, full of warning.

You could feel how hard he was behind you and instinctively rocked yourself back against him. “I’m sorry,” you gasped.

“I don’t think you are,” he brushed his fingers down your exposed thighs.

“You’re right,” you gripped his knees through his trousers. “I’m not.”

“Wicked little thing,” he hissed then backed up and helped you out of the chair, his eyes hungrily taking in your exposed chest. “I knew you were going to be trouble.”

“Likewise,” you eyed him up and down, before he pulled you to him, sliding one hand along your hip to press against your lower back. He brought the other up to graze your cheekbone lightly, fingers slipping down towards your jaw. He angled your chin so your lips were inches away from his. He held you there, his chest heavy against you as his eyes searched your own, his expression dark.

“Is this what you wanted?” He slid a leg between yours and you whined at the sensation.

You swallowed hard. “Yes.”

“Do you want me to fuck you, darling? Right here?”

“Please,” you breathed.

He quickly closed the gap between you, kissing you hard, your hips rolling against his. He swallowed your moans, his teeth dragging across your bottom lip. He pulled away, breathing hard against your lips. “Take off everything but the boots and lie on the table. Face down. Like before.”

You let out a shaky breath and did as you were told, sliding the shorts off before your damp panties. He kept his eyes on you the entire time, watching you darkly as he leant against the side table, one arm over his midsection, the other angled up as he rested his thumb against his lips.

You laid over your hands, letting out a little gasp as your skin stretched and moved. You were faced away from him, but watched in the reflection as he put on another pair of gloves and brought a bottle over. You felt him spray your shoulders with something, gently wiping it away before he returned with a little tub. You could feel him smearing something over your sensitive skin.

“Apologies darling,” he rasped into your ear and you whined. “But I couldn’t fuck you properly without covering this up.” He covered the area with a bandage then some medical tape, securing it to your skin before peeling off his gloves.

“Now,” he was back beside you, “be a good girl and stay still for me.”

“Okay,” you whispered, your thighs pressing together.

“Relax.” He let his fingertips trail up and down your spine, eliciting a shiver from you. You relaxed your muscles, consciously letting yourself melt into the bed below you. You let out a little hum at the feeling, most of the tension you’d built up slipping away.

“That’s it, good girl.” His lips ghosted against the shell of your ear and you felt an electric warmth spreading through you. “You don’t know how hard it’s been to keep my hands off of you, darling. Every little whine,” his fingers moved down your spine, this time trailing them lower. “Every little gasp,” he brought his fingers even lower, curving them along the inside of your thigh, inches from your dripping heat. “Every little tremble had me wanting to hear more. To see more. It made me curious,” he lightly trailed a finger up your slit and you inhaled sharply. “Will you let out those lovely little gasps as you come undone on my fingers?” Quickly finding your clit, he gently rubbed it in small circles as he took your earlobe between his teeth, flicking his tongue against it. You moaned, the sound loud in the empty room. He drew back, “I wonder, darling, what you’ll look like when I make you cum on my cock.”

Your breath was heavy, and you were whimpering, already so close.

“Loki I’m-“

“I know. You’re fucking dripping.” His voice was making your head spin, and when he dipped a finger within you you saw stars. “All for me?”

You swallowed and nodded, your fingertips diffing into the leather as you held yourself still.

“And how long has this pretty cunt been wet and ready for me?” He traced his tongue along the shell of your ear as he added another finger to lightly tease your dripping hole.

You tried to answer, you really did. But you found yourself completely overwhelmed, every coherent thought gone.

He slowly moved his fingers within you, curling the digits as he went. You were mewling, your hips absentmindedly angling up to meet him. “Oh, pet. Has it been hours?”

You whined in response and he chuckled darkly. “Don’t worry, darling. I won’t make you wait much longer.” With that he picked up the pace, and hit that sweet spot deep within you repeatedly. You were moaning, the frantic sound of your breath and his movements filling the air.

He angled your legs apart a little more and brought his other hand under you to lightly tease your clit. You cried out at the sensation, your fingers aching from their grip on the bed. “That’s it- fuck. You’re gripping my fingers so tightly. Come on, be a good girl for me and cum.”

His words sent you so far over the edge, your vision went black as you froze, the pleasure hitting you hard. You were crying out a mixture of curse words and his name over and over, your hips eventually riding it out against his hand.

As your breath returned to normal, you turned to look up at him. He smirked down at you, bringing his fingers to your lips. You quickly took them in your mouth, swirling your tongue over them as you held his gaze.

His smirk fell at that, brows knitting together. His jaw was hard as he watched you suck his fingers. He pulled them from your lips, and helped you sit up.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, restrained. You could see the bulge in his pants and felt a shiver run through you.

“Pretty fucking excellent.” You were surprised at the gravel in your voice. “But I don’t think we’re done here.”

“Oh?” He raised a brow.

“No.” You stood, stepping closer to him to press your chest against his. He was still fully clothed, his shirt still perfectly pressed.

“Tell me, darling. What else do you need?” He kept still, his expression daring.

“I need you to fuck me.”

He tilted his head, a slow, filthy grin spreading across his lips.

“Please.” You finished.

In a flash he’d captured your lips, his fingers holding your jaw as he held you to him. He teased you with his lips and tongue, making you whimper against him, your hands gripping the thin cotton of his shirt.

Still holding your jaw, he pulled away to kiss your neck, nipping and biting at the skin between kisses. Moving away, he led you over to a couch on the far side of the room, sitting down before pulling you on top of his lap. You held yourself above him, admiring him.

“Come here.” Hand sliding from your knees on either side of him up to your waist, he brought you down to settle over him, your hands smoothing against his chest. Holding his gaze, you slowly unbuttoned his shirt before undoing his belt and pants. He was watching you closely, his chest heaving with his slow breath.

You took him out, breaking eye contact to look at his cock. “Fuck,” you whispered. His skin felt like silk under your fingers, the hardened length of him heavy and hot in your hand. Your eyes traced up to his abdomen, finally seeing his chest piece, a green snake coiled around itself surrounded by the black ink of his other tattoos.

Raising your gaze to his face, you were struck at the sight of him, his eyes heavy lidded, bright blue-green now darkening with your touch. Although his body was covered in ink, you could still see the fine, long musculature under his skin. His jaw clenched as he leant back against the couch, eyes burning a cool flame as he watched you.

He slid a condom out of his pocket, pinching the package between two fingers. You took it from him, unwrapped it and rolled it onto him, his length twitching in your hands as you did so. You licked your lips before looking back up to him.

Gripping your ass, he guided you over him. God, those fucking hands felt so warm against you, his long fingers pressing into your flesh.

Not wanting to wait another second, you slowly slid onto his cock, shuddering in pleasure. Taking him inch by inch, he stretched you, eventually filling you completely. You groaned and took a moment to adjust, your fingertips digging into his shoulder.

“Christ,” he breathed, his mouth hanging open to accommodate his quickened breath. He shook his head at you, his eyes flickering over your chest. “You’re too fucking lovely.”

You twitched a little around him, bending to kiss him. He slid his hand onto your lower back and shifted to press you flush against him, your clit hitting the base of his cock. You inhaled sharply, your hips angling themselves to get more contact.

You had your hand splayed across the side of his neck, your thumb just under his jaw. Holding you tight against him, he broke the kiss to lick against your lips briefly before he started moving his hips up into yours.

You could feel your eyes roll back at the sensation, the angle he held you in somehow hitting you in places you’d never felt. “Loki, fuck-“ you breathed, pulling back to find him darkly staring up at you, his expression hard. You held one hand on his shoulder, the other flat against his chest as you took each thrust he gave you.

He brought one hand up against your breast, his eyes not leaving yours as he pinched your nipple between his fingers, causing you to squirm harder against him. “That pretty cunt is so wet for me, darling. Is this what you needed?”

You nodded, your chest heaving as you arched your back to press harder against his hand.

He let out a breath. “You’re gripping me so fucking tightly. Are you going to cum again?”

“Yes- please,” you breathed, “please don’t stop.”

“Not until you cum. I need you to cum on this cock. I need you to come undone for me.”

You whined, so very close. You cried out when he lightly rubbed his thumb against your clit.

“Be my good girl,” he growled, “and cum for me again.”

You moved your hips with his once, twice, three times before you were screaming, an intense pleasure hitting you so hard that your fingers went numb as they clawed weakly at his chest.

“That’s it, fuck-“ he groaned, holding you hard against him as he came with you.

You fell forward against his chest, the both of you out of breath, still twitching from the aftershocks.

You distantly heard Warpaint’s “Whiteout” in the background, the record just hitting the needle. He was running his fingers lightly up your spine, the feeling comforting you.

“Darling,” he spoke, his voice rumbling against your chest, sending a tremble through you.

You leant backwards, wincing a little as you did so, your muscles weak. He held you steady, smirking up at you.

“Don’t you want to see your tattoo?”

Your eyes widened, realising you’d never gotten the chance to see what he’d done. “Shit- I really, really do.” You slowly got up from his lap, his strong hands supporting you.

You walked over to your panties and shorts and slid them on over your boots. You turned to find him waiting by the mirrors, his pants on but his shirt still unbuttoned. He had one arm up against the side as he leant on them, his other hand in his pocket.

“Come here,” he smiled, his eyes running over your still topless form.

You strode over to him and he nodded to the little step. You stepped up and stood still as he peeled off the bandage.

“It isn’t quite finished- there’s still a lot of shading and colour to be done,” he warned. You could sense a bit of nerves in his voice.

You smiled at him through the mirror as he angled the one on the side so you could get a good look of your shoulders. When you caught sight of it your mouth fell open. “Holy shit.”

It was the most intricate work you’d ever seen. A snake on either shoulder, both done in such a beautifully artistic way, so detailed yet they held a hint of abstraction. Their bodies were posed similarly, but you could see he’d added little differences in their scales, eyes and heads. One’s tongue was flicked out slightly, the dainty pointed fork just peeking out from its lips. Their positioning was also altered slightly so it almost looked natural but still remained beautifully symmetrical, their curved bodies accenting your shoulders perfectly. You could make out a branch that he’d added in, the delicate peonies blooming from it as it held the bodies of the twisting serpents. You could see where he’d reached with the shading, the body of one snake partially filled.

“Loki, I-“ you shook your head. “I don’t know what to say. This is more than I could have ever imagined.”

He was smiling from the edge of the mirror, one long leg crossed over the other.

“I absolutely love it.” You turned to him, your eyes searching his, the swirling blue-greens bright once more. “Thank you.”

He tilted his head down, a wide grin across his lips. “You’re more than welcome.”

He helped you off the step and covered you back up. You put on your shirt, not risking the band of your bra rubbing up against your sensitive skin.

He walked with you back to the front of the space, helping you into your coat.

“So, I guess I should book a follow up. Maybe 2 or 3 weeks?” You asked, holding your purse in your hands. You wanted to see him again, but you kept your expectations low. You knew from your friends that a second session couldn’t start until you’d sufficiently healed from the first.

“Here’s my personal number,” he picked a card and pen up off the coffee table, writing on it before handing it to you. “Why don’t you come back tomorrow, darling? We can sort it all out then. Same time, around 7?”

You raised an eyebrow at him, smirking. “Are you asking me on a date?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation.

You stepped forward and kissed him, your hands snaking up to his shoulders to hold him close. He gripped your hip, his other hand caressing your cheek as he held you to him, his lips still teasingly slow against yours.

You moved to rest your forehead against his, your breath mingling.

“Tomorrow then,” you whispered, licking and biting his lower lip before pulling away. You stepped back, sliding one hand along his forearm as you moved towards the door.

He licked his lips, shaking his head at you. “Trouble.”

“Likewise.” You gave him one last smile before slipping out into the cool night air.

Part II here.

Author's Note: Serious question- do we think Loki kept slipping in "good girl" to fuck with the reader? Cause I think yes.

I like to think his snake tattoo is a green adder (which is also venomous af) and he chose the death adder so reader would match.

I drew on a lot of my personal experience with my first tattoo for this. Especially the part about shading/colouring hurting a lot more than the outline. No one told me this and holy fuck it hurt! Especially after the outline.

Thank you as always for reading 🖤🖤🖤

#loki fic #loki x you #loki x you smut #loki x reader #loki x reader smut #loki #loki mcu #au loki #tattoo fic #tattoo artist fic #tattoo artist loki #tattooed loki #loki smut #a dark celebration #fic request #loki fic request

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intrepidacious · 2 years

Note

👋 meeting for the first time🔪 knife against the throat💘 love at first sight

For the blurb thing! If you'd like

rewritten

pairing: outlaw!steve rogers x f!reader (yes you read that right)

word count: 734

warnings: medieval-ish!AU, the good old knife against the throat trope, mention of arranged marriage, this is longer than a blurb probably should be but oh well

please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: asdghd my first thought was that's just the plot of winter soldier but my head is really in that historical!AU headspace rn so i went a different route. love ya <3

----

As stories went, yours was off to a bad start.

You left home in the middle of the night mere hours after your parents announced they’d be marrying you off to the neighbour’s son within the week.

You were their only child, their miracle child, and you’d played the obedient daughter for them all your life. They’d depended on you all this time, and you’d learned to keep your dreams of adventure quiet early on. You were, however, not willing to give them up completely to be nothing more than a blacksmith’s wife.

You’d only been running for three days, and even though you stopped to rest for no more than a few hours at a time, your progress was slow. Not for the first time, you wished you could have taken your family’s horse, but that’d simply felt too cruel. Now, your feet were swollen and blistered when you wrangled them free of your worn-out boots, and you didn’t have enough water to wash the dust off your face.

At least the nights were still warm.

You were still more than a day’s travel from the nearest harbour where you planned to sell the ring your betrothed had forced onto your finger to the first pawnbroker you could find and take the next ship far away from here. You were just about to settle down for the night in the shade of a large tree when a rustling noise had you jolt upright again.

To your advantage, you’d been hidden in the shadows of a low-hanging branch. It was easy to surprise the man stumbling upon you, to slam his back against the tree with all the strength your panicked body permitted, and to hold your knife against his throat.

Your heart stumbled at the sight of him.

He was tall, with a mop of golden hair and a cropped beard, his eyes wide as he beheld you.

“I know you,” you said, almost in shock, because you’d seen his face before, dozens of times, printed on the wanted signs that were distributed all over the area where your village lay. The bounty to be paid to whoever caught the Captain was worth more than a hundred gold coins.

The notice said he broke a dangerous criminal out of prison and stole a huge sum of money from the king himself. But people whispered. It was an innocent man he freed, they said, and the money went to those in need and no one else.

You weren’t sure what to believe, but you found yourself unable to look away from his face.

The picture staring down at the villagers failed to capture how blue his eyes were, even in the pale moonlight, or how they crinkled when he looked at you.

“Milady,” he said softly, and you felt his throat bob against the knife you still held there. “Might I suggest you let me retreat a step and we start anew?”

His voice made your heart flutter. Strangely, it didn’t make you afraid; the shiver that went through you was anything but unpleasant. So you nodded curtly and lowered your knife.

“I am not a lady,” you told him, lest he planned to kidnap you for ransom.

The Captain merely smiled at you, and again, your heart skipped a beat. Slowly he crossed his hands in front of his chest, tilting his head ever so slightly before he spoke again.

“What else shall I call you then, dearest?” You didn’t answer him. He didn’t seem to mind, because it was but a few moments before he spoke again. “What does a not-lady such as yourself seek in the middle of these woods at this hour?”

“Safe passage across the sea,” you confessed, as if you couldn’t help yourself. It was like he had bewitched you to be nothing but truthful to him. Maybe it was those deep blue eyes.

His smile turned into a grin, more relieved than devious. “That,” he said, “I can provide you with, should you so wish.”

He reached an ungloved hand towards you and you felt heat rise to your cheeks. Your fingers balled into a fist to hide the ring, but as you looked at him, you thought his face to be nothing but honest and kind.

As stories went, this might well be the twist you had longed for all these years.

You took his hand.

-------

build-a-blurb ask meme

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers drabble #steve rogers blurb #ren 🐝#inbox #rewritten

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rcksmith · 3 years

Text

Sun — Kaz Brekker

Resume: Feelings are destabilizing things.

A/N: This story is not set in the books of Six Crows, I also changed the age of the characters to twenty-something because the idea of writing something about a child makes me uncomfortable. All my stories, of any characters, are with them being of up age. Just like many fanfics out there in the teen series.

English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.

Couple: Kaz Brekker/ Fem!Reader.

Warnings: Mention of fight, swearing, mention of post-traumatic stress, angst, mention of kiss, mention of desire, desire, mention of death, but so fucking fluff.

Word count: 3k.

Requests are open. Love you ❤️

— — — —

There were few things in life that he was absolutely sure of. Things that were immutable, solid, unshakable. That even the strongest of winds would not be able to shake the structure. A life built on the basis of an equation of chaos, suffering, death and despair generated a result where it was necessary to be sure of something. And one of those certainties was the ability of himself, of his instincts, of his intelligence, the notion that he himself was a person capable of resolving any type of situation with iron fists. The second was the certainty of the loyalty of his crows, of the two people who, he knew, would never turn their backs on him.

And the third... the third was that when Kaz Brekker first laid eyes on you, he was sure that you would divide his life between a before and an after.

It was a lepid, ferocious feeling that swept the body of The Bastard of the Barrel from the top of his head to the tip of his polished boots. The heat immediately gave way to a cold sweat, a shiver as if receiving a midnight sigh at the back of the neck. There was a quick sensation of burning in the heat of an icy fire, but his composure did not flinch a single millimeter. He had learned to keep it in all situations, trained with steel fists.

Kaz looked at you deeply, from the top of your hair to the tip of your feet, trying to find answers as to why you had triggered such disturbing sensations with a simple and ridiculous exchange of looks. But he found no answers. He found neither after a day, nor after a week, damn it, he did not find nor after a month!

You had joined the infamous trio because they needed a fighting expert, someone who could defeat a good number of men on her own without needing backup, which would make their bigger and more complex robberies much easier. And when they found you, a girl who had been the subject for a experiment to create super soldiers, your ability to fight, physical endurance, and your sense of loyalty, made you perfect for the job.

But none of that explained why, whenever the stormy blue eyes met yours, he felt like he was ricochet by living eels. It was exasperating, frustrating on so many levels that it was difficult to put into words. Kaz could not expose this misfortune to his two closest people, first because his pride in admitting a disturbance in his subtly balanced world was too great, and second that... even if he considered said that, he would not know how to name those feelings for express what he were feeling.

How would Jesper and Inej understand something that even he did not understand?

Kaz Brekker had a firm and calm demeanor, an implacably logical mind and a way of narrowing his eyes that ensured that his orders were carried out with great efficiency, all according to the moment he wished. Then, just as he did to get rid of any disturbance, he buried those sensations so deeply until, like his overwhelming pains and traumas, they stopped tormenting him.

He thought that, like his flawless and cunning plans, it would have the same effect. That his nerves could get back to normal and he wouldn't have to deal with the feeling that feel hiself whit cold and hot at the same time whenever he laid eyes on you.

But, if it was true that the practice makes perfect, this rule has not been applied in this situation.

The deeper he buried those beginnings of thats sensations, more of them began to flourish, roaring harder, as a constant reminder that he was not that rock of stoicity and absence of feelings that he liked to think he was. It seemed that, just as light existed to exorcise the darkness, you existed to show that he still had a beating heart. Hot blood still coursing through the veins.

It has not helped anything in his cause that, over time, Inej and Jesper have become attache to you. Jesper even more. But if Kaz put aside his frustration and irritation for a second, he would know that he couldn't to blame them. In fact, there was no way to blame every person who approached you, delighted.

Jesper once described you as "the soul of the party", and Inej said that you had fire in your soul. Kaz would not have been able to think of better definitions to put into words what you were. There was thing about the way you laughed, the way you talked, the way your tilting your head and your so easy smile. There was a thing about you. That transformed you into the solar system and people orbited in your gravity like planets.

You had a way with people, Kaz really thought it was a gift, a talent. You were always laughing, smiling, playing with people and making them so comfortable in your presence that, once, Kaz saw a trader, who are in a the middle of a refused to close a contract with Kaz, just melt and give up because of the smile you gave to him.

Nothing from you has been forced, malicious, shrewd or cunning. You really smiled, you really laughed, as if you were...happy. Purely happy. And, in a second of insanity, Kaz wondered if that happiness was possible. If it was possible for him to feel something like this.

But, just as Brekker took his soul close from you as much as he could to avoid any emotion, Jesper did the exact opposite. Very quickly, just like Kaz and Inej are, the two of you became a pair of inseparable friends. Were always together.

Perhaps it was because you two were overwhelmingly alike: Always in the eye of danger, addicted to adrenaline, purely outgoing and liked a good fun. Or maybe it was because, like everyone around you, Jesper felt drawn closer to your warm, joyful and comforting aura.

But whatever it was, the timbre of your laughter followed by Jesper's became a sound as natural as the whistling of the wind. And it didn't take long for you two to become partners in thefts and plans.

However, it didn't take long too for the reactions Kaz had about the influence of your presence to become...louder.

If Kaz Brekker closed his eyes and concentrated for a moment, he could still remember and feel that night perfectly as if it were yesterday:

The plan was succinct: They would have to go through guards, high walls and locks to enter a merchant's residence, open the safe, pick up the jewels and leave. Twenty minutes was the time limit to complete that sequence.

Everyone was assigned to one thing: Kaz would turn off a fabricated security system from a Grisha, Inej would sneak into the shadows to the safe and pick up the jewels, and Jesper and you would be responsible for dealing with the various guards. Everyone would have to meet in the corridor that led to the back exit.

Kaz did not think that that so ridiculous and simple plan it could go wrong. Or that someone could make a slip. To him, it seemed as easy as sneaking into a yacht boat. However, there he was, next to Inej who carried the jewelery bag in her hand, both of them standing in that dimly lit corridor, waiting for you and Jesper to appear.

"It's been three minutes!" Inej pointed, as if Kaz didn't already know that.

Her intonation was concerned, apprehensive, with a certain fear. Kaz thought about saying something, but as soon as his mouth opened to say anything, he heard...

Steps. Hurried steps of two people. No, actually, the two people were running.

Suddenly, you and Jesper burst into the corridor, running as if their lives depended on it. Inej and Kaz would have been worried if it weren't for the bastard and peraltas smiles that stretched across faces of you two, stretching their cheeks.

Then Kaz noticed the reason for the delay. You two carried a giant picture under your left arms. Jesper carried the front end and you the back end, like two children who made a mischief and was running from their mother. True accomplices.

Kaz's jaw opened, his eyes widened slightly and roamed the frame with agitated iris, while Inej was totally baffled.

"C'mon, C'mon!" You exclaimed with laughter in your voice, Jesper and you never stopped running.

As soon all left and took shelter in the safety and peace of the Crow Club closed in that night, Jesper and you fell on the couch, laughing and panting.

"What was that?!” But Kaz was exasperated "Do you both know how much risked the plan?!"

"It was only three minutes, Boss." Jesper defended himself.

"It..." That's when Kaz looked at the painting responsible for all the commotion and fuss.

It was a painting, a landscape by Ravka. The fold. In oil on parchment. A DeKappel. That was worth at least ten thousand Kruges.

“You commented that you needed a new painting for your office.” Your voice took Kaz out of the admiration on the painting, and Jesper and Inej looked at you as if they had discovered that now too.

Jesper and Inej thought it was just for the money...

Kaz looked up into your eyes, and the cold, warm shiver spreading across his chest and snaking to his bones. As it always did the moment yours eyes meeting.

He remembered commenting in passing, in a very vague and obtuse way, that he wanted a new painting in the office. Until that moment, Brekker didn't think you paying attention to what he had to say. Not when it wasn't about a job or plan.

But there you were, proving that you had heard. And that you cared.

His breath caught for a second, the icy chill turned to something warmer, like the first sparks of fire in a fireplace. The first flames that precede the fire.

After that, Kaz began to pay more attention, unconsciously, to what you said. And, consequently, he started paying more attention to you. It had been gradual, sneaky as a snake, imperceptible so he wouldn't be able to root it out. As if the universe, destiny or divines, introduced, grain by grain, a small summer in a landscape frozen by winter.

It all started with your comment about liking it sweeter than salty, that dry wine left you with a headache and that you preferred rum. He evolved to notice how your tone of voice got sweeter when you talked to children or animals, and more serious when it came to the safety of the three crows. And suddenly, as if Kaz already knew this as he knew the sky was blue, he knew how to say how your eyes sparkled when you felt the warmth of the sun on your skin.

In that second, looking at you from the other side of the agitated club that turned into a celebration with dance and music, the world became suspended for a moment. The music became just an echoing, blurry noise, the images turned to slow motion and the air seemed to change in pitch. You, who laughed and speen round in Jesper's arms amid so many people who did the same thing, were the only one who starred as the main attraction.

In that minute, when the breath was slow and lyrical, and the air had a beauty tone, Kaz's eyes caught the exact moment when a beam of sunlight hit your face, shining on your skin as if you were one pirate tropical treasure. In a burst, a second of insanity, like a violin string that burst at the apice of the song, he felt that there was nothing else in the world worth seeing that was not you.

It was a scary, terrifying discovery. Something that made him freeze from head to toe, and all the speed in the world came back so fast that Kaz felt dizzy. He pressed his covered hand to the crow's beak of his cane, as if he needed a reminder of reality. Something that would wake him up from those hellish sensations.

- -

The months passed after that fateful afternoon. Kaz avoided staying close to you any longer than necessary and would strongly and vigorously scold every change of tone within himself whenever he saw you.

He didn't know what those sensations meant, but he also didn't want to find out. He liked challenges and responsibilities, but being around you was proving to be more than he could take. Your presence ignited him in a cold and warm fire, promising a future full of unfulfilled infinite wills. From pain, impotence and doomed to failure. Any feeling for you would be more of a punishment than anything else. The only solution was to get it out of your head.

Of course, he had been trying to do just that since he met you.

But again, the universe did not seem to want to give up from he. Not so easily.

Kaz had to take you along to make a deal with a merchant who was more impassable than a rock. Kaz had tried to negotiate with him before (since he couldn't take the strength or rob what he wanted) and all his efforts were in vain. So, he appealed for the last weapon. The person who always had a natural gift whit other people and always had a real smile that made anybody feel like... as if happiness really existed.

You.

"I'm glad it's hot" You commented, while walking next to Kaz "I don’t like the cold."

How did he know that you would say just that? That was so you. Warm, sweet and cozy things were the embodiment of what you were. It was logical that you preferred the heat. So different from him that, instead of you, enjoyed the cold. Liked the rains and storms, relaxed with the moonlight and felt less tense with the midnight winter breeze.

Kaz understood your personality as he understood the very lines of his hands. You were wild, bordering on reckless, you acted before thinking and you always loved anything that aroused adrenaline. You ran like no one else, jumped from one horse's cell to another, decided to catch the largest number of targets just because you wanted the thrill of fighting five against one. Anything calm, serene and peaceful stirred your restless personality. And Kaz knew exactly your level of restlessness from the way your leg was constantly jumping when you had to sit still for more than a few minutes.

You were a free spirit, forged in the heart of the sun and in the heat of summer. While he was limited by his own body and built in the heart of winter and frozen by the cold of the sea. Anything between you was doomed to fail even before you two met. Kaz Brekker knew this very well.

“He is late.” You grunted, your leg was already starting to jumping when you two spent a measly ten minutes waiting for the man.

You looked back and seemed to find it interesting, because Kaz saw your eyes shine.

"Let's go there?" You pointed, and Kaz had to turn around to see that you were referring to a coffee shop.

Crowded with sweets in the window for a change. Why was he not surprised?

“No.” He turned forward again, both hands on the cane.

"So I go over there and come back quickly."

“Y/n" he just said in a warning tone, giving you a scolding look.

You mumbled something he didn't identify, turned around again and did your best to be quiet. Five minutes passed before that merchant arrived, and Kaz can perfectly follow the change in his posture, change in the man eyes when you greeted him with that summer voice and sunny smile.

It was so vibrant, so vivid that, for a second, Kaz found himself slightly swayed by all the brilliance you emanated. Pulled towards your like an animal needing the warmth of the sun.

It didn't take much for the man to sign and agree with everything Kaz said and imposed. In fact, he suspected that if he had asked him to give him his bank password, the man would have been happy to do so.

"Can we go in the coffee shop now?” You commented as soon as the man left, still turning around to look at you as much as possible.

Kaz restrained the glaring urge to roll his eyes, but he had just landed a very lucrative business just and exclusively because you agreed to help. Even though you didn't gain anything from it. So, if he had to go with you to a goddamn coffee shop so he wouldn't feel like a petty profiteer, he would go to the goddamn coffee shop.

Kaz just walked towards the place, and the wide, summery smile you gave may have he missed a few heartbeats.

Stop it!

Once inside the damn store, you scanned the menu that hung on the wall.

“I never took this one.” You commented, pointing to what appeared to be a very sweet mix of drink. Something that involved ice cream and chocolate with something else.

It was not the kind of comment that had an answer, and Kaz was still engaged in the mission to stay away from you. But he thought that statement was just the reason why you wouldn't order that drink. But, just as you always threw any worldview Kaz had in the latrine, you asked for just that. His eyes were bloodshot with astonishment.

“Why are you going to order something you don't know if you like it?” He asked as soon as you got the drink and paid for it.

"How am I supposed to know if something is good if I never try it?” You said casually, both of you going out of the store. “Wanna try out?”

You held out for he the plastic cup that was covered by a lid that had a hole in the middle, where a fat, transparent straw came out. Kaz looked at you as if you had created a second head.

“Come on, you'll never know if you like it if you don't taste it.” The two of you stopped, you still holding the glass gently towards his mouth.

“No.” Kaz shook his head.

“Come ooon.” You insisted, a petulant and amusing smile plastered on your face.

"No."

You shook the glass, holding it out once more. This time, Kaz gave you a slightly annoyed look.

"You're not going to stop insisting until I take this thing, are you?"

You laughed, with a triumphant and friendly smile “I'm glad you know me so well”

Kaz rolled his eyes, snatching the glass from your hand and bringing the hellish straw to his mouth. Hell, he felt so stupid pulling that stupid drink through that straw. As soon as the sweet liquid invaded his tongue, an explosion of flavors flooded his palate, causing him to remain unresponsive for a moment.

"You liked it!" But just as he unveiled all of your lookes, you knew how to unveil all of his.

Kaz handed you the glass. “Absurdly sweet."

"You liked that I know."

You joked and, for a second, you had aroused he a desire to smile. A succinct curve in lips. With your sunny smiles and summer expressions, you looked like you were out of an enchanted forest inhabited by mystical creatures. Sun nymphs. Maybe Kaz would even have let himself go lightly if, when you took the glass back, your lips had not wrapped around the tip of the straw.

Exactly where his mouth was a second ago.

He pulse quickened so fast that it made the blood burn in his veins. It was impossible not to look down at delicate mouth, the subtle but destabilizing curvature in the center of your lower lip. Suddenly, he was out of breath, his body numb and his heart stopped beating for a second before accelerating to an alarming level.

Everything became hot, stuffy. The world spun away, out of focus, out of existence, leading he on a waltz unlike anything Kaz had ever felt before.

Kaz Brekker was the Bastard of the Barrel. Dirty hands and scammer. Someone trapped by his own body and traumas, unable to allow himself to enjoy human contact. But, hell, he was still a man. And in that moment, in that insane moment, he wanted to pretend, even for a few seconds, that what he wanted was within his reach.

Kaz thought he understood the desire: an attraction. He thought he knew what lust was: a wish that people felt. He had seen countless examples on his bar counter, drunk and chattering about what it was like to want a woman, to long for her. He thought he understood.

And he found that he didn't understand anything.

The desire was a hot and feverish whirlwind that shivered he from head to toe, with dizzying speed, and dragged everything towards perdition, below any intellect, any rationality. Rationally, he shouldn't have thought you were even more beautiful. But he did. He shouldn't feel his breath catch, but he did.

He felt as if he were walking on a narrow suspended board. One misstep and it would be the end of it. Hiding his disturbing thoughts, Kaz looked away from you.

He was ruined for the rest of his life.

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