#i wrote this in full at the dive bar i was at but trying to edit it on my phone made me h*micidal HAAAHAHAH so i gave up | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dilutedconfusion · 2 months

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A Moth to a Flame

Eustass Kid x F!Reader (Part 4)

HEYYYY YA’LLL i did it. I wrote the next chapter. This one is even bigger than the last and cost me at least half of my brain cells to write. I messed around with it a bunch to try and get the feeling right so hopefully it worked out in my favor (I’m not entirely sure it did but I’ve re-read it too many times so WAHHH) ALSO strap in cause there’s a bit of angst in the form of an argument in this one. As always I wish all my beautiful astounding readers a lovely day/night. Stay safe and stay rotted 💞

Summary: You just took a complete nose dive into the ocean only for Kid to watch from a distance. But the first part of this chapter leads up to the events of that happening. I need to explain just how Kid ended up on that shoreline in the first place and then we’ll see if you live or die <3

Warnings: Blood, Drowning, Vomiting

Word Count: 8.8k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Tags: @st4rfevrr @archangelshavethetardis @likeeliterallywtf @tremendoushorsepatrolgoth @tulipps-maehem @ferretsqueen @thesnailus @shamblespirate @gabi-moureira

“Fuck this is good.” Kid mumbled out, mouth full of chicken as he spoke. Little blobs of spit were flying out of his mouth but Killer was used to the barrage. “That little waitress lady sure annoyed the shit out of me but at least this place has good food.”

Killer just nodded in agreement though he hadn’t taken a bite of the chicken. Not willing to remove his mask even if the back of the bar was empty.

It was late at night by now, the faint light through the windows barely masking the dark void-like sheen as the rain sprinkled down. Leaving nothing but sparkling drops of water to watch roll down the glass.

Though instead of watching that Killer watched Kid down a whole bottle of rum. Taking shot-like gulps out of his glass and using chicken as a chaser for about 10 minutes.

When Kid had walked back with the food he could sense something had happened. It was easy to spot when he noticed the slight shade of red washed over the apples of his cheeks. It was permanent at this point. But Killer couldn’t tell if it was from the alcohol or something else.

“You took a while to grab the food ya know. You didn’t get held up did you?” Killer asked quietly, leaning back on the booth and propping his arm up comfortably.

Kid looked up at Killer from his plate, eyes glancing over his friend's mask for just a moment before gliding back downwards. “Nah, the waitress just took her sweet time. I didn’t trust her to remember to bring the food back so I waited to do it myself.”

“So you just waited up there patiently? That’s not like you. Thought you would’ve started up one fight. Ease up a little.” Killer remarked, a quizzical glance thrown at Kid behind the space of his mask.

Kid’s mouth was occupied by the rim of his glass when his body hesitated. His eyes bore into his companion for only a moment before he swallowed loudly and set the cup down. “I wish,” was all he whispered out, which made Killer a bit more worried.

“Well, I did hear you talking to someone. Was the waitress giving you shit?” Killer leaned forward, eyeing Kid. His tone is neutral and calm as always. Trying not to fan the emotional storm that Kid could so often be.

Kid’s sharp amber eyes stared distantly at the rest of the room before he took another sip of rum and spoke. The half-melted ice cubes quietly clinking against the glass. “It…doesn’t matter. I was talking to that girl. Ya know, the one that was stalking us at the docks. She was sitting at the bar. She followed us here clearly.”

Killers eyes widened at that. Remembering the mental image of you standing there awkwardly at the dock when they first arrived. It was a bit of a shock at first but Killer just assumed you were nosy. Or at least he hoped that’s all it was was though it was starting to sound like his hopes were wrong.

“She followed us here? Are you sure she isn’t working for someone 'cause that’s suspicious as fuck Kid.” Killer leaned forward, his voice a tad bit more concerned considering they couldn’t take on another problem.

We need a break. Kid needs a break. This could be bad.

“No, it wasn’t like that. She talked to me normally. Complained about me killing people and like half-assed threatened me if I decided to pillage this town or whatever. Nothing super serious.” Kid had a certain brashness in the way he said that as if he was trying to prove that what he was saying was true. The harshness of his voice rasped out despite himself.

Killer eyed Kid, searching for something more caught on his tongue. He knew something was up, he just needed to get Kid to say it out loud. “Is that all?” He asked, placing his elbows on the table in front of him in a serious manner.

Kid tried piercing through Killer to try and break down what he was getting at. It was almost too embarrassing to even mention what happened, even to the person he trusted most. Yet with a weak little sigh he decided to give it up. “I don’t know. She like…said some stuff. Brought up my injuries like she had any right to talk about them but then she….”

Kid trailed off, scratching at the slight stubble on his chin he had meant to shave before finally responding quite gruffly. “She gave me this look. It wasn’t some useless pity or sympathy or anything like that. It felt very genuine I guess. Like she understood me.”

Killers eyes immediately widened, shocked by the fact that a mere stranger had gotten to Kid in any way, shape, or form. That barely happened. Not in all the years he knew Kid did he ever see the man connect with someone right away, even just by understanding their feelings. Kid was quite adamant that he didn’t have time for shit like that.

Staying quiet for only a moment Killer finally responded, his voice a bit more hushed. “So she…looked at you and you stopped dead in your tracks from ripping her head off?”

Kids' eyes narrowed in what Killer perceived as shame. Shame for himself and maybe even a bit of embarrassment. “Well, she deserved to get her head torn off. She kept talking shit about me the whole time. I was breathing so deeply to control myself I was nearly whistling out of my nose. White knuckled through it like a pussy.” Kid stroked a hand through his hair, tossing it a bit as his right leg started bouncing uncontrollably under the table.

Killer took note of his body language, the ground vibrating softly, and the way Kid clammed up at even mentioning what happened.

She did get to him.

Killer didn’t know what to say. Not wanting to assume anything nor agree with the fact that Kid did indeed let her off easy. Which was like his number one rule. No mercy above all else.

“It’s fine. She ain’t worth it anyway. I’d bet it would be like squashing a grape killing someone like her.” Killer conscientiously replied. Trying to smooth Kid over the best he could.

It’s strange seeing Kid like this. It almost feels…uncanny.

Kid's lips just tugged down into a frown, his brow a tight line of knots. “Well, you didn’t hear what she was saying to me. I would rip out anyone’s esophagus before that shit even left their tongue.”

Kids hand clenched tightly around his glass. Killer glanced between Kid and the glass expecting it to shatter though it didn’t. Just like Kid the glass was on the edge of caving in. The kind of glass that would cut and scar Kid’s hand if he just applied a bit more pressure. A reflection of self cast upon the transparent cup. Kid didn’t want his feelings to spill but if he kept this up, something was bound to snap. Turning both the cup and Kid into nothing but sharp shards only capable of harming himself and others.

“I know you would’ve but you didn’t. You were holding yourself back.” Killer spoke as plainly as he could. Getting to the root of the issue despite not entirely caring about Kids desire to harm you. In any other case he would’ve been more gung-ho about enacting revenge. But to Killer right now wasn’t the right time and it felt like no matter what he said, Kid would choose to be upset.

His injuries must be hurting him badly for him to back off like that. Or maybe…that girl wasn’t the kind of person to kill?

“Well I held myself back and now I’m regretting it.” Kid mumbled, shoving the last leg of a chicken in between his teeth and smacking his lips as he chewed.

“Well, it happened and you can’t change it. If you see her later and want her dead, I’m all for helping out. But for now let's stop thinking about it and get the fuck out of here.”

Kid let out a little grunt of agreement and tore the rest of the chicken off the bone in one bite. Placing the bone down on the plate, he slid it towards the middle of the table. Wiping the grease around his lips with the back of his hand he then pulled a bag of berries and placed them on the table.

So with a rough jangle of a few metal coins and some grunts later they both stood up. However, Kid’s body swayed a whole lot more than Killer's from the alcohol.

“You good? Ain’t gonna pass out on me right?” Killer asked, adjusting his jeans a bit as he spoke.

“Yep. Now get a move on.” Kid spat back short and sweet. Yet it wasn’t entirely alcohol making him sway. Surprisingly he could still feel his stump throbbing just as much as he had when sober.

What a waste of booze if I ain’t going numb. Gonna have to change these goddamn bandages too. Kid gripped his stump for a moment as he walked behind Killer. Feeling how tender his flesh was with delicate strokes. But when he breached the front portion of the bar he stopped. Trying not to pay attention to how the waitress stared at the both of them while they walked out.

The brisk chill in the air hit Kid’s sharp nose first. Traveling along the warm apexes of his cheeks and flowing softly against the center of his chest. His back stayed warm whilst the rest of him became enraptured with the descending cold.

“Good. The rain let up a bit.” Killer mumbled, stepping out in the open air and waiting for Kid to make it past the door as he held it open. There were no lights on the street except for a littering of lanterns around each building. So they walked together in half darkness. The soft clicking of their heels paired with some talkative birds finding shelter in the rain. Other than that it felt as if the whole world was silent.

“Bet the rest of the crew is back on board already,” Killer explained softly, breaking the silence between them for the second time tonight.

Kid barely glanced at Killer beside him. Grunting less in agreement and more just to mildly acknowledge what his pair had said. Because in all honesty Kid didn’t need to be told that. Heat and Wire, who usually joined the two of them on their bar trips, had been absent.

Killer had told him it was because they had other shit to do. Something involved with making sure this town had the right supplies for their restock. But Kid knew they were absent because they were hesitant to be around him right now.

So maybe they were just doing their jobs as they were told but he doubted they would be happy if he decided to give them the day off.

They probably wanted to head to the only bar in town but I was there.

Shit, they probably hit the sack early just so they didn’t have to deal with me.

Kid could feel a vein in his forehead throbbing softly. Twitching his skin and only pissing him off even more.

Maybe if I stopped yelling at them they wouldn’t back off from me.

Kid hadn’t been in the best of moods since he came face to face with Benn Beckman and a part of him had taken that anger and frustration out on his crew. He knew it was wrong, yes. But that’s why he needed to be alone for a while. This all-consuming lunging in the gut is only proof of that.

But as the two walked the cold started to relieve the pain running across Kid's body. Soaking into his thick scars and past his bandages to numb the horrendous ache he was feeling. It made his body feel a bit lighter. More manageable. For even the short amount of time that it took to walk closer and closer to the Victoria.

When the two of them reached the edge of the docks Kid started slowing down. Making Killer stop in his tracks to turn around to look back at him.

But before Killer could even speak, Kid's voice reached him. “I think…I think I’m gonna take a walk.” His voice was quiet, his eyes gliding down the shoreline of the bay off to his right. A shadow of a man standing on two rickety feet. Like a strange caricature of himself he stood.

Killer paused, willing himself to try and think of something remotely useful. His Captain, his best friend, was about to have a drunken walk at night in the rain. He could already imagine him stumbling around in the dark. Too mad to cry but too tired to punch anything till he felt better. It made Killer's fist clutch at his sides as he swiftly turned around to fully face his Captain. A deep well of emotions was getting stirred in his chest.

And yet he’s still refusing to admit anything is wrong?

With a slightly aggravated tone, Killer finally spoke, “This isn’t…because of what happened is it? You told me you were fine. You made it very clear by screaming it at me but…I’m not about to let you go sulk by yourself.” Killer took a step closer and straightened out his spine. Trying to prove just how serious he was about this.

Kid's attention snapped back to Killers the moment those words left his tongue. Glowering at him like he was trying to control him. Trying to defy his pride.

“Well, I was being serious. I’m fine and I don’t need permission from anybody to take a walk.” With that Kid started walking away, going down the edge of the docks in a stomping fashion.

“You shouldn’t be out walking in the rain. If your bandages get soaked through it could fuck up your wounds Kid.” Killer called, taking another step towards his Captain but not following him just yet.

Kid just kept on walking regardless of whatever Killer said. His coat billowed on his shoulders with each step. Like a red flag waving in the breeze and daring Killer to chase after him. But something snapped in Kids voice. Suddenly raising in volume and dripping with venom. “I fucking know that and I don’t care! So back off!”

Killer inhaled deeply through his nose. Holding his fists back from wanting to knock Kid out and just drag him back to the ship. He started briskly walking after Kid, not caring if he didn’t want him to follow or not.

“Then let me come with you. There’s a goddamn noble town up north crawling with marines. You can’t be walking around drunk if shit goes down.” Killer's tone was still controlled but became more raspy as he spoke. The pressure upon the damn of his feelings crackling and hissing at the seems.

It wasn’t a tone Kid heard often and despite knowing the worry he was causing Killer, he chose not to focus on it. Driving headfirst into a sea of pride. He wanted to lose himself. If only for one night.

“You think I can’t protect myself? Are you calling me weak Kil? Is that what you’re fucking doing right now?” Kid’s head jerked back to glare at his companion. Pausing his demonstrative walk for a moment to leave them both at a standstill. If anyone on the Victoria nearby was listening, they could most certainly feel the piles of tension stacking up between them.

Killers body hunched inwards, running a quick hand through his hair as he absentmindedly kicked at the ground. His muscles were just urging and wishing to fight.“No-that’s not…” Killer paused, letting out a low grunt and gritting his teeth.

“Shit Kid! What if someone attacks a ship? We would need our Captain here.”

Killer knew that was a bad excuse. The moment he said he knew it sounded desperate. But he couldn’t help himself from trying to convince Kid with logic.

Emotions were out the window. They always have been and always will be when it comes to open communication between these two. Killer would rather pull out his teeth with two needles than tell Kid that he hated seeing him like this. That he couldn’t stand seeing someone so strong get broken down. The yelling and the fights were haunting his brain. All he wanted to do was tie down Kid so he could rest and mend his wounds every five seconds until he got better. But Kid hadn’t been willing to rest and he still wasn’t. Killer could barely think it made him so mad.

But of course, Kid wasn’t picking up on any of Killer's true intentions. He was seeing a splattering of pity across his face and every other person he cared about. But he hated pity. That word was all he could ever think about lately. He wanted things to go back to normal. He wanted his crew to believe in him without questioning if he could handle it or not.

So both of them came to a halt. Lost between the words desperate and pity they stood as shadows of men.

“So now you’re belittling my crew huh? Don’t you think you and everyone else can handle a couple of marines? Bullshit! I’m just going for a walk Kil not leaving your asses.” Kid knew Killer was right. Shit, he could feel it in his bones. But it wasn’t a matter of what was best for him or the crew. Kid wanted what he wanted and come hell or high-water he was going to get it.

“I know that! But I don’t like this.” Killer stepped forward, only slightly closing the gap between them. Still not willing to explain himself. Still coming up with bad excuses.

I just wish for once he would just listen to me on this. Set aside his pride. This thought was imprinted in Killer's mind like mud. Getting between the crevices of his brain and washing him wry with feeling.

But today wasn’t the day Kid was going to set aside his pride. If anything, hearing Killer's voice so needy nearly broke him apart. Sadness slinked through his ears with every word and plea. So though he loved a good fight, his voice quieted down to a mumble. Losing the hope to convince Killer to trust him otherwise.

“Whatever. Go back to the ship. I’ll be back soon.” It’s like the energy was sucked right out of him. Letting out a big huff of air and biting the inside of his mouth to keep it from screaming. He turned back around towards the shoreline and started walking once more.

Killer didn’t follow him. Mask trained on his Captain as he walked off the dock and his feet sunk into the sandy shore. It was dark so Kid nearly disappeared instantly once he was out of range from the lanterns.

Like a moth to a moon, Killer wanted to follow him. But he supposed Kid’s light was gone for now.

__________

Kid had been ambling for barely 10 minutes. The waves paired with the swirling whirlwind of his mind affected him greatly. His thoughts were loud and so was the ocean. A reflection of how he felt lost in a sea of which he shouldn’t touch. The feeling of turmoil was the best way to describe it.

Kid didn’t like sulking. In his mind, he has only experienced what he considered as true sadness just a few times.

When I was abandoned as a child.

When Victoria died.

He hadn’t thought about her in a while but he supposed it was because he always felt like she was around regardless of her death. Her spirit in his ship. Her spirit in his goals. She was one of the many reasons to keep going because if he didn’t achieve his dreams then to him it was like she died for nothing.

I can’t sit in my shit and act like it isn’t my fault.

He didn’t think losing an arm was worthy of being sad over. Which in turn just made him feel worse anytime he got frustrated about it.

It's not worth it. Feeling feelings. Look what the fuck it's doing to me. To my crew.

His eyes stared blankly out in front of him. His pace was consistent as he lost himself in thoughts. The cold was still easing his pain and the rain had died down even more. But he could feel the weight of water across his skin and clothes. Soaking in just a tad bit and leaving ghostly chills up his spine.

He swept back his damp hair as it fell over his goggles before finally looking up from the sand and out onto the sea. Without even realizing it Kid had walked quite aways. Stopping in place he noticed a jetty tucked along the shore about 50 feet ahead of him.

Squinting his eyes he traced the silhouette of the dark shadowy mass. The moon hanging high up in the sky was partly covered in clouds so no real details popped out at him. This sense of the unknown peeking his curiosity enough that he decided to take a look closer at it.

He didn’t know why he cared to look. He had been staring at the sand this whole time without even considering the view around him. But something in his gut made him curious. Forced him to look even.

It's just a stupid jetty. I’ve seen a million of these things. Why do I care?

He walked up closer to it. Standing right where the boulders and sand met he looked down at the jagged heaps of rocks.

I can’t even see jack-shit.

He let out a low groan and nearly turned away to keep walking.

Maybe I should head into the forest. Get away from the water. This thought floated in and out of his head almost instantly. Because before he could fully turn around he saw something move in his peripheral vision.

“Huh?” Left his cold lips, just his head turning to stare down the jetty in quick succession. It was then he saw it.

A break in the clouds had opened for the first time in a while. A much brighter cool milky glow landed delicately across the small chunk of land and water between Kid and the jetty. The ocean came alight, letting him see the swirls of green and blue more definitively. Like a Van Gogh painting they moved, each stroke a current churning around itself.

Without a proper warning, his heart skipped in shock. A person was standing on the jetty a good bit ahead of him. He could see the outline of their figure, back cast towards him as they stood on an outcropping of rocks on the jetty line.

What the hell? Was the first thing that came to mind. Perplexed, he stared until he noticed something equally surprising.

It's that girl.

He blinked in utter disbelief. Scowling hard he turned completely towards you. Almost rubbing his eyes out of disbelief as if you were some kind of mirage made out of sea foam and moonlight. But as he watched you grip onto the edge of rocks and walk even further down the jetty it finally hit him that you were indeed, real.

Is she trying to get herself killed?

Panic struck him nearly as hard as the waves came crashing down onto the shore. His stomach sank into his gut as he swallowed hard. Fingers twitching at his side. Letting his eyes scan the area around you searching for a reason why you might be out there.

Maybe she’s trying to reach something? Maybe someone else is out there?

These thoughts floated by and all that was left was something even more confusing. From the looks of it, there was nothing substantial down the line of the jetty. No other person or object he could see in his apparent field of vision. Yet he kept looking, watching over you and expecting you to slip with each small step you took.

He didn't know why this was his instinctive reaction. To let his body tense up at the thought of you falling in and drowning. The fact that he could easily watch somebody die and just stand here idly wasn’t something that had ever bothered him in the past. He often was jealous of those who got to enact pain onto others who deserved it. Which was a part of the reason he was so quick to violence.

Yet seeing you do something as reckless as walking on a jetty during a rough storm at night irked him.

I’m seriously not in the mood to watch this stupid bitch die in front of me.

But if Kid let himself calm down he would've remembered wanting you dead. He would’ve remembered complaining about how you treated him and how he had mistakenly given you mercy. But this feeling in his gut didn’t want him to remember.

All he could think about was you.

That fucking idiot is going to get herself killed and not even in a satisfying way.

He clenched his fist as his eyes traced the line of waves. At first, he thought he saw another line of boulders. One much smoother and taller than the first. But as the moon peaked out over that portion of water he saw it fully.

It was a wall-like wave looming closer to you from the other side of the jetty. The kind that would destroy ships and drown hundreds. It rolled in, white-tipped as it churned closer and closer.

It took him a second to realize what was about to happen. You had no idea that the jetty was about to get hit by that massive thing but he did. His eyes helplessly flickering between your form and that bastardly wave.

She’s going to get hit. There’s no way she’ll survive that.

A strange feeling emerged in Kid. One he didn’t often feel and in his personal opinion felt…itchy. Like in the back of his brain something was scraping away at his thoughts and sending warm trails down to his heart. He wanted to help you. But that realization could only be described as completely and utterly disgusting.

Am I seriously about to help her? He mulled over himself for a moment. Glancing between you and the wave. Each passing second just making him more erratically nervous as he watched that wave loom closer. Clenching his jaw and rolling his eyes at his apparent sympathy before finally caving in.

“WATCH OUT!” He yelled, his voice still so quiet compared to everything else around him.

It took you a second to hear him. His eyes glided over how your body paused upon hearing his voice but you still didn’t turn around to look at him.

I’m trying to help this bitch and she doesn’t even pay attention to me?

The sass on Kid's face became almost palpable. With a quick scoff followed by wiping the rain off his face he gave it one more useless shot.

“DON’T YOU FUCKING HEAR ME?! THERE'S A WAVE COMING!” His voice cracked a bit as he yelled. Becoming more and more frustrated that he even had to deal with any of this shit.

He wasn’t a hero. He didn’t want to run along that stupid jetty and get caught up in the wave to save some stranger.

This isn’t worth it. A dumb bitch like her deserves to die if she’s really stupid enough to try and pull whatever this is off.

But when you finally turned towards him he was struck by something.

Something that tasted like honey on his tongue and compassion in his chest.

Kid almost couldn’t believe it when he saw the halo of light surrounding you. Maybe it was the water in the air. Picking up the moonlight and reflecting it at him. But it framed your head and made your skin nearly glow. Your hair was shiny and flowing. Face round and inviting. Your soft eyes landed on him like deep hollow orbs. The kind of eyes that if he stared at them for too long would swallow him whole.

Yet of course on your lips and eyes was an expression he’d seen before. It was that same look you had given him earlier. That same look that had stopped him dead in his tracks.

But instead of annoying him everything about you drew him in. Almost unable to look away he took a meaningful step closer. Wanting to see you more despite himself. Wanting to keep that expression of yours alive because it reminded him of something.

Or moreover, of someone.

I can’t let another girl die.

I just can’t.

An image of Victoria brushed across his eyes for only a moment. A memory so supple and full of emotion it blossomed into something new.

Something that was going to keep you alive no matter what.

“TAKE FUCKING COVER YOU ASSHOLE!” Left his lips before he could even process whatever he was feeling. It made his heart beat loudly in his ears. A strange cold sweat taking hold of his body.

He pointed his arm off to the right to try and signal something was coming. But your body didn’t move. He could see the curl of your lips go downturned in confusion. The way your eyebrows knitted together softly. That image of you getting seared onto the back of his eyelids before that image inevitably disappeared.

Loud as a bomb, the wave landed against the rocks. Cascading on the jetty and swallowing your body whole. An abstract painting of water splashing against the stone. Rough paint strokes of green and blue representing the clawing current surrounding you. The wave only taking seconds before it finally bubbled down and leveled out onto the other side of the jetty.

Kid swallowed hard, a tight ball of pressure building in his throat as he looked over the spot where you once stood.

And of course, it was empty.

“FUCK! FUCK!” Kid instinctively tried to dash for the water. Forgetting for a moment that he literally couldn’t swim and throwing his coat onto the dry part of the shore. As he walked into the water a wave hit across his legs and stomach, drenching his clothes in an instant and almost knocking him off balance. He let out a little searing hiss at the cold. Urging his body to just suck it up and deal with it.

The booze, injuries, and mental despair was making this moment so much harder to process for Kid. To even realize what was happening around him. But as he tried to force himself through the first line of waves that ever dreaded feeling of complete exhaustion took hold. His muscles going soft as the curse of his powers sunk in.

“FUCKING GODDAMN IT!” He screamed as he forced himself deeper into the waters. The waves dared to suck him in as they sloshed over his chest. His feet still on the ground so he wouldn’t drown thankfully. But if he was knocked over or pulled in with the tide then it was over for both of you.

He knew that. Well aware for the most part yet that wasn’t going to stop him. He had dove in the water for his crew a few times which led them to bickering at him for ‘trying’ to save their life. And though he didn’t know you, maybe that instinct was still somehow embedded in his brain.

But his intelligence to handle the situation blew behind him with the wind. His mind now just a hollow cave of liquor and remorse. Any normal person would’ve reacted as he had.

Or at least that's what he was going to say once this was all over.

The weight of his clothes and the water sinking into his boots was making it incredibly difficult to move. He bounded backward as another wave threatened to send him under. Thrashing over his face the cold sunk deep into his skin. Drenching his hair as the salt stung his eyes and lips.

He took a deep breath of relief as the wave left, popping his head out of the water to see your head floating in the distance. Your face was only a shadow but you seemed to be trying to tread in the water. The currents pushing you closer to Kid yet another wall of waves crashed down on top of you, making you disappear once more.

“SON OF A BITCH!” Kid howled, his mouth only getting filled with water so he spat it out quickly. You were right there. Maybe 15 feet ahead of him in the water. That distance felt so insignificant he could nearly combust where he stood.

He tried to walk forward more but the water came up to his collarbone at this point, leaving him weak and defenseless as more ocean water erupted into his mouth and nose. With ragged coughs he decided to give up on chasing you into the water. Swiping his wet locks out of his eyes he bounded backwards and kept his feet on the sand below to work his way back onto the shore. The waves pushing him down so his ass hit the muddy sand hard.

“Me and my stupid devil fruit getting in the goddamn way again.” He grumbled to himself. If he wasn’t a limp bag of rocks in the water he would’ve easily swam out there to you. Scooped you up and dragged you ashore. He could almost see that version of his life playing like a VHS in his head. Though it did nothing but make him more frustrated.

His eyes never left the water even for a moment. He wanted to see you come back up for air again. He wanted to see you alive.

Though his whole body still felt deathly weak from the water he wasn’t fully submerged anymore which meant his devil fruit came back into play. Raising his arm little purple sparks of lightning started to trace his skin. Desperately trying to pull up any metal that might be submerged near you.

Maybe she could grab onto whatever is down there. I can drag her back in that way. He felt a tingly sensation ran up his humerus, a classic sign that there was indeed something hidden in the waters. A wave splashed against his legs so he dragged his ass back further onto the sand. Focusing on what little strength he had in his right arm.

What if what I pull up hits her? She hasn’t come back up for air again. I don’t know where she is.

And in truth, you didn’t know where you were either.

It was like a sensory deprivation tank under the water. Your ears felt swollen and brimming with nothing but a loud ringing and aquatic bubbles running across your skin. They tickled you as you floated and thrashed around. Eyes opening but seeing nothing but darkness in every direction.

You tried to move. Tried to swim to what you thought might be the surface one more time but something deep and gnarly was dragging you down. The sea itself clasped on your ankles like some kind of God seeking revenge. It wanted to chill you to the bone. It wanted to leak into your lungs. It wanted your flesh.

I’m going to die an idiot.

There was blood running in the water around you. Your head, side, and hands were screaming with pain yet you couldn’t remember what happened. Everything was a complete blur. It almost felt as if you were floating out in space. Barely any sound and just an endless chill numbing every inch of skin.

Did I hit something when I fell?

As your mind searched for answers you heard something else in the darkness. A clunking sound loud and scraping moved below you. Like a snake, you watched something dark slither against the ocean floor. It was deep and though you were on the precipice of blacking out you kept your eyes on it.

Great. I’m going to die an idiot and get eaten alive.

Staring distantly it slowly started to rise in the water. Caught between two currents you managed to stay near the object until eventually, you saw the definite shape of what it was. To your surprise, it wasn’t a sea king. Instead, it was a chain. Thick and crusted over with barnacles and wrapped in seaweed it rose.

It made your senses kick back in. The cold and lack of air dared to take you away but the shock kept you awake.

What in the world?

The chain rose higher and higher until it came closer to you. You kicked your feet reaching out for it. Barely making any distance towards the chain as the current sloshed you around. But eventually the tips of your fingers scraped against it. Giving you just enough hold to fully grip onto one of the chain links with weak hands.

You could feel the split-open caverns of your flesh dig into the barnacles when you grabbed on. It made you cringe hard, lungs burning and filling with water as you tried to take in an anguished breath. Round glass-like bubbles rose to the surface above. You’re once hollow lungs now brimming with seawater.

In a desperate attempt, you yanked your satchel that was still floating helplessly around your shoulders and used it to tie your hands to the chain. Wrapping the strap through the chain and feeding arms through it so it would hold.

The chain started rising higher and higher toward the surface. Your eyes blinking and fading to an even darker shade of black in your vision. You could feel the tips of your fingers down to your toes loosing their substance of life. Unable to break away from this feeling you passed out. Though the chained had finally dared to breach the briny depths, you were already gone. Your body limp and nearly lifeless as you reached the surface with a resounding splash.

Kids eyes widened when he made you out amongst the waves. He was hoping to see your face alive and well but all he saw were your hands strung to the chain he had dredged up.

“SHIT!” He yelled, clenching the taught muscles of his arm even tighter. More little sparks of lightning danced along his skin in a fury. The chain was not that heavy but the current of the ocean kept trying to pull it away from him. He finally stood up off the shore, getting a better view to see the rest of your body floating about a foot under the water.

It didn’t take long until the chain finally found its way towards him. He let it slide up on shore, your body dragging along with it. Taking a few steps into the sea he reached out and grabbed onto the strap of your satchel. His eyes were blurry and burning but he managed to undo the knot around your wrists with his one hand. After throwing the bag further onto the beach his eyes returned to you. Now that your hands had slipped free he quickly grabbed onto the soft fat of your stomach. Working his arm with a bit of difficulty around your middle to pick you up as best he could.

If I had my other fucking arm this would be a lot easier. He grumbled to himself though his complaining instantly faded as he felt your strikingly cold skin. Your hefty body should have been light work for him to carry but right now it was just plain annoying. So he hunched over and let you slump onto his forearm. Dragging you inland as your feet left lines in the sand until he finally set you down face first.

He kneeled on the ground and rolled you over on your back. Your nose and cheeks now crusted with a bit of sand along with most of your clothes. Your soft eyelashes closed against your face. He noticed the tone of your skin was a few shades lighter and slightly blue along your lips.

“Fuck.” He whispered under his breath, taking two of his fingers and placing them on your neck. He almost didn’t want to know. Almost hoping you would just wake up and be fine so he didn’t have to go through this anymore. But by the looks of the bleeding gash on your forehead and side, he supposed he couldn’t just trust faith to bring you back to life.

It took a couple of seconds but he finally felt some semblance of a heartbeat. It was slow and weak against his fingers but you were alive.

Thank god. I didn’t do this shit for nothing.

Now that he finally got you back another wave of panic struck him once more. He needed to keep you alive and considering he knew next to nothing about first aid, it was going to be a struggle.

Chewing his lips he decided your wounds could wait. They weren’t bleeding out too badly. A slow drizzle of blood across your face and into your hair. The gash on your side turning the sand below red. But you weren’t breathing which meant Kid needed to administer CPR.

Which, of course, he only had a faint inclination on how to do.

“Here the fuck we go.” He told himself, trying to hype himself up despite his fear. He placed his one hand between your breasts, feeling the center of your sternum and pressing down on it.

I’m supposed to use two hands. Hopefully, this will be enough.

He thought over his rhythm for only a moment before pressing down on you as hard as he could. Keeping his large hand flat he covered up all the space between your breasts so hopefully he would cover the right area. He spastically jerked his muscles with each compression until he felt something inside of you snap.

Shit. I broke her bone. Is that a good thing or a bad thing?

He paused looking at your face and chest. Hoping to see signs of something coming to life but nothing happened. So without another nervous thought, he kept the compressions going for a few minutes. Or maybe it was less than that, he wasn’t entirely sure.

“Can you just wake up?! I’m done saving your ass. This shit is taking too long.” He told you, voice horse with exertion and even a bit of pain.

It bothered him having to do something like this. To have somebody's life in his hands usually meant he was the one to kill them. But right now he was trying to keep someone alive. Which made him realize keeping a human body alive was a lot harder than he would ever admit.

Getting irritated he paused, lifting his hand off your chest to hover it over your slightly agape mouth. Not a single breath of air escaping it.

“Oh my sweet fuck.” He growled, face torn and eyes almost daring to shed tears as he leaned his face towards yours. He lifted your chin towards the sky and opened your mouth a bit more.

“Pucker up.” Left his lips in a joking attempt to make this situation slightly more manageable. To calm his shaking hands and repress his urge to just shake you silly until you came back to life.

Please just wake up. Please just wake up.

He was about to kiss a woman, which he's done many times before but this one happened to be near dead and unconscious. It was less of a kiss and more of a desperate attempt to save you. Which some would argue is even more intimate than any kiss could be.

Pinching your nose he took in a deep breath before latching his lips with yours and breathing outwards. Your lips were dry and cold against his. Lacking all the warmth he wished you had.

Staring down at your chest he gave you a few deep breaths. Trying to spot your lungs heaving up and down as he filled you up like a balloon. After the first few breaths, he finally noticed your chest rise much higher. The mound of your stomach going along with it and giving him a sense of hope maybe he was doing the right thing.

So he pulled up and took another deep breath in before locking lips once more. Keeping your nose tightly shut and making sure his breath was even and long-lasting as it flooded your lungs.

The feeling of the cold slimy unconscious pool your mind lay in suddenly started sliding off as you woke up. Though you hadn’t even realized you were awake before a gush of water came rushing out of your lungs.

Kid instinctively pulled back the second he felt your muscles contract. But that didn’t stop him from getting sea water splashed over his face and even a bit in his mouth.

“Say it, don't spray it asshole.” He leaned back up and spat the water on the sand. Wiping his lips as he watched your body roll over onto its side. Your eyes blinked rapidly and filled up with tears within an instant. Loud choking and gushing noises erupting out of you while you vomited out all the sea water your lungs had taken in.

Some of it hit Kid's lap but he decided not to care. Because you were both thoroughly soaked to the bone, a little more water straight from your lungs and stomach wouldn’t hurt. So he just watched you as deeply uncomfortable feeling stabbed his chest. Runny lines of tears and snot were dripping from your face. You’re eyes barely able to stay open as they constantly blinked away those burning tears. You managed to half way propped yourself up on one arm. Your spine contracting spastically with each retch.

He didn’t like seeing you writhe for whatever reason. Though he couldn’t tell if it’s because he thought it was gross and weak or something else.

Suddenly loud gasps started escaping your mouth making it seem like you still couldn’t breathe. Your throat seemingly sewed shut. Only letting stuff out but not in. Like a fish out of water, your torso twitched even more, your weak hand reaching up and grabbing onto your throat to urge it to open again.

Kids eyes widened at this, realizing that maybe it was too soon to start acting like an uncaring asshole considering you were close to death, yet again. “Goddamn it, just breathe!” He yelled, scooping his hand under the sand and to sit you up.

His voice barely even reached you. Even if you could breathe it felt like you couldn’t. A panic attack revolted against you, making every breath you tried to take weak and small. Barely filling up your lungs and keeping you conscious by a thin thread.

Your watery eyes looked up at him desperately. Pleading him to do something. To do anything to make it stop. A frown took over his face as he drank in your desperation. His stomach sinking to the ground while the uncommon feeling of sympathy flooded his nerves.

What in the hell am I supposed to do?

He wasn’t one for comfort and he already used all the first aid tricks he knew. So he started roughly patting your back, hoping to brute force whatever was blocking your airway. “Is there water still in there? Why can’t you breathe?”

The patting made you cough once again. Dribbles of seawater spilling past your lips and stinging the soft tissue of your mouth. You closed your eyes and leaned your side against Kid's chest. Trying anything to help you calm down you started focusing on your heartbeat. Urging your muscles to relax and using Kids body to stay upwards.

Kid just stared down at you, his pats getting slower and a bit softer. He was worried that if he spoke at all it would ruin whatever sense of peace you were chasing after. He was worried that he would just make it worse.

I always make shit like this worse.

The feeling of your equally drenched and clammy body against his was a bit uncomfortable but he knew it would be a dick move just to let you fall over. So he held onto your back and cradled you slightly. Grimacing the whole time while he listened to your breaths getting deeper and deeper.

Watching you silently he ended up just looking you over. Staring at your skin covered in dewdrops glistening in the moonlight. Noticing how your blood mixed with the water and thinned out to a brisk trickle across your cheek. There were stark tear lines dragging across you skin. Even some faint snot mixed with sea water dripping out of your nose. The warmth rising back into your skin and becoming noticeable against his chest.

Eventually, your eyes opened back up, dazed but no longer flooded with tears.

“You done dying?” He mumbled out, his low voice rumbling in his chest so much you could feel it against your skin.

You slowly looked up at him, his face and body so much closer than it's ever been before. His hair was drenched and lying gently over his goggles and shoulders. Cute curly waves with little drips of water slipping them. His bandages soaked and peeling in some parts to revel the deep gashes along his chest. The ones still healing on his face were shiny and red as if they were irritated. Red-smeared lipstick around the edges of his permanently frowning mouth. His warm breath that smelled of liquor and seawater fanning over you.

Despite the cold numbness draped over your nerves you still managed to feel his chest against you. The way his skin was almost burning it was so warm compared to yours. His thick arm holding the soft space below your shoulder blades in such a delicate way.

Though you noticed all of this, a part of you felt like he wasn’t even there. That he was just a mirage or you were already dead and gone. Left with nothing but this man to ease you over into the afterlife.

“Uh-huh," Was all you could manage to get out. Your throat was now drying up as the salt took hold. Making you rasp and wheeze a bit with each breath.

Kid just rolled his eyes at that, “Well I just want you to know right now that you are a complete fucking dumbass who has no sense of self-preservation and I wish I never met you.”

You blinked slowly, a wave of drowsiness cascading upon you. “Okay.” You said with a shaky breath. Shivering deeply, your eyes closed once more. Kid watched as your head fell against his chest, letting him know that you had passed out for good.

“This bitch.” Left his mouth almost instantly. He was hoping you’d stay awake so you could walk or hold onto him if he was forced to carry you.

I don’t want to carry her. I’m tired and I’m drunk and I don’t deserve this.

He just stared at you against him. Urging his hand to let you fall onto the sand and leave you there.

This was supposed to be my break. I wanted to relax. What do I owe this random girl? I already saved her life which is way more than anyone should expect from me. So she can wake up and figure the rest of this shit out herself.

His face scrunched up as he mulled it over. He stared down at you against his chest. Feeling your soft hair against him. Your spine and arms were nearly vibrating with each deep shiver that ran through you. Like a wounded animal, you curled into him which warmed the small embers of his heart yet repulsed him beyond belief.

“God fucking damn it fine! You won this round.” He yelled at you, a loud exasperated sigh bellowing out of him. With that he softly set you down on the sand. Standing up to go grab his coat that surprisingly hadn’t flown away in the wind. He yanked it off the sand and dusted it off before noticing your bag still laying completely soaked a few feet away from him.

Am I seriously about to hold this girl's shit as well? He asked himself, staring at the green satchel vehemently before roughly picking it up and slinging the strap over his shoulder.

I guess I fucking am. He nearly slapped himself in the face with how ticked off he was. He saved your life and was a bit proud of that fact. But the amount of kindness he was providing was just down right deplorable.

He walked back over to you and kneeled back down onto the sand. Still holding onto his coat and looking between you and the fur.

Of course this bitch is visibly shaking. He just stared at you for a moment, hoping you’d stop so he could throw the coat over his shoulders instead. But your body was insistently twitching violently from head to toe. Your face naturally scrunching up in pain despite being blacked out.

It's not like I’m not cold. I got dunked in the water too. But of course your unconscious body was asking for yet another round of his sympathy.

“Whatever. Take this you greedy little shit.” Kid took his coat and started wrapping it around you. Making sure your arms were funneled through the sleeves so it wouldn’t fall off.

With a grunt, he tried to lift you onto his shoulder. Hunching over so his shoulder was close to your stomach and using his one hand to slide you onto him. He had to pick you up by the ass just a bit, feeling the fat meat of it in his hand as he pulled you up onto him until your hips were in line with his shoulder.

He tried not to think about it too much considering he was groping the ass of a half-dead woman but he managed to get you in a good position. Getting up off the ground with another loud grunt he almost instantly toppled over to one side. Your heavy body was hanging loosely off him so he gripped your legs tightly before you could slide off his shoulder.

“And you couldn’t be just a bit lighter eh? Making me put some actual effort into this shit.” He started walking towards his ship in the distance. Each step just a bit louder than usual against the sand. Your head and arms swaying upside down in a half-pleasant, half horrible sensation.

“Oh and just so you know. This is the last time you’ll get a lick of kindness from me. Expect nothing but shit-talking and maybe a good gut punch from here on out.” He told you but of course this whole time you were dead asleep. So it didn’t matter if you heard his declaration or not. Kid was going to give you what he wanted to give you. He just hoped his stupid feelings wouldn’t get in the way of his prerogatives.

A/N: GEEHEE✨ GEEHEE✨I love writing Kid being a big bootyhole. It’s so sweet and endearing and nice. Would he have a soft spot for a stranger normally? No. But do you remind him of someone he cared about? Yes. Oh and just to be clear when I talk Y/N’s expression and how you remind him of Victoria I don’t mean that you look like her. You look like you of course I just view it as the aura or substance of who Y/N is relates to Victoria in a strange way. Hope that makes sense. Or maybe he just thinks you’re pretty and isn’t willing to realize it. WHAT?? WHO SAID THAT?

#one piece #eustass kid #eustasscaptainkid #kid pirates #eustass kid x reader #one piece x reader #x reader #killer one piece #massacre soldier killer #killer op #one piece eustass

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magicalrocketships · 11 months

Text

Remember that de-aged Max fic I posted 1200 words of and was DEFINITELY absolutely not writing any more of?

Anyway I absolutely wrote more, but this is set six years earlier and is a little study in contrasts, because this time it's mostly about tiny Daniel. Here you go:

Daniel goes small early in race week in Malaysia.

Max sees the commotion over by the drivers' rooms, and then he sees someone going for one of the Go Small kits that hang under first aid kits and by fire extinguishers the world over. They are simple, mostly fold-small extremely stretchy t-shirts and drawstring stretchy shorts with these weird adjustable shoes that can be fastened to fit to most feet. He assumes it's one of the mechanics or engineers and doesn't think much more about it, and then he overhears someone saying for god's sake keep him out of Max's eye-line, don't want the poor kid yelled at for getting in his way.

Max does not feel like that is very fair. He would not yell at a child. He only gets mad with stupid adults, not little kids. It is not his fault that so many people are stupid.

But then he spots a curly haired baby Daniel clambering up on to the tool table to reach for the chocolate bar that one of the mechanics has sneaked into the garage and Max spotted hidden away earlier, and he shouts, "Daniel, no."

Baby Daniel immediately freezes, hand outstretched, knees perched wobbly on the edge of the workbench. He peers guiltily over his shoulder, but Max is already half way across the garage, looping an arm around Daniel's waist and stopping him from tumbling off.

"I wanted the chocolate," Daniel tells him. He does not flinch away from Max's touch, and consents very easily to Max helping him down from the workbench. He is not in the least bit bothered by being told no. He does not seem afraid at all.

"It is a Snickers bar," Max tells him, "and you are allergic to nuts, little Daniel. Also it is not yours and climbing on things in the garage is dangerous."

Daniel's little bottom lip goes out. "I'm not scared. And I can eat nuts."

"Hmm," Max says. Daniel cannot eat nuts, no matter what face Daniel is trying to pull right now to pretend he can. He might die and that would be very bad, not just for the space-time continuum but for Max in particular, who likes having Daniel as a teammate. He considers. "Are you hungry or are you bored?"

Daniel's face lights up, which is how Max ends up sitting in the hospitality area with Daniel sitting next to him, feet swinging, as Daniel eats a sandwich and talks with his mouth full and tells Max about going karting with his dad. It is very cute because Daniel is very cute, all curly hair and no fear and looking around at everything. He must see all the bewildered faces of everyone walking by and seeing Max hanging out with him, which is not fair because Max likes kids and is good with them. They are mixing Max from the track up with Max in real life. Daniel beams at him with mayonnaise on his chin. Max wipes it off with a napkin.

When Daniel has finished eating his sandwich and has drunk his juice and eaten a blueberry muffin he manages to get literally everywhere, Max takes him back to the garage and they get Daniel settled in the cockpit of his very own Formula 1 car and baby Daniel is incandescent with joy. Then they walk down the paddock, and everyone comes to see Daniel because everyone loves Daniel and tiny, curly haired Daniel is excited and interested and brave. He is not shy at all, not like Max was when he was younger. The only exception is when he sees Lewis with his dog, Roscoe, and then he hides behind Max with his hands on Max's hips and peeks out from underneath Max's arm. Lewis picks Roscoe up and waves his paw in Daniel's direction, and Daniel dives behind Max's back before he sneaks his head out, and gives Roscoe a very little wave back. Then Daniel holds Max's hand for a bit before going back to running around him in circles because he has too much energy for such a little boy. Some of the photographers take pictures of him, and when they get back to the Red Bull garage, Daniel is carefully settled on top of a stack of tyres so that somebody else can take pictures. Daniel demands Max be in one of the pictures with him, and he rests his elbow on Max's head and Max laughs as they take the photo.

It is a very nice day and little Daniel is very cute and he skips around Max asking him questions and peering into things and trying to climb on anything within climbing distance.

He passes out face first on the sofa in the driver's room, and suddenly Max feels the overwhelming compulsion to squeeze his eyes shut, and when he opens them again, it's not a seven year old Daniel staring back at him, but a teenager, with spots and braces. He devours a burger and fries in about four seconds flat that someone brings him from hospitality, and he's just asking if he can go in the car again when Max has to squeeze his eyes shut. When he opens them, it's just normal Daniel, sitting on the sofa in his very stretchy Go Small outfit, and grinning.

"That was so cool," Daniel says, laughing. "Thanks for keeping me company, Maxy-Max. When it's your turn, you'll have to come hang out with me, I'll return the favour. We'll have a whale of a time."

"Yes," Max says. "Okay."

&&&

It is six years later when there's a little knock on Daniel's apartment door.

Daniel, not entirely sure he actually heard anything, and especially because no one called up from the front desk downstairs, opens his door expecting nobody to be there.

Instead, there is a little red-cheeked baby Max, struggling to hold up a pair of too-big shorts and drowning in a t-shirt. His socks are falling off his feet. "I am Max Verstappen," Max tells him, shy and awkward. He has one hand pressed to the back of his neck, scared and unsure.

Daniel's face softens. "Hello, Max," he says. "I know who you are. Why don't you come in, and we'll get you all fixed up."

Max, uncertain and very small, steps inside.

&&&

Again, thank you to Lena @stolemyhheart for making sure it read okay and Em @powerful-owl for letting me have her best de-aged verse ideas and talking about this with me for ages. For a fic I'm absolutely not writing, I sure know a lot about what happens at every stage of it.

Edit: there's more of this verse here.

#fic that i wrote #my fic #de-aged maxiel #max/daniel #baby max #baby daniel

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againstacecilia · 1 year

Text

No More Wasted Time (Rewrite)

Pairing: Poe Dameron x female reader (modern!AU)

Word Count: 6.4k

Rating: E for sure. No minors.

Warnings: Childhood-friends-to-lovers, unprotected p-in-v, alcohol usage, break-up, hurt/comfort, heaps of emotion, overall smut warning.

A/N: We've come full circle here, folks! This is a rewrite of the first fic I ever wrote/posted, just wanted to try my hand at elevating my writing now that I've had some more practice. Please let me know what you think through reblogs and/or coming to yell at me in my asks! Here's the link to the NMWT universe masterlist if you wanted to peruse more of these two goofs. 🥰

Thank you for reading, and May the 4th Be With You. 💖

You had known Poe your whole life. For most of it, he’d just been the pesky older brother of your best friend. Your parents had been friends with his since long before you were born and the boys had just come built-in to the family they created.

Honestly, the dynamic had always worked; he teased and pestered his brother and it just sort of rippled over to you. It didn’t matter that you had snuck glances in high school at Poe as he pulled himself out of the pool, learning to admire the shift of muscles in his back or the strength of his arms. The hours you spent with him in their garage keeping him company and occasionally helping him fix his beat-up old car was just a way to pass the time when you had nothing better to do, and nothing to do with how just talking with him made you feel… Awake. Even in your darkest moments, the easy flow of conversation had been a light that opened your eyes and lifted a weight off your shoulders. Even the nights of teasing and poking fun at dive bars that never checked your fake IDs were just friendly. Never anything more.

And then you left. Went off to college and grad school and figured out who you were outside of the boxes of youth. Had experiences and grew and decided that coming home wasn’t such a bad idea. Especially when your boyfriend, Mark, had been so enthusiastic about joining you and starting your lives together.

It felt right to be back home. Six years and what seemed like a different life later, it felt right to be sitting on the back deck with your family, your parents and the Damerons sipping cider in the warm September afternoon.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” your mother starts, her hair blazing in the later afternoon sun, “Poe will be stopping by. Said he wanted to say hi.”

“I’m not surprised,” you roll your eyes with a smile, “he’d never miss an opportunity to be a pain in my ass.”

“He said he misses you.”

You hum a non-committal response, taking another sip of your drink. “You know what, I’m glad he’s coming by. It’ll be good to see him. I don’t think I’ve seen him since Christmas last year.”

The conversation continues around you and you take a moment to close your eyes and breathe in the late summer air. Two years in a colder, northern state made it clear that you never wanted to be without the sun again. Its strong, constant presence at home was a sign to you that being here was right. Being home was right.

As you begin to doze the creak of the screen door signals Poe’s arrival. You sleepily open your eyes and turn to shoot him a grin. “Well finally, Mom said you were coming by. I’ve been waiting for hours.”

He sketches a playful bow, “So sorry to have kept you waiting.” He swiftly makes his way to the parents, dolling out hugs and greetings before settling down in a chair next to his father.

The afternoon progresses, laughter and chit-chat filling the air. Poe pushes as many of your buttons as possible, as usual, but it feels like home. You playfully threaten to kick his ass out, laughing as you stand and make your way toward the door to get another drink from the kitchen.

Just as you open the refrigerator door, your phone buzzes in your pocket. A tipsy giggle falls from your lips as you pull it up and see your boyfriend’s name flashing across the screen.

“Hi baby,” you answer brightly, “everything go okay getting the UHaul?”

Mark is quiet for a moment, static crackling on the line. He finally begins to speak, the minutes blurring together as he feeds you excuse after excuse. Finally, he tells you he isn’t moving home with you. He isn’t coming. You hang up the phone in a daze.

The living room is silent as you stare at nothing for a minute, not fully remembering how you’d gotten to the couch. Shock has locked up your mind and the backlight on your phone fades to black in your still-hovering hand. He isn’t coming…

The feeling of being watched shakes you from your haze but you don’t turn to the form you feel hovering in the doorway to the kitchen. You aren’t sure how long he’d been standing there, but it’s easy to assume he’d heard enough of the conversation to know what’s going on.

“You can come out of there, Poe, you’re a terrible snoop,” you say quietly.

“Who says I was snooping?” You finally turn to shoot him a weak glare. He’s standing against the doorframe, arms clad in his favorite olive green hoodie crossed over his torso. “I heard a raised voice and thought I’d come see what all the commotion was about.”

“Save it, Poe,” you sigh, slumping against the couch, “I’m not in the mood.”

He looks at you with an all-too-knowing gaze. The one downside of knowing Poe as long as you had: he’d known you just as long. “Alright, alright. I know you aren’t mad at me specifically, so I’ll play nice. Wanna talk about it?”

“Not even a little bit.”

“Wanna drink about it?”

You look at the half-empty drink in your hand and give it a shake. “Sure. Go make me another one. I’ll be done with this one when you get back.” He leaves with a nod, disappearing back into the kitchen.

By the time Poe returns with two fresh drinks and, to your surprise, a bottle of whisky, your drink is indeed gone. “Figured I’d bring the whole bottle, assuming I heard that conversation correctly. What was this one’s excuse?” He sits down next to you on the couch.

“He said something along the lines of, 'You just have so much going for you and I’m only going to bring you down.’ I told him I wasn’t in the business of fixing broken men anymore and if he wanted to break up with me then he needed to just come out and say it. Then he got mad at me for quote, 'not giving a shit’, called me a bitch, and told me it was over.” You hold your hand out for the drink, only to have Poe put the open bottle in your palm instead.

“What a stupid kid.”

“Maybe I’m the stupid one,” you scoff as you take a swig, the amber liquid burning its way down your throat and honing your shock into something sharper. “How do I always attract these kinds of guys?”

Poe looks at you for a second, an unfamiliar emotion on his face. You blink and it’s gone, replaced by the cool, nonchalant mask he usually wore. “Like I said, stupid kid. Might be time to set your sights on a man.”

“Oh sure, bring on the men in their suits with a 401k and a car they didn’t haggle off a junk lot. Where could I find them? I’m sure they’d be interested in a girl fresh out of grad school who still doesn’t have a job. A real catch.”

“You’d be surprised at what people see as attractive. Me, for example. I don’t do too badly. But I’m incredibly attractive so that isn’t too surprising,” he says with his trademark smirk.

“Shut the fuck up,” you mutter, half-heartedly throwing a pillow at him. Surprisingly, he does, and you fall into an easy silence, the only sound coming from the quiet news story on the tv.

After a few minutes, your parents and the Damerons come in and begin gathering up their things to go out. “We decided to grab a cab to Mauri’s for dancing, you kids want to join?” Your mom asks, slipping her shoes on in the entryway.

The hometown bar was legendary for Friday night dancing, but the usual draw just doesn’t tug on you. “Nah, Mark just called and told me he isn’t coming. Not really in the mood for dancing.”

“Oh honey,” your mother sighs, “I’m so sorry.” She walks to your side and perches on the arm of the couch. “Do you want us to stay?”

A warm glow momentarily fills your chest at her concern. “No, please go have fun. I’m just gonna hang here and go to bed early.”

Your mom kisses the crown of your head and pulls your gaze to hers. “If you need anything, we’ll come home right away.”

“Don’t worry, I have to work early so I’ll keep her company,” Poe gallantly offers. You subtly send him a grateful glance. He winks back with a grin.

“Okay, if you’re sure…” Your mom begins before your dad gently pulls her away, reminding her that you’re an adult and that you’ll ask for help when you need it.

The taxi pulls up and your parents file out the door, already bubbling about what songs they hope the band plays and what friends are already there waiting for them. The house quiets down again and you sink back into your seat.

Damn, the couch is small, you think to yourself, realizing how slight the distance is between you and Poe. Was he that close the entire time?

Shaking your head, you turn your attention to the windows overlooking a tidy front yard. The sky outside is on its way to twilight and, in the companionable silence, your mind wanders back to the phone call with Mark. There goes a year of my life… What do I do now?

Poe abruptly speaks up, pulling you out of your moping. “Alright, time for a change of scenery. Want to go sit on the back porch? Get a fire in the fire pit going?” he asks, turning to face you. That man never could keep still long enough to even get through a commercial break.

"Sure. I don’t have a jacket, though. Packed all my cold clothes so they’re sitting in storage.” A small pang rings through you as you remember who you packed all your things with. Looks like I won’t be unpacking with Mark after all…

Whether he sees the hurt in your eyes or not, he doesn’t acknowledge it. “You can wear mine, ya baby,” he scoffs, taking off his hoodie in one swoop and handing it to you, “It isn’t that cold yet.”

You ignore the jab and head towards the back of the house.

The night is starting to cool off. Leaves are starting to turn but not fall, summer is starting to yield to autumn. You pick the oversized chair closest to the fire pit and climb into it, curling up and putting on his sweatshirt as you go. He doesn’t say anything as he grabs some wood from the shed and piles it into the fire pit. Sure, steady movements show just how many times he’s done this, strong arms and dexterous hands building up the logs around the smaller kindling. It doesn’t take long before he’s got a crackling fire going, the flames dancing in the twilight glow. He settles into the chair opposite you. Some time passes in silence before you finally say:

“I’m such an idiot.”

Poe holds space for you to figure out the emotions warring inside you. He doesn’t try and fix the problem, just stares into the flames and waits for you to continue. Usually the picture of calm, you can’t help but notice the muscle flicker in his arm as his fingers tense into a fist. Almost like he’s wanting to argue with the words falling from your lips. From the truths that flow as alcohol plies your tongue.

“I should have seen this coming… Who am I kidding? Of course the only guys who are interested in me end up having mommy issues or daddy issues or something and I, ever the rehabilitator, can’t seem to just let them see a fucking therapist. I have to fix them. So, apparently, I deserve this. Just doomed to a life of bouncing from guy to guy until I’ve given them all the second chances they don’t deserve. I’m a fucking mess.”

Your voice breaks on the last word and you at last let the tears come. The dam breaks and you bury your head in your hands as the last of the shock wears off and your mind comprehends what’s happened. Soft steps walk toward you and Poe slides into the oversized chair next to you.

Just as you pull your legs up to tuck into yourself, Poe slides his arms around you. Both strong and steady, he slides one under your knees and braces one behind your shoulders to pull you into his lap. As soon as you’re settled, you release the tight grip on your legs and slip your arms around his shoulders, leaning into his embrace and letting him hold you as you cry. You don’t worry about why you’re suddenly letting yourself be so vulnerable and exposed emotionally with him, you just let him comfort you with soothing strokes down your back. He lets you cry and, eventually, starts humming. It isn’t any song in particular, he just hums and works a beautiful melody that you can feel in your whole body. You’re familiar with the timbre of his voice, rich and warm, helping you through the sobs rather than trying to stop them. Weathering the storm with you. Finally, the tears stop, your breathing evens out, and you both just sit there for a little while.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, pulling your arms from around his shoulders and wiping your eyes, “I guess it all just kind of caught up with me.”

“You don’t have to apologize, we’ve all been there,” he squeezes you in a small hug but doesn’t let you go. “Although, I’ve never seen you like that.”

“We’ve known each other our whole lives and you’ve never seen me cry?”

"No, I’ve never seen you doubt yourself.”

You don’t respond for a moment before asking, “What do you mean?”

“In all the years we’ve known each other, I’ve never seen you stop believing in yourself. You’ve always been this confident, albeit stubborn, person who was actually known to give me a challenge every once in a while.” You look up to see a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Why do you think I never complained when you came over?”

“Uh, because we were kids and didn’t have a choice in the matter?”

“My brother was always having friends over. You’re one of very few I didn’t ask my parents to bar from the house.”

“Sweet talking me right now, Dameron?”

“Just thought you could use some perspective.”

Throughout the entire exchange, you didn’t move and he didn’t let you go. It’s dark now, mellow in the September evening. The crackling of the fire and the wind in the mature trees are the only sounds as you decide to sneak another look up at his face, your breath snatched away by what you see.

He’s staring into the fire; eyes and face unburdened by facade. The flames light up his dark brown eyes, brows slightly furrowed as if in some deep thought. Thick stubble, maybe a couple of days’ worth, peppers his strong jaw, his mouth set in a thin line. A scowl, so unlike the roguish smirk you’ve seen light his face for as long as you can remember. You can’t stop yourself as you reach up to lightly run a finger over those full lips, some emerging part of you demanding to be noticed in this intimate and uncharted territory.

His eyes snap from the fire to yours, just as surprised as you are to find your fingers brushing from his lips up his jaw and down his neck, savoring and memorizing the lines of his face; the flames in his eyes that aren’t entirely just reflections from the fire pit in front of you.

“What are you doing?” he asks, his voice as rough as the stubble under your fingers. His pulse hammers through the vein in his neck, tempo nearly matching yours as blood thunders through your body. You wonder if he can feel it in the lingering touch of your fingertips.

“I honestly don’t know.” You quickly take your hand away and start to push out of his warm embrace. “I’m so sorry.”

“Wait.” He doesn’t let you get up as he gently adjusts you so he can see you a little better. “I didn’t mean that to sound like stop. Just… please. Stay.”

So you do. Wrapped up in his sweatshirt, in him, the smell of him familiar and somehow entirely new now. After your heartbeat settles a bit you whisper, “Tell me what you’re thinking?”

He continues his silent vigil, staring at the flames and tracing circles along your leg. He’s quiet for long enough that you begin to think he didn’t hear your silent request. As you’re about to ask again, he speaks:

“I’m thinking… I’m thinking that I don’t want to ruin this.”

Your heart drops, waiting for the blow to land. The fear that you’d misread the situation and that the connection you’d felt flickering in the fading light wasn’t reciprocated surges up and you prepare for him to disappear when, suddenly, words are tumbling from him like he’s afraid he won’t be able to get them all out if he doesn’t do it all at once.

“I don’t want to ruin what we have, what we’ve always had. I know I’ve always been a bit of a bully, picking on you the way I’ve always picked on my brother, but underneath it all I’ve always known you had a hold on me. You worked your way into a fundamental part of who I am without even trying. I almost asked you not to leave a couple of years ago, but you were set on going to grad school and I knew I couldn’t get in the way of that dream. And when you brought that Mark guy home for Christmas…”

The memory flashes in your mind. His parents’ snow-covered house, lights flickering merrily in the deep winter night, glowing as you opened the door and greeted everyone. The night had gone well but… Poe had left early that night, muttering something about seeing friends from out of town before slipping out the door. The realization must’ve been clear on your face because he nods and says, “That’s why I bailed that night. Seeing you flushed from the cold walking through the front door, eyes sparkling from all the Christmas cheer, I felt lighter than air. Our eyes met and I could’ve sworn I saw something spark… But then I looked behind you and saw him, saw the way you looked at him throughout the night, and I couldn’t take it. I had to get out. I told myself that night that I would never be anything more to you than what I had always been and to move on.”

The glistening in his eyes breaks your heart, the urge to comfort him enough to bring your hand back up to his face. You cup your hand around his jaw and he sighs, closing his eyes and leaning into the contact. Without opening his eyes, he whispers, “I’m sorry. I promised myself I wasn’t ever going to tell you any of this.”

“I’m glad you did, Poe.” Your free hand rests on his chest, savoring the heart beating solidly beneath. “I really am.”

“Please tell me what you’re thinking.”

Now it’s your turn to be quiet for a moment. You pull your hands back to tuck into your chest and lay your head on him once again. After a couple of steadying breaths you say, “Do you remember the last night I was here before I left for school?”

Of course he did. You didn’t think either of you could forget that night. You and your families, along with some other friends, got together for karaoke at your favorite bar as a send-off. People steadily trickled out all night but you, Poe, and a couple of other friends straggled behind until it was suddenly one in the morning. You had spent the night singing with him, song after song, harmonizing and coming up with your own lyrics to songs you both knew by heart.

“I do. That’s when I almost asked you to stay.”

“There was a part of me that wanted you to. I went to the bathroom while Henry was singing some terrible rendition of "Runaway” and, as I was washing my hands, I heard you start “Wonderful Tonight”. The whole world stopped, Poe. I snuck out of the bathroom to watch you sing and I couldn’t breathe… I wrote it off as the night of drinking making me goofy but I swear to God, Poe, I’ve heard you sing that song a million times and never heard it that way before. And then you looked at me. You looked right into me and saw all of me and I couldn’t look away. The memory of it all pops into my head sometimes and I’m still left breathless by it. By you.“

As you stop speaking, you could swear the wind and fire stop making noise too. Nothing exists outside the shaking breaths and thundering heart you can hear, unsure if they’re coming from you or Poe. You can feel it; the freefall you were about to be in. Was it really only an hour ago you were upset about some boy breaking up with you over the phone? Some kid who wasn’t ready for everything you wanted for your future? And here, right now, was a man. An honest-to-God man, willing to keep his needs hidden so you could choose your own path…

You lift your head up and look at his face to gauge his reaction to what you just told him. He looks down at you with starlight and flames in his eyes as he meets yours and then, slowly, as if expecting you to disappear, Poe closes the small distance between you and kisses you.

It’s… Soft. Almost hesitant, a silent invitation without expectation. He’d never put you in a situation where you didn’t have a choice and, even now, even after both of you let down your walls and shared these tender secrets, he’s still giving you a choice. There’s no doubt in your mind as you deepen the kiss, putting all the words you’d been holding back for years into the contact. He lets loose his breath in a sigh and sends trembling hands to tentatively explore your body. The timid touches, feather-light and careful, make you smile as you pull away.

“I want this, Poe,” you promise him, your hands cradling his face, “I want you, and I have for a long time.”

His smile in return sends sparks through your veins and he wastes no time threading his fingers into your hair, sending you crashing back together. His free hand, strong and sure and steady now, freely roams every curve of your body. His mint and cedar smell wraps around you as your own hands grasp at his sweatshirt. Wanting- needing- more, you playfully nip at his bottom lip.

His sharp intake of breath makes you pause, worried you’ve done something wrong, but a laugh rumbles low in his chest. “So that’s how you want to play?” he mumbles into your lips.

A conspirator's grin lights your features, “I don’t have the faintest idea what you mean.” Before he can respond, you turn your attention to his neck, kissing a trail down the side. You nudge the collar of his t-shirt away enough to gently graze your teeth over the soft spot where his neck meets his shoulder, his entire body shivering at the sensation.

“Careful,” he breathes. “Careful, sweet girl, we’ve got ti- oh fuck.”

Interrupting whatever train of thought Poe had started, you shift your body over his and straddle his legs, pinning him to the chair and stopping his words with a searing kiss. After a moment, you pull back to look into his face. His eyes burn with emotion; those beautiful, dark eyes, almost black with desire in the glow of the dying fire. No one has tended to it in a while and it looks like no one will for a while longer…

“Tell me you want me,” you softly request.

“I want you.” His hands tremble with restraint against your hips.

“Again.”

“I want you,” he responds again, the quivering spreading to the rest of his body.

“Then have me, Poe,” you whisper, reaching for the hem of his shirt, “because I want you, too.”

A low growl escapes his lips as the internal leash snaps. His lips find yours again and you part for him easily, his tongue hungrily sweeping through. The lingering taste of whisky tickles your lips and adds to the fire burning in your body. Every touch, every noise and place your body meets his surges with wildfire, the driving demand for more, more, more pounding in time with your heartbeat. He tears away from your lips to find any piece of skin not buried in his hoodie, kisses nearing desperate as your hands explore the planes of his chest. The muscles flex and shift, your nails finding purchase as you grasp the soft fabric of his shirt.

“Poe, please…” You’re not entirely sure what you’re asking for, the pulsing need in every corner of your body taking control of your tongue and nearly begging for more. More of this, more of him. Taking the hem of his shirt in your hands, you begin to tug it up and off of him when he senses the shift and takes over.

In one swift motion, he has you in his arms and stands. His long legs eat up the distance from the deck to the door, then inside to the guest room you’re staying in. Once inside, he lays you reverently on the bed and kneels on the ground next to you.

“Wait,” he pants, forcing himself to take a breath and remove his hands from your body. You whine at the loss, sitting up and grabbing for him. He stops you and asks, “You’re sure? Earlier this afternoon you had a boyfriend and now… I just don’t want you to feel like I’m taking advantage of you.”

The sincerity of his words fills your heart to near bursting. Had you really been treated so poorly that this moment of true decency felt like a gift? Taking your own steadying breath, you rise to your knees and pull him up to face you, wrapping your hands around his. You’d told him you wanted him, you had no other words to give him. So, instead, you guide his hands to your lips to kiss them while your gaze stays locked with his and nod.

“Good,” is all Poe says with a heart-breaking smile before gripping your waist and tossing you back onto the bed. Your laugh tangles with his in the air, a shimmering melody and harmony you’ve been practicing your entire life.

The wildfire burning in your veins flares back to life at the gleam in his eyes. He climbs onto the bed over you and hovers there, eyes drinking in your body spread out underneath him. He hikes the hem of his hoodie over the waistband of your pants and traces a finger over the sliver of skin peeking through. Agonizingly slow, he ghosts his hand up, up, up your torso to graze over the fabric of your bra.

“So many layers,” he muses, hand never stopping its movement as he leans down to brush his lips over yours.

You’re beyond words. The promise of him touching you, really touching you, striking you dumb. You can only focus on where his hand is and, if you move just right…

“Come on, baby, tell me what you want,” he whispers, voice skittering over your bones, full of silken promise.

“Touch me,” you manage to whine, too entranced with the way his body feels over yours to be embarrassed at the begging mess you’ve been reduced to.

“Yes, honey, but where?” Stubble scrapes gently along your cheek as Poe dips his mouth to your neck.

You get ahold of yourself enough to grab his hand over your layers, pressing down and responding with a breathy, “Here.”

“That’s a good girl.” Heat flares in you again at the praise. He nips at your ear while pulling his hand out of your shirt and grabbing the hem, taking both the layers and pulling them over your head. His long fingers, lightly calloused from years of work and playing guitar, slip the straps of your bra off of your shoulders and he slides the garment away from your breasts, exposing the heated and tingling skin to the cool air. His eyes spark with awe and lust as he cups both of them with his hands.

Your legs press together seeking any release from the tension building in your core and a small whimper sneaks its way out of you. The movement isn’t lost on Poe and he takes momentary pity on you, pressing a deep, lingering kiss to your lips. “I’m going to enjoy,” he murmurs, “Coaxing every one of those noises out of you.”

“Promises, promises,” you chide, finding a little more of your voice.

“There she is.” Poe’s smile lights the dim room and brings a smile to your face as well.

If your heart didn’t already feel like it was full to bursting, the vulnerability on his face would’ve done it. Your friend was here, the boy you grew up with was now the man making you feel safer and happier than you had in years. The realization helps you bring down that final wall, any hesitation or fear falling away and clearing your mind.

This. This was why none of your relationships had worked in the past. Why there was always that little something that felt like it was missing. You had crawled through deserts of heartache and sorrow to find that the oasis was here, with him, all along.

Flinging every scrap of self-consciousness to the wind, you take his lower lip between your teeth and nip it gently. His appreciative groan urges you on, encouraging you to grab his shirt and yank, pulling it off his lightly muscled torso. His hands make quick work of the clasp to your bra and, within a few heartbeats, the garment falls to the floor. Fumbling hands open his belt and pants. Your body aches with the promises his hands make along your skin.

“Get your… Get your pants off,” you demand between kisses.

He laughs, pure and rich, before quickly acquiescing to your demands. You take his moment of distraction to maneuver out of your own shorts and underwear. When Poe looks back at you, he pauses, eyes taking in every inch of your skin laid bare before him.

The look in his eyes when his gaze finally meets yours is like coming home.

Beyond words, Poe dives back into you with a fervor. It’s an unleashing. He grips the back of your neck with one hand while the other skates down your body and lands on the outside of your thigh, pulling your leg up low around his hips.

The tension in your body has you about to break. Your hand seeks him out, winding between your bodies and wrapping around the proud length of him. His hips surge forward at the contact, silently begging you for more. There’s no hesitation as you languidly pump him up and down, his arms beginning to shake from holding himself above you.

“Sl- Slow down,” he shudders, “You’re driving me wild here.”

You don’t respond, only keeping that gentle, tantalizing pace going, savoring the way his body responds to your touch.

Pulling away from your lips, Poe’s hand surges down to grab your wrist, halting your teasing. “Someone isn’t very good at listening,” he growls.

“Someone is taking his sweet time,” you fire back, mischief lacing your words.

Poe settles onto his knees and your leg falls from where it’s been curled around his body. He brings your hand up above your head, taking its twin and crossing your wrists in one hand, pinning them to the pillow. “You’re going to regret that,” he promises, sending a wave of excitement through you.

His hand releases your wrists and he slowly eases down your body, eyes never leaving yours as he settles between your legs, shoulders settling under the backs of your thighs. His face, sun-kissed and as familiar as your own, framed by your legs, it all makes your breath hitch and heart pound with anticipation.

A wink is the only warning you get before his mouth is on you, kissing and licking and drinking you in like a glass of fine wine. Your hands jerk to the covers next to you, grasping for purchase to keep you from flying out of your skin. His tongue dances through every inch of you.

“Poe…” His name is the only word you can utter, the only prayer you can muster as he offers his own kind of worship. Sparks light your vision as you barrel towards release and your hands weave into his curls, begging him to stay right there…

You get one more breath before the orgasm is tearing through your body. He never breaks away from you, rather, his claiming grip on your thighs keeps you tight to him. He never falters through the waves rolling down your spine that send you shaking.

It could’ve been hours or it could’ve been seconds, but, as the tide recedes and your mind drifts back into the present, Poe rises to his knees and brushes a hand along the side of your face. “You still with me, baby?”

You summon a nod, glazed eyes finding his above you.

“That’s a good girl,” he croons, lifting each of your legs up and over his shoulders once again. He kisses the inside of each knee as he settles your legs.

Like a marble sculpture, chisled by the hands of artists and imagined by the minds of poets, he kneels before you, eyes burning in the soft lamplight of the room. “Tell me you want me,” he asks softly, echoing your demand from before.

“I want you.” You’ve never wanted anyone or anything more.

“Again,” he echoes again, slowly notching himself at your blazing entrance.

“I want you.” Your voice is bright and clear.

“Good,” he responds, and slips easily into you.

Like a puzzle piece gently settled into place, your soul feels just how right it is for you to be here. It isn’t just sharing your body with someone, it’s a homecoming. The way your bodies meld and match is secondary to the echo of contentedness at the realization that your paths have finally led you here.

He starts gently, allowing you time to adjust to the fullness of him. A gentle rise and fall as he rocks into and out of you. His hands grip your thighs while his lips kiss anywhere he can reach, unable to completely hold back. And you don’t want him to. You want to feel every inch of skin and muscle you can. The need burns through you as you reach for the sturdy legs beneath him, just out of your reach.

“Please,” you gasp as he begins to pick up the pace, “I need… I need to…”

“Anything,” he says, letting your legs fall so he can lean into your reach. “Anything, it’s yours.”

You pull him over top of you, not caring as his full weight crashes onto you, and wrap your arms over his shoulders. Scorching kisses brand your collarbone and neck as he wraps around you as well and flips over so your body lies on his. All the gentle touches and movements are lost as he picks up his pace, punishing and overcome with need.

“Yes,” you sigh, burying your face in the crook of his neck and panting against his sweat-slicked skin.

From his lips pour praise, drunk on the feeling of you wrapped around him. Draping loving words around you like silk and lace, he punctuates each word with kisses and bites and doesn’t stop holding you through it all.

The edge of another orgasm looms before you, but you hold back as much as possible, wanting to tumble over the edge with him. You lift your head just enough to look into his eyes, the beginning of laugh lines etched into the skin around them. “Let go, Poe, I’m ready.”

Pressing a kiss to his lips, you rest your forehead against his and shift your hips in time with his. The angle threatens to overwhelm you but you hold on, freeing your hands to slip into his hair. Energy sparks around you and, with one final thrust, Poe tips over the edge and pulls you with him.

Shattering is the only way you can describe the feeling of the waves burning through you, Poe half a breath ahead of you. Panting and shivering from the exertion, you fully collapse on top of him, heartbeats pounding in call and response to each other. You’re fully content to lie like this forever, wrapped in his arms and the smell of him, skin to skin and souls laid bare to one another.

He kisses the top of your head, finally adjusting to roll you over next to him. He looks into your eyes, something unsaid burning just below the surface of his intense gaze.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” you say quietly, never looking away from him.

“I’m thinking,” he pauses for a moment, “that I wasted a lot of time not telling you how I felt. And that I don’t want to miss any more time.”

“Then we won’t.” You smile brightly up at him, taking in the excitement and joy on his face. “You’re stuck with me, Dameron.”

He kisses you again, sweet and gentle and unhurried. You kiss him back, trying to put all the words you held yourself back from saying into it. Making up for lost time. He pulls away, looking you up and down, wonder shaping every feature.

“No more wasted time. You and me against the world,” you say softly.

He pulls the covers over both of you and, as he pulls you in close to his chest, he repeats reverently, “No more wasted time.”

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i-think-i-did-it-again · 2 years

Text

Let you go II

Warning: swearing, assault, fighting

Casie was right, he looks awful. His hair is a matted mess, he’s drenched in sweat, his lip is bleeding and dripping blood down his chin, his nose and left eye is bruised and swollen, his nose ring coated in dry blood and his pupils are completely blown. He’s a mess but your heart still swells at the sight of his big blue eyes.

“Fuck, I missed you,” he sobs and wraps you in a bear hug, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

You look over his shoulder and gasp at the state of his room. You try to comfort his large frame in your small arm as you take in all the damage. Both his lamps are broken, his nightstands are tipped over, wood splintered and cracked, his headboard has been practically torn from his bed frame, his full length mirror is shattered all over the floor, his television has been ripped from the wall, there’s clothes everywhere. Even his pillows are ripped apart leaving feathers everywhere.

He stands upright so he can look at you, cradling your face in his hands. His eyes are drinking you in but as he reads your obviously shocked expression, he turns his head to observe his handy work.

“Colson, what happened?” you can’t think of anything else to say as you step into the room.

Now that you can see his ensuite as well, you can see the damage isn’t confined to just his bedroom. The large mirror covering the far wall of the bathroom has a massive crack across it, all of the products surrounding the sink have been thrown onto the floor, including a couple of bottles of cologne.

“I…Why did you leave me?” he whimpers from the doorway.

You’re shocked by his question, the avoidance of your own question not going unnoticed though. He knows exactly why you left, it wasn’t a secret. He wrote a whole damn song about it. He changed, not for the better, and you just couldn’t handle it anymore. You were so in love with him and he would promise to try harder and be a better boyfriend but then he’d break that promise over and over until you were sick of it, sick of him.

“Colson, I didn’t come here to talk about us,” you sigh, turning to leave but his strained voice stops you.

“No, please. Don’t leave. I’m sorry. I know exactly why you left, I just- I just. Fuck! Why is it so hard to talk to you?” he rakes his hands down his face in frustration.

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly. Communicating with each other never used to be difficult. You could tell each other anything and it was carefree and simple. “Let me clean your face while you think about what you want to say?” you sigh as you take in his battered face again.

He nods in agreement as you head to the bathroom. He sits on the edge of the tub and you search for a washcloth in the mess. You find a clean one behind a cupboard door half pulled from its hinges. You wet the cloth and get to work on cleaning the dried blood on Colson’s chin. He watches you as you concentrate on his cuts and bruises, avoiding his eyes.

“Are you at least going to tell me what happened to your face?” you try again to get some answers, knowing that if you pester him enough he’ll eventually open up.

“I found this dive bar halfway between here and the airport and I got in a stupid fight with some guy,” he shrugs before looking back up your eyes again.

“You know how I know you’re lying to me?” you ask and he shrugs nonchalantly. “You always avoid eye contact when you tell a lie. Now, tell me what really happened.”

“I forgot how well you fucking know me,” he chuckles and then winces at the pain of moving his face. “I went this dumb house party that some guy I used to know was hosting. There were these assholes there that knew who I was and they started saying shit about me, which at first I ignored. Just a bunch of frat bitches trying to show off but…then one of them said your name and then the main asshole started making comments about you like he knew you.”

Colson’s searching your face now, trying to distinguish if there’s a chance that you actually know this random guy and you see he’s trying to work out if maybe you’re dating. The thought of being with anyone else makes you physically ill but you don’t want to admit that to him. When you don’t say anything he continues his story.

“At first, I thought maybe he was just saying some generic shit about women in general but then he mentioned your black Converses and your faded Nirvana tee and I realised he did actually know you.”

“What did he look like?” you ask purely out of curiosity. If he is a frat guy, there’s a chance he goes to your college and maybe knows one of your roommates.

“Um he’s kind of a blur. I remember he was tall, beefy looking, sort of build, jet black hair. He was wearing a football guernsey but I didn’t recognise the team.”

You stop your hand mid-air in front of Colson’s lip as you realise exactly who he’s talking about. Oh shit, oh shit. You feel the room start to spin and you place a hand on his shoulder to steady yourself. This can’t be happening, this isn’t happening.

“So you do know him?” Colson is starting to sound angry now and you immediately know you need to de-escalate the situation.

“Yeah I know him. He’s the captain of my college’s football team. He probably only knows me because of you though and he was using me to push your buttons. Most people only know about me because of you,” you explain as calmly and nonchalantly as possible, hoping he doesn’t push you any further.

Colson studies you closely and you try to pretend you don’t notice. You continue to clean his lip until he stops you by grabbing your wrist, wrapping his fingers around the flesh. It’s the first time you’ve felt skin to skin contact with him and your body explodes with electricity. His eyes are still on yours but he hasn’t said anything and you can feel the tension in the room grow.

“I’m not the only one who can’t lie for shit. You talk faster when you lie. Now tell me the fucking truth,” he spits between gritted teeth.

“Colson, you’re hurting me,” you whine and he immediately lets your wrist go but he doesn’t drop the conversation. He just keeps staring at you until you continue. “The weekend I…left,” he flinches and you quickly keep talking. “I went to a frat party. I drank way too much because I didn’t want to feel. I ended up in the backyard, alone. That guy, Troy, he was out there too. He came over and we started talking and he seemed nice until he pushed me up against the wall and stuck his tongue down my throat. I tried to push him away but he was so big and way too strong for me. I was trying to get away but I was trapped so I ended up having to knee him in the balls and then I ran out of there.”

“Baby, hey. I’m so sorry that happened to you,” Colson’s expression immediately softens and he cradles your face between his large hands, wiping away tears with his thumbs. “Well, now I don’t feel so bad about beating the shit out of him,” he jokes and you chuckle softly.

Once you’ve finished cleaning up his face, you and Colson begin to clean up the mess he’s created. Most of his furniture needs to be replaced and his bathroom is going to reek of cologne for a while but at least the mirrors and feathers can be cleaned, he clothes folded and the bed can be remade.

After you’ve finished cleaning up as much as you can, you convince Colson that he needs to go downstairs and apologise to Casie and his friends for taking off last night and for scaring them by not coming home. He agrees and you follow him downstairs. You don’t say anything when he laces his fingers with yours, still not 100% sure of how calm he actually is and not wanting to do anything to set him off.

He sincerely apologises to everyone and then all take turns to hug him and accept his apology. A couple of them whisper thank you’s to you for calming him but you just shrug and tell them you didn’t really do anything. Casie is a bit more reserved with her forgiveness and she doesn’t hug Colson, instead nodding and disappearing up the stairs to retreat to her room. Colson goes to follow but you tell him to let you go.

You find Casie in her room, curled up on her bed, scrolling through her phone. You come in and sit beside her quietly. You want to let her talk when she’s ready until you realise she’s crying as she stares at her phone screen.

“Casie, it’s ok to be angry at him but he is sorry,” you try to comfort her but she pushes you away.

“I’m not angry at him!” she yells, flinging herself off the bed and staring at you coldly.

“Who are you angry at then?” you ask clearly confused by her sudden mood swing.

“I’m angry at you. You came and you fixed everything but now you’re going to leave again, just like you did the first time. You didn’t even say goodbye to me, you didn’t care.”

“Casie, that’s enough,” Colson’s deep, firm voice sounds at the doorway and you can see he’s angry at her.

“Why? Because her leaving only affected you? I loved her too, you know? But no, you were all too busy being selfish to notice how it hurt,” she’s full on crying now and all you want to do is comfort her. “I missed her too, I wanted her to come back too. I wanted YOU to fight for her instead of just giving up. And now that you’re ok again, she’s going to go right back to being selfish and leave.”

“Casie.” Colson warns but you interrupt him before he can scold her.

“No, she’s right,” you interject quickly. “I was so wrapped up in how I felt that I didn’t think about you Casie and for that I’m truly sorry. Just because things didn’t work out between your dad and me, didn’t mean I had to forget about you.”

Casie is watching you with a cautious look in her eyes like you’re trying to sell her something and she’s not sure if she can trust the sale. She always was very mature and careful for her age. You knew that growing up in the spotlight would have an affect on her. She’s wiping away her tears as Colson kneels in front of her so that they are eye to eye.

“I did some really messed up things to Y/N, that’s why she left and I deserved it but you’re right, you didn’t and we’re both sorry for that. But now I feel like I have a second chance and you can bet for damn sure, I’m not going to let her slip away that easily ever again.”

Colson looks over her shoulder and you and you gulp at the confidence in his eyes. He smirks at your flustered expression before turning his attention back to Casie and wrapping her up in a firm cuddle. Casie hugs you as well, her way of telling you she forgives you, and the world feels a little better. Rook calls up the stairs that there’s pizza and Casie quickly scurries out of the room to stake a claim to the food.

Before you can follow her, Colson blocks your path and again cradles your face in his hands. He crashes his lips onto yours before you know what’s hit you and you immediately melt into the familiar touch. He holds you against his body so that he can feel every part of you, snaking his arms down your back to your butt and squeezing. He pulls back to catch his breath and leans his forehead against yours.

“I was being serious when I said I’m going to fight for you this time. I can’t and don’t want to live without you and I’m going to do whatever it takes to make you see that,” and with that he turns on his heels and leaves you to dwell on that promise. The thought of him doing whatever it takes makes your stomach flip and knot at the same time. Will he keep his promise or is it empty like all the others? God, you hope not because you’ve missed that crazy, loveable man so much it hurt and you don’t want to him go ever again.

#colson baker #machine gun kelly #mgk #tickets to my downfall #ttmdf #mgk imagine #colson x reader #colson baker imagine #machine gun kelly imagine #mgk x reader #mgkxx #est19xx #colson baker x reader #machine gun kelly x reader #good mourning #mgk angst #mgk fluff #mgk fanfic

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nightingaelic · 1 year

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I loved your Courier with wings piece and I was wondering when you get a chance can you do one with the fallout 4 companions?

It was already something for a vault dweller to emerge in the wasteland and become more than just another corpse in the weeds, victim to one of the countless dangers that roamed the Commonwealth. But not only did they refuse to die, they refused to crumble in the face of the unseen threats, the factions and egos and mysteries that ruled this new world with little care for those just trying to get by. There were tales taller than the Mass Fusion skyscraper about them in no time. A dead spouse, a missing child, a mission of vengeance and rescue. A life lived before this wreckage, before fire rained down on America and shaped it anew. And strangest of all, a figure that had emerged from deep underground and shot skyward, refusing to be imprisoned again.

Cait: The Combat Zone gig kept Cait busy for the most part, but she caught rumors here and there from the raiders that ran the place and radio broadcasts in the spaces between fights. She wrote the rumors off as some hotshot with a power armor jet pack and gliding wings, but others were less easily reassured. There were stories about Corvega, Beantown Brewery, even Gristle's gang up by Concord, and none of them had happy endings.

"If they make their way here, we're all dead," Tommy said after hearing about another sighting of the mysterious vault dweller.

"If they walk in the front door, just put them in the ring with me," Cait joked. "I might not make it, but at least it'll be a good show."

When the sole survivor did finally walk in the front door, Cait was astonished that they weren't punched full of holes by the raiders' bullets as soon as they entered. They were fast, wheeling over the theater's seats and diving down on the unlucky that needed to pause to reload. Cait and Tommy took cover until the dust had settled, but while Tommy kept cowering as they approached the stage, Cait rose and brushed herself off. "You just wiped out our livelihood, angel," she said.

The sole survivor smirked. "They shot first."

"Oh, I noticed. Got more bullets in the seats than you did in the crowd."

They glanced around. "This place needed some renovations, anyway."

Cait grinned. "Can't say I disagree with you. Why come here at all? I figured this wasn't your scene."

"It's not." The sole survivor's eyes wandered across the cage ring onstage. "I just wanted to see what happened to this place. It's been a long time since I visited, and someone in Diamond City said it was still putting on shows."

"Still putting on..." Cait shook her head. "You can't be pre-war. Last I checked, ghouls didn't sprout wings."

"Nobody sprouts wings." The sole survivor smiled. "I went through a hell of a lot to earn these."

"Sounds like a story that warrants a drink." Cait abandoned Tommy and gestured toward the recently-vacated bar. "What's your poison, angel?"

Codsworth: It had been a little over 210 years since Codsworth had seen the sole survivor, but there was no mistaking the figure that descended the hill upon which Vault 111's entrance sat. "As I live and breathe!" the Mister Handy robot cried, floating forward to greet them. "It's... it's really you!"

The robot stopped short when he realized their pained movements, and how impeded they seemed by something they carried on their back. "Is there something...?"

"Codsworth." The sole survivor collapsed, falling forward into the dry grass. A pair of wings, each one at least nine feet long, splayed out in an unsuccessful attempt to keep them upright.

"Oh dear, oh dear." Codsworth rushed to their side. "Can I assist you? Let me help you stand."

The robot did his best to steady them as they climbed to their feet again, marveling at the wings as he did. They looked like something out of the kitschy art pieces he had seen for sale at pre-war home decor shops, particularly the fanciful Christmas nativities. Aside from the vault suit, they could have fit right into one the Biblical scenes. "Forgive me, but how did you come to possess these... appendages?" he asked politely.

"Beats me." The sole survivor had their eyes closed. They looked like they were about to throw up at any second.

"Some water," Codsworth suggested, retrieving a sample from his built-in purification system. "That's it, drink up. Slowly, now. You'll need every bit of it if you want to rebuild your strength."

Once they were finished, Codsworth accepted the empty can and stowed it away. "There. Now, where is the rest of your family? Surely they can't be far behind you, if you managed to emerge unscathed."

The look on their face was more than enough to tell Codsworth that his worst fears had been realized.

Curie: When the Miss Nanny robot that had been concealed in the hidden wing of Vault 81 realized that her unexpected visitor had wings, she immediately asked if they would allow her to examine them. "C'est extraordinaire," she said in wonder, floating around them and scanning the feathery additions that hung from their shoulders. "These must be the result of Vault-Tec experimentation, no?"

The sole survivor shifted uncomfortably under her assessment. "I can tell you the details later. We've got a sick boy to save, first."

Curie happily relinquished the cure for Austin Engill's illness and stood by quietly as the Vault 81 residents thanked the sole survivor for all of their help. The boy was waking up by the time they were finished, and the sole survivor bashfully extended one of their wings so he could reach up from his hospital bed to feel its feathers. "They're real," he whispered, astonished.

The sole survivor permitted Curie to follow them out of the vault, but they put off her request for an examination for several days. They were protective of their wings, unfurling them only at times where flight was absolutely necessary. Curie took measurements of their estimated weight and length as best she could, but the distraction of the beautiful, adaptive post-war world around her began to win out. She stopped asking about the sole survivor's wings after their first week together.

Months later, after Curie had come to the inevitable conclusion that her robotic body was insufficient for the work she wished to conduct in the wasteland, the sole survivor brought up the topic with her again. "In case the consciousness transfer goes wrong," they explained. "Did you want to-?"

Curie stopped them. "It will be okay. Everything is prepared, and Doctor Amari can be trusted. Save the moment for when I have the ability to truly feel them."

When Curie awoke on Doctor Amari's memory lounger, the sole survivor was standing over her, peering at her face with touching concern. Curie smiled and reached a hand up to grasp theirs. "Cocou," she murmured.

In response, the sole survivor uncurled a wing and guided her hand to it. "Enchantée," they said, sliding her fingers into the feathers.

Paladin Danse: Danse only became aware that he was staring at the vault dweller who had helped him fend off the ferals outside the Cambridge Police Station when Scribe Haylen cleared her throat. "Paladin, are you alright?"

"Fine," he replied a little too quickly. He dropped the nose of his laser rifle and approached the stranger who had two wings spread out behind them, stretching and flexing in the fading afternoon sun. They looked like statues he had seen in the Capital Wasteland, art deco guardians that still watched over the DC ruins and their inhabitants. They also looked tired.

"Will you three be okay from here on?" they asked him, lowering their own weapon. "That subway station nearby is loaded with more of these... things."

"We'll manage." Danse surveyed the pile of bodies that had formed around them during the attack. "You handled yourself well. I don't suppose I could trouble you for more assistance, while the rest of my team recovers?"

Hours later they were deep inside ArcJet Systems, fighting off Institute synths inside the XMB booster engine's silo, already spinning around each other like their partnership had been born long before that day. Danse was running out of fusion cells, the sole survivor was less sure of their aerial movements within the concrete tower, but the synths kept coming. Desperate, the sole survivor threw a nearby switch and the booster engine roared to life. They realized their mistake too and dove toward the Paladin in power armor, but Danse threw a hand out to ward them off. "Stay there!"

The fire from the engine tore through the synths, and the sole survivor was flung upward on the wave of heat that had been released at the silo's base. Danse fell to one knee and braced himself until the flames had abated and the ash that had been released began to settle. When he looked up again, the vault dweller was descending, circling lower and lower until their wingspan obscured the scaffolding above and filled his vision.

"Who are you?" Danse asked, dropping all pretenses of protocol.

They touched down next to him as lightly as dandelion fluff descends on a field. "Nobody, anymore," they replied.

"I highly doubt that."

The sole survivor smiled. "On your feet, soldier. Let's find that deep range transmitter."

Deacon: The moment Deacon heard about the sole survivor of a vault that was flying around the northern end of the Commonwealth, he immediately abandoned his other surveillance projects and started putting himself in their path. They took their sweet time building up the confidence to approach the larger settlements in the wasteland, but Deacon was a master of patience.

Finally, after another ordinary day of looking busy at Bunker Hill, the winged wonder talked their way through Kessler and ducked around staring caravan hands to go sell some duct tape to Deb. They looked gaunt, like someone who had gone from having all their needs met to barely surviving in a short period of time. The knees on their pants were patched, and Deacon was positive that there were bruises underneath from rough landings. He ducked out of the settlement as soon as they disappeared into the columned trading floor, before anyone could notice his interest.

His next look at them was a longer one, as a security officer in Diamond City, circling the marketplace while they consumed a bowl of noodles that was probably their first real meal in days. Their wings were a little more weathered, with more ragged edges from use and wasteland abuse, but they were still whole. Deacon risked some more scrutiny, as he certainly wasn't the only security officer that was watching the sole survivor. Their wings weren't visibly synthetic, but neither were most synths these days - just because there wasn't a harness or cybernetic mesh attaching them to their owner, it didn't mean they were organic. Then again, the Institute was also known for experimentation with that tricky manipulator, FEV, so it really was anyone's guess where the wings came from.

Deacon tried a greeting in Goodneighbor. "Hey," he said as they brushed past him, on their way to see Daisy about a library book return. They eyed him with surprise, but only nodded before continuing into the pre-war ghoul's shop. Deacon smiled and loitered for a little longer, letting a plan form in his mind's eye before slipping out the gate and heading back to HQ.

Sure enough, they found their way to the end of the Freedom Trail before the year was out. Desdemona was annoyed, which Deacon had anticipated, but when she poked him for details about the Commonwealth's latest curiosity, he put himself on the line. "Yes," he said when she asked if he was vouching for them. "Definitely."

"Why'd you do that?" the sole survivor asked him after Desdemona's show of force was over. "You don't know me."

"This might be jumping the gun a bit, but we have big plans that are just now getting set into motion," Deacon answered, straightening his sunglasses to help block out the catacombs' spotlights. "Someday we're gonna go public. Now, I know you're already committed in terms of being a symbol of hope, but I'd like to give you my pitch about why you'd be a good one for the Railroad."

Dogmeat: Dogmeat was unconcerned with the sole survivor's wings, beyond a perfunctory inspection upon their first meeting at the Red Rocket Station. The sole survivor stood still for the dog while he sniffed their feathers, waiting for him to whuff his satisfaction when finished. "Good enough, boy?" they said, stretching the wings carefully so as not to startle the dog. "Something to get used to, I know. For both of us."

Dogmeat cocked his head to the side and accepted their affection, panting happily. The sole survivor sighed. "At least something made it through the war without coming out too different on the other side."

Mayor John Hancock: Hancock was about ready to start plucking feathers when the sole survivor finally came winging his way. They'd been circling the downtown ruins for a week now, scouting the area as if searching for something, and they had all his Goodneighbor guards on edge. "They're gonna drop in one night and start wrecking the place, Hancock," some of the ghouls would say when he tried to reassure them. "We can't fly. What are we supposed to do?"

"You can shoot, can't you?" Hancock always reminded them. "Don't do it unless you're sure they're about to drop a grenade on you or something, though. Last thing we need is a feud with the would-be savior of the Commonwealth."

Fahrenheit got most of the guards straightened out after that, but the whole thing was such a headache for the mayor that when the sole survivor deigned to touch down, he straightened himself out and strode up to them with every ounce of authority he could muster. "About time you showed your face in town," he said. "Now what the hell do you want that's got you circling Goodneighbor like a hawk?"

The sole survivor looked taken aback. "A merc," they said. "Goes by the name Kellogg. Someone told me he used to come through here occasionally, and I was hoping I could catch him."

Hancock looked to Fahrenheit, who shook her head. "Ain't seen him," he said.

"Been over a month," Fahrenheit added.

The sole survivor's face fell. "Shit. Guess that lead's a bust."

"Why not land here sooner and ask?" Hancock demanded to know.

"I was warned to keep my distance," the sole survivor replied sheepishly.

Hancock rolled his eyes. "Hovering over my town like a goddamned bird of prey. Nobody here's gonna hurt you. Except maybe Finn, but he won't if you've got a spine under those wings. Just keep your intentions known and we won't have a problem. Understood?"

"Understood."

"Grand." Hancock spread his arms wide. "Welcome to Goodneighbor."

Robert Joseph MacCready: MacCready was in the middle of explaining to Winlock and Barnes that they would get their money eventually when a stranger in a vault suit stumbled through the door. He was about to advise them to get lost for their own good when he realized that the two Gunners had become completely distracted by something about their entrance. "What's the big-"

With a blustery thump, the vault dweller unfurled wings larger than their own body that knocked over the VIP room mannequins and blocked the door. "Problem?" they asked the Gunners.

Winlock eyed them suspiciously, but he didn't go for his gun. "No problem. We were just leaving."

He nodded to Barnes, and the two men tried to inch around the vault dweller's wings. They didn't make it easy to leave, and in the end the two men had to wait for them to diminish their stance a bit before squeezing past into the hallway.

"Never seen those two hit the road that quickly before," MacCready commented once they were gone. "I think I heard about you on the radio once or twice. Thought you were a myth. Are you some kind of newfangled super mutant?"

"Something like that." The sole survivor smoothed their feathers down again and approached him. "I heard there's a mercenary around here who's a crack shot with a sniper rifle."

"You're looking at him," MacCready said with pride. "What do you need a gun for?"

"To watch my back, mostly. But also to teach me some distance shooting tricks." The sole survivor sighed and held up the pistol they'd been using for the better part of their time above-ground. "This works fine within a certain range, but I need some practice with rifles before I even try using one while doing aerial maneuvers. Hancock said you're the best sniper he knows, so here I am."

MacCready set aside the vault dweller's unusual appearance and got down to brass tacks. "Price is 250 caps, up front. And there's no room for bargaining."

"Done." The sole survivor began emptying their pockets.

"And you need a rifle of your own. I'm not teaching you on mine."

His new boss jerked their head skyward. "Think KL-E-0's got what I need? She seemed pretty well-stocked, today."

MacCready jumped to his feet and began scooping up the caps they were depositing on the VIP room couch. "Worth a look. Just don't get anything laser or plasma to begin with. Learn the basics first, and then you can start to get fancy."

Nick Valentine: The day the sole survivor came to Vault 114, Nick was just as shocked by their appearance as they were by his. He thought they might be wearing loose clothing and beating Skinny Malone's boys up with a tennis racket, they way they were whistling and flapping around down in the vault's atrium, but he didn't get a good look at them until they peered through the circular window of the Overseer's office. "Sweet heavens to Betsy," the detective exclaimed when he caught sight of the wings on their back. "What exactly are you?"

"What are you?" the sole survivor countered, eyes wide at the old synth's Institute-manufactured face.

"Open the door and we can compare notes," Nick suggested.

They obliged, and the vault door slid open with a rusty hiss. The sole survivor folded one wing up and wrapped the other in front of them, as if their pinions were going to protect them from the unknown figure with the glowing, golden eyes. "Relax," Nick reassured them. "Never seen a synth before?"

"What's a synth?" they asked. "Someone outside Diamond City called me that, and then everyone got really quiet."

"Oh, kid." Nick lit his last cigarette and took a drag, looking the sole survivor over as he did. "Is that vault suit you're wearing yours, or just a fashion statement?"

"Mine."

"Hmm." Nick waved the little torch around to point at their wings. "So you're either a Vault-Tec experiment I've never heard of, or you might be a distant cousin of mine. But we can unpack all of that later. Right now we've got a couple of seconds to get out of here before the rest of Skinny's guys realize their buddies aren't just taking their time changing the guard shift."

Piper Wright: As soon as Piper caught sight of the person approaching Diamond City's main gate, she completely forgot about the fact that Mayor McDonough had ordered her to be locked out. "It's you!" she said excitedly, hurrying up to the sole survivor. "Travis hasn't shut up about you for the past two weeks. What are you doing in Diamond City?"

"Looking for someone," the sole survivor replied, surprised. "I'm sorry, you are?"

"Piper Wright, owner of and reporter for Publick Occurrences. Diamond City's resident newspaper." Piper stuck her hand out. "Not to spring this on you during your first day in town, but I'd love an interview. Saving the folks in Concord, restarting the Minutemen, winging around the Commonwealth like something out of a storybook... you've made a lot of people curious about you. Me included."

The sole survivor shook her hand hesitantly. "I'll think about it. Why is the gate closed?"

"Just a little disagreement with the mayor. Nothing for you to worry about, I'm sure they'll let you in." Piper rubbed her chin. "If you want to skip the security screening though, I don't suppose they can stop you as easily as they stopped me."

The sole survivor caught her drift, and they looked at the gate in alarm. "They locked you out of your home?"

"Eh, not for long. I'll find a way back in."

"Come here." The sole survivor offered her their hand. Piper took it, and found herself swept up in their arms. The vault dweller's wings shot out, and the wind they stirred up nearly knocked loose her cap.

Their flight was short, likely because the sole survivor didn't want to get shot down, and they set her down gently in the middle of Diamond City's main street toward the marketplace. They ignored the stares of passersby and looked up at the newspaper office's sign. "This is you?"

"Yeah." Piper tried to catch her breath again and wound up coughing. "Sorry. Yeah. Did you... do you want to come inside?"

Preston Garvey: Preston had been pretty sure that he and the rest of the Quincy survivors had met their end in the Museum of Freedom, even as he took potshots at raiders from the building's balcony. He was prolonging the fight, but they were wildly outnumbered and Sturges had no more tricks up his sleeve. Even Dogmeat had disappeared sometime during the fray, which was a bad omen if ever he'd seen one.

When the German shepherd reappeared and tore into the raiders on the ground, Preston almost wanted to run the dog off again, to save at least one of their skins. He nearly missed the shadow that followed Dogmeat, the uncoordinated dive to the ground that swept the surprised raiders back a block and slammed them into buildings one by one. It was all Preston could do to grab his laser musket and clutch it to his chest before the newcomer in the vault suit alighted on the balcony next to him, folding up a pair of wings on their back neat as you please.

"Need some help?" they asked breathlessly.

"Who are you?" Preston replied. "What- where did you get-"

"Vault 111. Above Sanctuary Hills." The sole survivor indicated the northwest road out of town. "The rest can wait. Are there more in the building?"

"Yeah, and I've got people inside." Preston shook off his surprise. "I don't know if you've got much room to maneuver in the hallway outside the room we're holed up in, but if you can get out into the museum's atrium..."

The sole survivor nodded and produced a pistol. "On it. Lead the way."

As Preston opened the door for them, the phrase Mama Murphy had been muttering to herself all the way from Lexington popped into his mind. "Our guardian angel," he murmured.

"Sorry?"

"Nothing. Just glad you dropped in."

Strong: The only way up Trinity Tower was through 30 stories of Strong's brothers, and Strong was confident that any human that made it to the top of the building would have already partaken of the fabled milk. He was therefore annoyed when the first human to arrive was cheating, using bird wings to pass up the mutants and fly straight for the cell where he and Rex Goodman were incarcerated.

Rex wasn't nearly as bothered. "Oh, beneficent bard! A rescuer, swift on swallow's wings! Do hurry up and let us out, it's been days since they gave us something to eat that wasn't raw."

Strong grumbled his disdain as the rescuer picked the lock, and he glared daggers at them the entire way down on the outside lift. When they finally reached the bottom intact, he refused to thank them for their help, even though Rex berated him for remaining silent. "Puny bird," was all the super mutant said.

The sole survivor was forgiving though, and they did offer to help the super mutant in his quest after Rex explained the situation. "I'm looking for it, too," they said. "Or something like it."

"Strong drink milk first," Strong insisted. "Then human. No more fly away from fights."

The sole survivor chuckled. "The wings might grow on you, Strong. I hated them at first too, but now I don't know what I'd do without them."

X6-88: When the Director's parent appeared at the rendezvous point near Libertalia, a shiver ran down X6-88's spine. He checked the involuntary reaction before it had run its course, but the arrival of a winged figure from on high was one that no amount of Institute training could have prepared him for.

They approached him leisurely, just as much at ease with their overt superiority as him - they with their enormous, feathered wings, he with his engineered deadliness and efficiency. "Do you like what you see?" they asked him, pausing to give the Courser a proud pose.

"Opinions are irrelevant to our mission today," X6-88 replied evenly.

"Oh, come on." The sole survivor leaned in and ran a hand up his shoulder. "All you Coursers do when I walk into a room is stare. The SRB has you trained well, it never feels impolite... but now that we're not surrounded by Institute walls, you can tell me what you're thinking. Is it admiration? Envy? Maybe a little fear?"

X6-88 desperately wanted to twitch, to shrug their hand away, but he relaxed his muscles and kept his face still. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said.

"Boo." The sole survivor took a step back, and a mild pout crossed their face. "No one in the Institute ever tells me their real thoughts. It's getting old."

BONUS!

Ada: "Where did you acquire your mobility upgrades?" Ada asked the sole survivor after they assisted her in fighting off the scrapbots and laying her caravan companions to rest.

"I don't actually know," the sole survivor answered, running a hand along their left wing's feathers. "I was frozen in a vault for two centuries, and I woke up with them. They've served me well, but I keep waiting for something to go wrong."

"Turing was always a little wobbly whenever Jackson tinkered with his jet thrusters," Ada recalled. "Zoe always made sure to run some maneuverability tests once Jackson was finished. I could help you conduct some of your own, if you are unsure of your upgrades' capabilities. It's the least I can do."

"Thanks." The sole survivor fed another branch to the fire and shifted on the stump they'd claimed as a chair. "More than anything, I'm worried about wiping out. Someday I might not be able to dodge a missile and I'll just go down and break a leg, or the wings themselves. And then I'll just be a sitting duck. I can fly okay to escape fights, but these are way too heavy to run with."

"Have you considered Stealth Boy technology?" Ada suggested. "Or an armor-integrated medic pump, in case of injury? There are plenty of pre-war military technologies that give you more control over such a scenario."

The sole survivor looked up. "Now there's an idea. Do you know where I might try to find those?"

"I know of a few spots that my caravan marked as places of interest."

Old Longfellow: Wings on a person weren't a common sight in Far Harbor, and of course the harbormen stared when the newcomer landed on the dock. Even Old Longfellow had himself a double take, when they first walked into the Last Plank looking for a guide to take them up to Acadia. But once you got past the initial shock, they looked like any other wastelander down on their luck. Their boots had holes in them, their clothes were bedraggled, and even their wings were in need of a good preen.

"They heavy?" Longfellow asked as they made their way up the road toward the observatory together.

"Heavier when it's wet." The sole survivor turned and grimaced at the appendages in question. "How long will this fog last, do you think?"

Longfellow laughed. "Long as time itself, I reckon. Some years it's manageable, some years it's worse. Never goes away completely."

He yelped in surprise when the wastelander's wings unfurled, shaking water everywhere. The last thing he saw before they shot straight up into the sky was their look of distaste.

They were back in a few minutes, gliding in to a less-than-graceful landing on the asphalt. "You weren't kidding," they gasped, chest heaving. "It... it never ends."

"Mm-hmm." Longfellow nodded. "Best to stick together, or you'll lose track of the ground. Crash straight into the surf like a drunken radgull."

The sole survivor smiled between their deep breaths. "Have you ever seen a radgull get drunk?"

"Once or twice. Not a pretty picture."

Porter Gage: The first time Porter Gage laid eyes on the scared wastelander, they had just shuffled off the shuttle from the Commonwealth into the Gauntlet. He could hardly believe what he was seeing, staring at the security cameras that tracked the progress of hapless adventurers - an ordinary mark, except for the wings they were lugging around like so much dead weight. He could only imagine what Colter was going to say, if they made it all the way to the bumper cars arena.

The Gauntlet was a narrow walk, with barely any room to spread your arms out, let alone a pair of wings as large as the ones the vault dweller was sporting. If that wasn't enough, the chain link fencing and barbed wire that the raiders had used to enshroud the outside sections was more than enough to discourage them from trying to take flight. By the time the newcomer made it to the final staging area, Gage was wondering if they even could fly, or if those wings were just for show.

Colter was thrilled, of course, and completely wrapped up in this latest symbol of his own might. It wasn't hard to slip the vault dweller the tip about the Thirst Zapper while the Overboss was hyping up the crowd, spewing shit about clipping the wings of God's angels himself. The Operators were making larger bets than they ever had, pulling out piles of caps and shouting over the crowd whether they backed the Overboss or the Angel, the Pack members present were claiming the winged intruder as an honorary member even if they were about to get their wings ripped off, and several of the Disciples were already begging to be the one who got to dissect the freak of nature when the dust had settled. Gage kept his mouth shut throughout, hoping against hope that his face didn't look too guilty.

He needn't have worried, though. Gage knew the fight was won the second the vault dweller burst from the locker room, a whirlwind of feathered wings and improvised weaponry. The crowd screamed, RedEye roared his approval, and Colter's laugh shook the arena. "Think you're some sort of messenger, some higher power? Ha!"

The wastelander smiled and pulled the Thirst Zapper from their belt. "The only message I bring is death, Overboss. And I'm here for you."

Elder Arthur Maxson: The Prydwen and its vertibirds had been the only things in the sky as the Brotherhood advanced north, or at least the only things that posed any kind of threat. Elder Arthur Maxson took to visiting the airship's forecastle during his free hours to watch the empty skyscrapers sweep by below them, to watch the radgulls wheel along the coast.

He made a point to be out there as the Prydwen approached the ruins of Boston, another broken metropolis on the horizon that held a sinister threat somewhere within it. The young Elder was looking over a rusty satellite dish array, deep in thought about the Institute's potential methods of concealment, when he was interrupted by a flapping noise and a thump on the grating behind him.

Maxson spun around. His eyes widened. Standing on the walkway was a wastelander in a vault suit and combat armor, unremarkable in appearance but for the feathered wings that stretched out at their sides, each one longer than he was tall. "Who are you and what are you doing here?" they demanded.

Maxson glanced around. No alarms had been sounded, no Knights had come onto the walkway. He was on his own. "Elder Arthur Maxson, leader of the East Coast Chapter of the Brotherhood of Steel," he answered truthfully. "I believe we announced our intentions upon our approach."

The vault dweller scoffed. "'Do not interfere, our intentions are peaceful'? That tells me nothing. What are you doing in the Commonwealth that you don't want me to interfere with?"

"I am not inclined to give you that information so freely," Maxson countered. "For all I know, you could be an agent of those I seek to wage war upon."

"It's the Institute, isn't it?" The vault dweller folded their wings up and took a step forward. "You're after them, too."

Maxson hesitated. His eyes were drawn to the impossible instruments of flight that this wastelander was using. Not machine, but certainly not a product of nature, either. "Explain yourself, civilian. What exactly are you?"

The vault dweller folded their arms, too. "You first, Elder. I think we might share an enemy, but I've never heard of a Brotherhood of Steel."

Desdemona: The agents of the Railroad were full of theories about this vault dweller's arrival and what it might mean, but Desdemona paid them no mind. The last thing her organization needed now was more attention on itself, and a winged shadow over Boston was the least of their worries. They were still recovering from the losses at the Switchboard, still trying to move their cargo out of the region without attracting the attention of increasingly-common Courser and synth patrols, still trying to survive when most of the Commonwealth was against them.

So when the sole survivor knocked in the door of the tomb that sheltered HQ, Desdemona was furious. She didn't care about their reputation, their allies, the great wings that curled over their shoulders: She wanted to nail them to the catacomb wall with her railway rifle for their hubris. "Get out," she hissed, already mapping out the next place she could move her operations to. "Whatever you have to say is not worth the trouble you will cause us."

They had the audacity to look wounded, and the feathers on their back ruffled anxiously. "But I thought-"

Desdemona planted her feet and took aim. Drummer Boy and Glory followed her lead, but as usual, Deacon was on a different page. "Dez, give them a chance," he suggested. "They might surprise you."

"I hate surprises," Desdemona shot back, refusing to lower her gun. "If it were any other wastelander standing in front of me, I'd hear them out, but there is no way that someone as visible as them can bring us anything but grief."

The sole survivor raised their hands slowly. "Sure. I get it. I just thought that you were looking to help synths."

The tone they said it in was a familiar one. Desdemona's rifle faltered for a second. "You're a synth?"

"Um." The sole survivor jerked a thumb over their shoulder. "I don't think these come standard on most humans. My best guess is that I'm some kind of prototype. I know I attract a lot of attention and that's not how you work, but I still want to help."

Deacon looked smug, and Desdemona made a mental note to chew him out about withholding information from her later. "Are you vouching for them?" she demanded to know.

"Yes." Deacon crossed his arms. "Definitely."

"Then they're your problem." Desdemona dropped the nose of her rifle and turned, leaving the dusty circle of the entrance's spotlights. "And if I hear that any of our operations have been compromised because of your pet project's celebrity status, I will shoot them out of the sky myself."

#fallout #fallout 4 #fo4 #companions react #sole survivor #12 days of ficmas #merry christmas

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fujobrainrot · 2 months

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Part 1: ill wind

I can't draw rn but I keep having thoughts™, so I decided to try to write them instead. This is part 1 of however many. I already wrote 3 parts and I'll post them soon, after I finish editing them. This is unbeta'd so I welcome any constructive criticism. The lore is completely fucked because of changes in the timeline so just roll with it. Title is from a Radiohead song

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1600-ish words, gen, no ships, no TWs (may change in the future), John centric/John's POV

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Summary: John didn't die and Sam is deep into his blood addiction.

He never thought he'd live to see the day that Sam would succumb to the filth inside him. He always knew he'd be the one to kill him once he did.

John had followed Sam from the motel where he shared a room with the demon Ruby. Whose blood he drank regularly. Azazel’s rot - his Sammy would never do something so vile of his own volition. His plan had been to confront Sam there, in the parking lot of the motel, and kill the monster his son had become. After that, he would hunt down Ruby and deal with her. He had never told his sons, didn’t want them to use it, but he possessed a knife that could kill demons, acquired through means he was not proud of. He had used it only once, in a scuffle where he had no choice, it was either kill or die, no time for an exorcism. But as the demon died, so did the host. John was no stranger to murder - he had done unspeakable things in his time with the marines, and more yet to protect his Sammy from a group of hunters who had learned of the boy’s tainted blood and decided to take matters into their own hands - but his vow as a hunter was to protect people, and he would uphold it as best he could. God help him, though, he would make an exception for Ruby. He knew nothing of the poor woman she had locked away inside herself. Was she a sister? A mother? What were her dreams, aspirations, hobbies, talents? It didn’t matter, she would die too.

There, in that parking lot, looking at Sam, however, he couldn’t do it. With his heart beating fast, mouth dry, his hands trembling, his blood rushing so fast he could hear nothing else, he hesitated. By the time he came to his senses, Sam was already in his car. So he followed him. John had hotwired the oldest, most decrepit car he could find before coming here, couldn't just take the Impala given the circumstances, and used it to follow Sam expertly. He had taught his boys everything they knew, everything that made them, including their faults and weaknesses. Maybe those most of all. So he knew exactly how to tail them unnoticed, had done it before.

It had to be tonight. Not another day could pass, John refused to let his boy deteriorate further.

Sam seemed to have been headed to the closest dive bar at first, but after parking, he walked past it and into the wilderness behind it. John knew how to traverse any environment, be it urban or wild, without making a sound, knew how to take advantage of blind spots and shadows. Especially an environment like this, with thick flora, hot and damp and alive. It reminded him of his service, put him in a very specific mindset, like he could go through with any order, regardless of how opposed to it he may be. Made him feel like a soldier. Ready - and yet unprepared.

After some time stalking his son, when he feels he’s far enough away from civilization, he decides it’s time, can’t delay this any longer. He raises his gun and shouts Sam’s name.

Sam turns quickly and meets his father’s eyes in the gloom, his own demon-black and large in surprise, and John's full of anger and the fear he can't allow himself to feel. John grips his gun with both hands on the handle, finger on the trigger, safety off, muzzle trained on Sam’s heart. He’s marine steady.

The air is stale and humid in this swampy forest and his boots caked in mud. John's feet are uncomfortable inside damp are socks. Surrounding them are the sounds of insects, frogs, the occasional howl of some canid. It makes John sweat with anticipation, but he can see that his son's skin is dry, unnaturally so. Lit by the full moon filtered by the canopy above them, he looks pale, long dead. Marble smooth.

Sam's mouth slowly curls into a mirthful and derisive smile, one that looks like it should show sharp blood-covered fangs instead of his son’s perfect white teeth. His dimples frame that disgusting grin in a way that turns John's stomach with the wrongness of it. It's uncanny. His hands are still steady though. It has to be tonight.

Sam breaks the silence with a snicker. “What do you think you’re doing?” he pauses, but John can’t say a word. “Are you here to kill me?”, he laughs again, louder, cruel. John’s doesn’t falter, but his throat is tight and dry, can’t force out a single word. He won’t admit it but the fact is that, under Sam’s gaze, he doesn’t know what to say. Sam spreads his arms, “Go on, then.”

His son. His boy, his baby, his Sammy. A bead of sweat rolls down his temple. Pull the trigger, he tells himself, but he doesn’t. He’s not your Sammy anymore. He’s Azazel’s weapon. “It’s not too late, Sam”, John finally manages, his voice gravel rough but thankfully steady. He takes his finger away from the trigger. What the fuck? Yes it is, he’s too far gone. There’s nothing you can do for him now. “You can be cured, Sammy, I know how. I can help you”, he pleads.You can’t. Finish him. He clicks the safety on, lowers his gun. Idiot. “You don’t have to do this, don’t have to be this - this-” Crap. He hates it when he stutters.

“Yes I do. You know it, don’t lie to me - to yourself.” Sam finally drops his arms, and his demeanor changes. He tilts his head down a bit, somber. His eyes look bigger like this. “You’ve always known there was something dirty in me, since I was a little kid. You’ve known so much about this, about me, and - and you lied, and you kept lying. Hell, you even know his name! How long, huh? How long have you known his name and you never told me?” Sam barks out a laugh, sardonic and defeated at the same time. After a moment he continues. John thinks he sounds exhausted. “You know why I need to do this dad. I need to stop Lilith, I’m the only one -”

“No, you’re not”, John interrupts, loud and assertive. He’s glad his trepidation doesn’t come through. “We can figure this out, Sam, we have other options. We can figure out how to make more bullets. And even if we can’t use the Colt for whatever damn reason, there’s gotta be something somewhere on how to stop her. We’ll find another way. We always do” John begs. Sam’s expression doesn’t change.

There’s a pregnant pause between them. The air feels thick, heavy, suffocating in John’s lungs. He can do this, needs to do this, to bring his baby back to him, to protect and fix him. He needs to kill him. He needs to wash away his sickness, he needs to destroy Azazel’s weapon no matter what it takes, he needs -

Sam takes an apprehensive step towards his father. Yes baby, please, please come to me. The closer Sam gets, the more John’s relaxes. His chest fills with warmth and although Sam’s eyes are still hard and black, John can already feel his son in his arms. He lets go of himself then, his hands shaky and his furrowed brows relaxing, his breath quick, though he doesn’t let himself smile yet. He thinks he’s about to cry. When Sam reaches him, John's eyes are wet. Sam’s face is still unreadable to him however. It doesn’t look light and hopeful like it should be in a moment like this, but he chooses to ignore it. He hasn’t had his boy this close to him in months.

Then, Sam wraps one hand around John’s own on the grip, and the other around the barrel, and part of John feels delirious at the skin to skin contact he missed so much with his youngest, so desperate he was that this feels like a caress, that he doesn’t register Sam’s intention immediately. Slowly, firmly, Sam brings the gun back up, lines it with his heart again, and John’s blood goes cold. In Sam’s eyes, John sees a veil of sadness, anger, and something else he’s too emotionally illiterate to understand.

Despair paints John’s own face then, mouth agape, eyebrows raised and eyes big, scared. The tears he was holding back break, roll down his cheeks and disappear into his days-old scruffy beard. His chin quivers like a child's, and he shakes his head in disbelief. His thoughts devolve into no no no no no no no no no no Sammy no!

“Do it. ”

I can’t.

Sam’s face twists into a snarl, and he demands again, louder, harsher, “Do it!”.

I can’t. I never could.

Sam disengages the safety, brings John’s index finger into the trigger with ease. John’s hands have gone slack, and if he had the mental bandwidth to think of anything, he would be surprised that he’s still standing.

“This is what you do, isn’t it, John? Kill monsters? One shot, that’s all it takes, one squeeze of your finger and this will all be over. You’ll have done your job.”

A long moment passes, and Sam sighs. He seems disappointed somehow. He removes John’s hands from the gun and John lets them fall to his sides. He hasn’t blinked once since Sam held up the gun, but tears continue to trail down his cheeks. Sam takes John’s gun with him as he steps away, and John does nothing.

When he’s some meters away from his father, Sam turns and says, cutting like a blade, “Coward.”

I am.

Sam keeps walking away and John’s legs finally give. He doesn’t register the cold mud seeping into his jeans where he fell to his knees, or on the tips of his fingers, low because his shoulders are slumped and his body is curling into itself. His gaze is fixed on Sam’s back, and when his boy disappears among the foliage, he hiccups, and then starts to sob.

#supernatural #john winchester #dean winchester #sam winchester #fanfic #fic #mine #dean isn't in this part but he will be in the future

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bizarrebazaar13 · 6 months

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it’s my birthday so I’m rambling about the references/whitsun eggs in this fic I wrote for the gift exchange. under the cut for length, minor light fingers spoilers, alcohol discussion, and spoilers for the story brass grail.

The paper itself hardly puts him in a good mood, either. Its featured story of the evening concerns a zeppelin full of Rubbery Men seen flying over Watchmaker’s Hill. They stopped briefly to deliver an item to a person identified only as V.K., and are thought to have come from the Roof itself. This V.K. is apparently known to have strong ties with devils, something that the paper finds delightfully scandalous and Reginald finds quite alarming.

V.K. is Vela Kepler, who is referred to by zir initials for two reasons: to mimic the game’s style of referring to people as “Lady R___” “Dr F____” etc., and because if the train was coming is not about my ocs, so I wanted to avoid introducing entirely new characters to people who might not be familiar with my ocs. especially since Vela’s only appearance is this brief cameo in the newspaper.

the zeppelin of rubbery men is a light fingers reference! after the roof section of the story, the player collects materials for the hybrid’s birth, one of which is stalactite-nectar delivered by their dirigible crew. Vela’s crew was made up of rubberies.

He’ll revisit his notes at home, where the cloying (and oddly floral-scented) smoke of the Moloch Street train doesn’t fill his lungs and burn all the way down.

Milton, a devil from mask of the rose, is mentioned to smoke rose-scented cigars. I liked the idea of devils being associated with roses, and wanted to make the train weirder. so, floral smoke.

He has wondered, too, if irrigo might erase only specific memories. If Michael could be made to forget certain bargains.

confession: I haven’t actually played Brass Grail, which is where the majority of Reginald’s backstory for this fic comes from. my knowledge of it comes from the lore wiki and anonymous asks I sent to @irrigos while writing this.

The Bishop glances around, and seeing no prying eyes, says, “No one here is an ambassador. Most of them aren’t even sanctioned by the Brass Embassy. They’re fugitives, particularly daring tourists, curious academics, all sorts. Look at their faces. You’ll see.” Reginald does. The devils here look much less human than those roaming the streets outside; goat horns curl from foreheads, antennae sticks out of hair, compound eyes glitter in the candlelight, lips curl around fangs considerably larger and more conspicuous than is permitted in semi-polite society.

this vignette takes place in a bar whose patronage is almost entirely infernal. in the game, we see diplomats and politicians and ambassadors of hell, but very few non-governmental devils, and no one who isn’t there for the soul trade. the idea of devils who don’t change themselves to look human, or look less human than the diplomats, was something I’d been thinking about for a while.

the bar itself is a vulnerability for the devils. it’s an entry point into London that can be shut down, and it’s also a place where the deception and snake oil salesman charm typically associated with hell is lifted, at least partly. the rare honesty of this place is, I think, what keeps Reginald from immediately trying to close it.

“I heard rumors,” he continues, “about the campaign of ‘68. And a certain man lost to the devils.” He pauses, drains the last of his sherry in one gulp. “It was a long shot, I know, but I had hoped he might show up here. He sounded... determined, from what a certain loquacious vicar told me.”

my experience with Michael’s characterization is limited; I’ve talked about him to Reginald in mask of the rose, and heard about him in brass grail. that said, he does in fact strike me as someone who might show up to an infernal dive bar.

The Bishop does some sort of word puzzle, penciling letters into boxes on flame-proof paper.

he’s doing a crossword. they weren’t invented as we know them until 1913, but it’s not unreasonable to think the devils would have them, given their already anachronistic 20s fashion. hence the flame-proof paper.

this also further highlights a key difference between the two bishops: while I do think the bishop of st fiacres is genuinely devout, he’s adapted to the more flexible christianity of the neath, to the point of accepting crosswords from the devils. Reginald very decidedly has not.

“Fancy a drink?” the Bishop asks. “No devils this time.” “It’s one in the afternoon,” Reginald points out, but he doesn’t say no.

this fic involved a surprising amount of googling about alcohol rules for anglican priests. conclusion: the bar scene is apparently permissible (excluding the literal devils). the implied day drinking that happens at the end probably wouldn’t fly, but this is the neath.

#aelan speaks #fallen london #my writing

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crush3dmary · 9 months

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Pissgate? Oh?

Okay so I got 3 asks about this so it's time to spill some tea. This is some of the most insane drama I've dealt with in the Tales fandom to date and that's saying something. No holds barred here, I'm sharing this all because I don't have a ton of tales people following me here anymore lmao.

So this story goes back to 2020 when I was writing my fic absurdities and echoes, which includes a torture scene. To put it one way, it kept going in uh, directions I didn't want it to go (read: Zelos kept ending up with a finger in his ass) so I decided to do a spin off fic to get All That out of my system. The fic was initially supposed to be a one off horny thing but it eventually evolved into a whole Bad End AU where the crestoria party are sacrificed to Kasque and Aegis is kept as the personal pet of the twins. It's called Abominations against God if you want to look it up but to be honest you probably shouldn't, and don't read it unless you read the tags. Anyways, in abominations, I was trying to think of ways to humiliate Aegis so I ended up making him piss himself which was an accident, no pun intended.

So anyways, I wrote that, and a now ex friend who isn't relevant to the story was like "that was hot can you write one with Vicious" and the perks of being my friend is that since I have no limits I'll write you whatever freaky shit you want. So I wrote a Vicious piss fic, dropped the google doc in the group chat, and jokingly said "PayPal me 30 dollars and I'll post it". Someone actually did, and I'm a they of my word, so I was like fuck it we ball and posted it on anon.

Now enter the bane of my fucking existence and two of the biggest pains in my fucking neck for the last 3 years, two big name fans who we will call S and K because I don't do subtlety and I don't care if they see this. If you are active in the English twitter crestoria sphere you will almost certainly have encountered them. Anyways, these two are the definition of hypocrite purity wankers. They go on and on about freaks in the fandom and how disgusting all the r18 content is, but then they post monsterfucking smut on an alt ao3 account. I wish I could make this up. So anyways, I posted my anon fic, and then someone else posted an anon piss fic right after in solidarity which was cool. But then S and K take to twitter and complain about all the "unsanitary" content, as they put it, in the ao3 tag. I can't speak for the other one but mine at least was tagged thoroughly and you knew what you were getting into when you clicked it. Basically it was a stupid thing to complain about because if you don't like the content you can just not engage with it. They had their little hissy fit, I ended up blocking them later for being a pain in my ass, and the story ends there right? Wrong!

I have another, also unrelated friend who's into piss and I wrote something for them for their birthday and I was like "I'm not posting this because of what happened last time". They said they had a piss fic they wanted to post, and that they'd post theirs if I posted mine. So I was like, cool, let's do this. Solidarity! And OF COURSE, guess who has a problem with it?

S and K go on a tirade about all the disgusting fics in the tag again and how the crestoria fandom is full of sex crazed freaks or whatever (which is again really rich coming from people who pearl clutch and then post smut on an alt account in the same breath). In comes anon #2 again, who dive bombed in with their own piss fic the first time, posting another like the absolute legend they are. However, in the author's note they put something like "proud to be one of the 3 people keeping the crestoria tag horny" in reference to S and K's little temper tantrum... And this made them FLIP THEIR SHIT.

Literally, they freaked out soooo bad. They were talking about how because of this author's note people were stalking them and trying to trigger them on purpose and the most ridiculous shit. All the while... If you don't like the content and you KNOW that you don't like the content... What are you doing in the author's note? And people ROASTED them for that. Because none of this would have been a problem if they had just ignored it and moved on. But no, they had to open the fics up, look at the author's notes, and make a big stink about the whole thing just because they didn't like the content.

Eventually they locked their accounts for a bit when they started getting backlash but this is always going to be a big reason I will ALWAYS be on the "don't like don't read" train. Because you might not be into it, it might not be your ship, your kink, whatever, but it tickles someone's fancy, and you freaking out about how disgusting and degenerate it is will make the people who enjoy it think YOU think they're disgusting and degenerate. Do I have a piss kink? Honestly that's irrelevant at this point, but ultimately I support everyone's right to make whatever content they want and to have the people who don't want to see it utilize the block and mute functions. They're there for a reason.

Anyways, peace and love ✌️

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princessbxtch-rps · 2 years

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Give me back my hometown

|| Six Months Later ||

closed starter for @invsiblestrings

That night replayed in her mind for days after, until the words he said became like song lyrics, playing on a loop in her mind. At first they were overwhelming, filling her every thought, invading every moment. But over time she was able to push them into a box in the corner of her mind, only to come out in her weakest of moments and the late hours of the night. Her life with Dan, her boyfriend, had continued on. It felt like a perfect match more now than ever before. He was comfortable: she knew his patterns, knew he wouldn’t try climbing her fortress. The things he seemed to like most about her were things that weren’t even her - that she was docile, quiet, but beautiful enough to get his finance bros jealous. It was their arrangement: he had his freedom, she had her protective layer.

She had planned on continuing on like this for the foreseeable future. She had articles to focus on, having been promoted to a full-time writer. She mostly wrote for the website, but a few of her publications had made the magazine. She could have continued on like this, a shadow of her before…but fate had other plans. Or more specifically, Winnie, her closest female friend growing up. She had gotten engaged a year prior, and had asked Reagan to be in the wedding. Of course she had said yes, thinking seeing Cole again might not hurt that much. But then that night happened, and she never wanted to see him again. Winnie hadn’t taken her many excuses well, mostly because Reagan refused to tell her the true reason.

So here she was, at the local dive bar for the first night of the four-day long festivities; a welcome party, hosted by Winnie and her fiancé. Cole was here, and it took everything in her to not look at him. Instead she focused on her alcohol: a moscow mule here, a cape codder there, some straight up tequila shots. Dan had actually wanted to come, making some comment about wanting to make sure everyone knew she was his. A statement he had stuck to pretty closely. His hand had been on some part of her all night: holding the back of her neck as she talked with old classmates, above her knee as they sat at a booth, and wrapped around her waist, nails digging in when someone casually mentioned Cole. He knew of Cole; that they had been together briefly in high school, grew up together, and that he had been the one to show up in New York. That night had been one of the only times Dan was angry, and she did not want to see that again. “You know, Reagan, we had always thought you two would be the first to get married.” Dan pulled her even closer as a classmate made the comment, his hand moving slightly down to her ass. She sucked on her drink, desperately trying to keep calm. “Yeah, right. Have you seen her? He’s lucky he even got her once. I don’t plan on letting go anytime soon.” He laughed, and instead of feeling joy, Reagan’s stomach dropped. Even though her eyes were squarely focused on her drink, she could swear she felt a pair of eyes on her and Dan.

#muse: reagan #dont kill me for what dan does k thanks #give me back my hometown: cole x reagan #cole x reagan: 02

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rustbeltjessie · 1 year

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Rust Belt Jessie’s NaPoWriMo 2023 Prompts: #10

dream on

Way back in 2004, I wrote a short story (which was supposed to turn into a full graphic novel, but never did, for reasons) about Sebastian Fatelli—a character who stood on the wet streetcorners of Baltimore, handing out dreams to passerby.

Nowadays, the poet Mathias Svalina runs a Dream Delivery Service, where he writes dreams (and nightmares; thought they cost more) and delivers them to people—by bike, if they’re nearby; by mail, if they’re not.

Here’s one of my favorites of his dream-poems, from his chapbook Some Dream Holidays:

(You may notice that Mathias’s dream holiday is a prose poem. Some people hate prose poems, or claim they’re not even really poetry.* So this is where I reiterate that I don’t make hard & fast distinctions between poetry and prose. I have written both short and long-form works that look like prose to the untrained eye, but are, conceptually, poems.)

So.

You could use this prompt to write a poem from a dream you’ve had, but I’m hoping you’ll do something more in the vein of Sebastian or Mathias. Dream of a dream. Write a (new) dream, or nightmare. Or you could take the seed of the idea from a dream you have had, then flesh it out with imagined details. Combine a real dream with a fake dream. Though, since both were created in your mind, which one’s more real is impossible to truly say. I guess it might be more accurate to phrase it as: Combine elements of a night dream, which came to you unbidden, with elements of a purposeful daydream.

Whichever way you go with this—whether writing about a dream you’ve had, making up a new dream (said I got new dreams!**), or combining the two—try to dive deep into that weird dream logic. You know, where things that you know to be not just false but completely ridiculous in waking life are accepted without question in the dream world. Like, you’re in San Francisco, and the geography looks right, but the buildings are ones that, in waking life, are located in Chicago. Or like, you’re lost in some random small town, and you have a map which shows you the path you need to follow to find your way out, but part of the path runs right through this random family’s house, and they see you walking through their house and aren’t mad but are like why are you in our house? and you’re like this is where the map told me to go! And then you make it through their house and get back outside and an unmellow yellow*** bird builds a nest in your hair. Or like, the heating vent under your grandmother’s bathroom sink is also a portal to hell. Or, as @MNateShyamalan put it in this tweet:

You can write it as a prose poem or a more traditionally structured poem, whichever feels right to you.

Bonus points if, after writing it, you give/send a copy to a friend or stranger.

—

*I once had someone tell me “they’re just badly written, extra-short fiction.” That guy thought all his opinions/thoughts on poetry were fact, and liked to argue with me about why all my opinions/thoughts on poetry were wrong. One time I got so mad about it, I nearly punched him in the middle of a crowded bar. I still think Barfights About Poetry would make a great name for a chapbook or zine or something.

**Got new dreams and I’m gonna make ‘em real! —Naked Raygun

***TIL: There is an actual Crayola color called “Unmellow Yellow.”

#jessie lynn mcmains #napowrimo #poetry #writing prompts #dreams #glopowrimo #napowrimo 2023 #will try to add text ID at some point

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kimium · 1 year

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Hey friend! For the writing ask: 1, 7, 8, and 25!

(From this ask HERE)

Thanks for the ask, @m34gs! I am excited to talk about my fics for 2022! I hope you enjoy my answers, friend!!!

1.What's something new that you tried in a fic this year? How did it turn out? Would you do it again?

Recently I've been writing snippets, experimenting with ideas that don't quite have a full story, but want to try writing anyways. In my first series of Warming Up (in Snippets) Chapter Ten, The Blue Bottle I experimented and wrote in present tense.

I think it turned out well. I liked the tone and narration Shouichi provided. Somehow, writing in present tense makes me feel more involved in the action as the narrator. I'd absolutely try writing in present tense again!

7. What fic meant the most to you to write?

There are two answers here and I hope no one minds me cheating a little.

The first fic that meant the most for me was my Serial Killer AU SDR2 fic Working Relationship. This fic was a soft redo of an older fic Steal Your Tongue. Any time I revisit ideas I feel a sense of nostalgia in my heart. I remember writing Steal Your Tongue. I remember where I was when I wrote it. To revisit the idea feels like I'm paying homage to an idea. It's a little silly, but in a way it allowed me to see how far I've come as a fanfiction writer.

The second fic that meant the most to me was my first Twisted Wonderland fic, The Small Things that Don't Align. It is always scary to write and post for a new fandom. What are the fans like? What sort of fics do people write about the fandom? Will my ideas stand out? Those thoughts always plague me despite years of writing fanfiction. Of course, I enjoy writing the fic, but my enjoyment is only a percentage of the reason why I write fanfiction. Posting it is a huge part too and I always want that to go over well!

8. What fic made you feel the happiest to work on?

Without a doubt the fic that made me the happiest was my second Twisted Wonderland fic, Comfortable Bed(s). I was so excited to write that fic I wrote majority of it one Saturday afternoon/evening. All the while I was internally Panicking because here I was in my second Twisted Wonderland fic and I was writing Every Main Dorm Member. Still, the sheer joy of writing all the scenarios and ordering which dorm went next was such a delight. I'm very happy with the fic!

25. What's something you want to write in 2023?

In 2023 I want to write:

-More Twisted Wonderland. Yeah, I'm deep into the fandom now and I really enjoy writing for it. In particular I hope to write a Vil/Rook fic, but I always enjoy writing Yuu ft. The dorms.

-A Bleach fic. I've been a fan of Bleach since the first episode dropped all those years ago. I actually attempted to write a Bleach fic in 2015-2016, but I never posted what I wrote. However, now with TYBW arc animated, I might find the right Bleach fic idea.

-A multi-chaptered FE Fates fic. Honestly, the last time was in 2021 with Searching (and Falling) Through Dimensions. I have to do something else. Not sure what yet, but I'd like to try another long term project.

-Speaking of FE Fates, I want to write more Anankos/Trio fics. I want to do this because I'm deep in this silly ship and I need to drag more people down with me.

-Another post SDR2 multi chaptered fic. Listen. The last time I took a deep dive into the cast's psyches over multiple chapters was in 2016. I have different ideas and interpretations. I have a better grasp of the characters. I think 2023 might be the year I write this multi-chaptered fic.

-Lastly, maybe, just maybe if I get permission I can write at least one (1) idea from the vast list of Bar AU ideas. Because we call the AU "our AU" but I've done nothing except bounce ideas and add to that secret USB drive.

#personal #replies #2022 fics #feel free to ask more if you want!

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valkblue · 2 years

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Hi Angie!! 👋🏻 2, 4, 6, 9, 10 & 13 for the writer’s asks!!

Alyssa!! 💙✨ How is your day going?!

2. Do you ever hand write any part of your story?

I used to! I used to fill notebooks covers to covers with chunks of a story, entire scenes, character designs and ideas, brainstorming about places and lore, sketches even… I liked it, but it grew old after a while as I piled notebooks after notebooks all full with notes and drawings I had to scan or painstakingly typed back on a computer afterwards…😫 It was taking way too long to transfer all that in a computer, too much physical space on my shelves and I found myself to never go back to any of them as they'd filled their purpose anyway. But I'm not a famous author, so I couldn't even sell them for charity to get rid of those piles of paper while making people happy to have something collector from their favourite author and stories, or something like that! A shame, really… 😁

Anyway, my life changed forever and for the better when I got my first phone with a good enough battery and storage space (and a nifty little sliding keyboard!) to install a writing app on it… and simply write with it! Ok, I couldn't sketch with it anymore (but, now I can!), but I couldn't care less back then! 👍 I wrote entire chapters on this phone and all the new ones I had since; I wrote waiting for my bus, in the bus, in the train, in planes, in the grocery store's queue, in my favourite lounge bars… And honestly, I love how it is so simple and efficient, and comfortable. Even though my phone battery likes it way less than I do!

4. What kind of endings do you prefer?

Happy ones! Or at the very least, open ones. That way you can continue to imagine the story, or something about it and the characters you liked. The big plot has ended but there is still a little story to be told about these characters, their goals, their motivations and actions… I love when there is more to a story then just what there is to read, watch or play, and it stimulate your imagination and creativity!

6. Do you have a favorite snack while writing?

Oh yes, I do!! It might be obvious by now how much I love food in general, and not only when I'm trying to put one word after another! 👍

My top favourite is a big bowl of salted popcorn... if it wasn't that time consuming to prepare! But Lazy Me will prefer tortilla chips, with a lot of little raw veggies!

I definitely have no sweet tooth but, sometimes, I like to munch on a few squares of tasty chocolate (or just M&Ms...) with my tea, as I write. But no matter how tasty the chocolate is, it'll never beat FRUITS, fresh and dry ones!! 💕 (Apples, oranges, watermelon, melon, grapes, ...PEACHES!!! ... almonds and nuts!!!)

9. Describing people or settings?

Both!! To me, both are so far from one another that it's almost not the same kind of writing exercice at all. The lexical field is different, the way your writing is going to focus the attention of a reader is different... In one, you write in very specific details whether the characters are indoor or outdoor, what's the weather outside, is it in space or on solid ground...? But to set a scene and allow the reader to visualise and immerse themselves in a new setting quick and easy, you have to give as much information as you can without dragging too much on this or that and slow down the pace of the whole scene/chapter/story... (why is writing so tricky?! 😭)

And in the other, you focus on everything that makes a character/person who they are, how they look, how they behave or talk, walk, stand... buuuut!!! you can pepper new descriptions, observations and details about said character as the scene goes, whether your POV character reveal something new about themselves or noticed something new about that person in front of them, and so on. In my opinion, describing people requires less instant data than for the reader to set the scene in their mind; you can just give an overall description, what meet the eye and then, dive a little more as the scene, chapter, or story progress...

And for all that, I love both types... but describing settings may be a little easier than describing people in the end! 😅

10. Show a piece from your current WIP/most recent story, up to 30 words.

I have a very confusing piece of dialogue from my episode 9 of Lost and Found that is exactly 30 words:

"On me ?!" she repeated. "What do you mean, on her !?" Din echoed, and Elara guessed how nervous he was just by the tone of his voice, even through the vocoder.

Yeah, Peli, what do you mean?!?! (Sorry for the cheap teasing. Peli is talking about placing bets here 🤫)

13. Ctrl+f: silver/gold/bronze–did anything come up in your WIP and if so, share it?

Well... I did the search and, NONE! I had one use of "golden" in my previous episode ("The Jedi Planet") but, not yet in this new one!

In the previous scene I wrote, I have this though…

A few steps further, long rags of pale and brown sheets had been stretched over and across the street, providing shade to the market stalls under, cluttering both side of the hard sand road to the cantina.

"Brown" can count as bronze-ish, right?! 😁

#ask games #writer ask game #the-blind-assassin-12 #thank you for asking all these!!!#💕#tocm snippets

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strangermoons · 1 month

Text

The Beat Has Just Begun: chapter 5 extras

Happy birthday to this story! We've come a long way, baby. First fic I ever wrote that made it past the 5K mark, and only the second one I've finished.

I don't have anything research-related to say about this chapter so instead I'll ramble behind the cut about my general approach to the geography of Hawkins.

There is, to my knowledge, no official map of Hawkins. There are prop maps, but they differ from season to season. I found a reddit post that tried to place on-screen locations on a map based on various clues given in the show, and that generated a map unlike any of the prop maps I've found. What, then, is a literal-minded pedantic little nerd to do?

Well, I ended up taking the season 3 prop map that Hopper steals from the mayor's house in episode 4 (mostly because I found a nice scan of it early on when writing this story) and built my own version of Hawkins on top of it which I try to keep consistent. During my note-taking rewatch I made sure to note down every mentioned address and every legible street sign, and jotted down the name and approximate location of every business that appeared on-screen. I then reconciled this with the prop map, where possible.

I ran into issues pretty early on; for one thing, the route to Hopper's cabin goes from “take Denfield, then you’ll see a large oak tree. You’re gonna swing a right. That road is gonna dead-end. And it’s about a 5-minute walk from there.” in S2E9 to Hopper driving right up to the porch in S3E2. The Mayfield-Hargrove home mysteriously relocates from Old Cherry Road (S2E2) to 4819 Cherry Lane (S3E8). In S2E9 Hopper meets up with Sam Owens at a diner - or is it a bar? there are pool tables - called The Hideaway, but in S4E1 Eddie's extremely improbable* Corroded Coffin gigs are at a dive bar called The Hideout. Now, it's not impossible that two establishments in a small town would have such similar names, but it does seem a bit silly. If they're both supposed to be the same establishment it's kind of a sloppy mistake.

And then there are things like: Forest Hills trailer park is apparently seven miles away from the Wheelers' home on Maple Street. How big is Hawkins even supposed to be?

In the end I figured the most important thing was to have an internally consistent version of the town in my head that I could draw on when I'm writing, just so I don't end up making something a 10-minute walk in one scene and a 20-minute drive in another. I've tried to use street names from either the show or the prop map where possible, and supplemented by googling "Indiana native trees" and "Indiana historical figures" when necessary. When it comes to state-level geography I've plopped Hawkins more or less on top of Muncie because it's just easier to drop a pin in a real location and get google maps to spit out how long it would take to drive to Cincinnati, or whatever. Also, the S3 prop map has a little dot giving an approximate location in the state of Indiana that more or less lines up with where Muncie is and the throwaway WJRB 9 news report at the end of S4E9 where they say “the quaint town of Hawkins, 80 miles outside of Indianapolis.”

If this all seems like a lot of work: I don't know what to tell you. It feels necessary to my process? Like, you should see the spreadsheets. I have one that's just a list of all the tertiary characters that've appeared in my stories, with notes on whether they're canon (or canon-based) or full-on OCs, their approximate age, which stories they've appeared in, first or last names I've assigned canon characters that don't have them, relationships with other characters and any other relevant details. I have another one that's got a sheet with the timeline of TBHJB complete with which day of the week it is and notes on what happened when, and a separate sheet with a rough shift schedule for Family Video spanning several weeks. I honestly don't know that I could write anything at all without using these documents.

If you read this far: Wow, really? Thanks for reading 💀

*Corroded Coffin is a high school band, why on earth would they have a weekly standing gig? They don't even draw a crowd! The bar has zero incentive to let them keep playing!

#The Beat Has Just Begun #TBHJB #my work

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sillyrabbit81 · 3 years

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Hi dear

I'm a big fan of your writing, especially the way you write Sy. Love it. If you are still taking prompts, I have one.

How would Henry and his characters react to having an Erectile dysfunction?

I think that topic is not being discussed enough.

🖤🖤🖤

Thanks for the ask Anon. I was having trouble with this ask so I discussed it with @henryobsessed and we worked on it together. To be fair, she did most of it! If you haven’t read any of her work I suggest you visit her blog and take a look at her Masterlist . She is a great friend and has a wonderful perspective and a unique style. I love her!

@henryobsessed here I have to interject and have my say too, I loved this request, it was so much fun finding creative ways to discuss a delicate subject. And for the record I may have done more characters but @sillyrabbit81 wrote more words per character HAHAHA. You are a wonderful Friend and Cavill sister you inspire and push me to be myself and I cannot be more grateful. That being said have fun reading guys 😊

Summary: Situations in which Henry and his characters suffer erectile dysfunctions

Word Count: approx 3k

Warnings: smut, masturbation (m), oral sex (m and f receiving), anal play, p in v sex, bad medical advice, incorrect use of prescription medication, bodily fluids, period sex, drunk sex, Dom/sub relationship, descriptions of violence and death,

Masterlist

Erectile Dysfunction Headcanon

Henry Cavill

Henry had been filming for months and now he was headed home for a week’s break. You sat there waiting in the tinted people mover, as Henry was ushered to the car. Lights blinded you as the door opened, he climbed in, and smiling a weary grin, he pulled you into a big bear hug. He missed you so much.

That night, he fell into your arms in a passionate embrace. You had both craved each other, missing one another’s touch. As the night progressed, you noticed things were different. For the first forty minutes you were ecstatic, he had bought you to orgasm three times. Your body was super sensitive, but every time he seemed to be close himself, the phone would ring, indicating someone needed him. You had switched it off after an hour, having enough, and wanting his undivided attention.

Henry had managed to stay hard, but after an hour and a half, it was beginning to be painful for you, and he seemed no closer. Eventually, he flopped beside you, drained from the physical exertion.

“I don’t know what’s wrong. It’s like I’m right there, but I can’t let go.”

You brought him into your arms, and caressing his back said, “Don’t worry love. It will be ok. Just give yourself a day, and maybe we can shut your phone off. I think the stress it is causing you might be a big part of the problem.”

He huffed at the thought. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe.” He sighed and soon you heard soft snores spilling from his lips.

Walter Marshall

It had been a long day, scratch that a long month. Walter had been working day and night to catch a serial killer. That night as he came home, he couldn’t forget the latest victim. What they had found had turned his stomach. In all the years he had been on the force, nothing could have prepared him for what they found that night.

Arriving home he collapsed on the bed, he was so physically exhausted, and for once sleep immediately consumed him. He woke nearly twelve hours later to the smell of bacon, eggs, and coffee. He groaned; he had forgotten it was his two-year anniversary with you. Walking into the bathroom he washed his face, staring at the blood shot eyes reflected back at him.

“Come on man, get it together. You promised her,” Walter tried to fire himself up. It was no use, he was spent. Sighing, he walked into the kitchen wrapped his arms around you and breathed in the soft floral scent in your hair. For the first time in days, he felt a spark within himself, and although the horrific images still played on his mind, he felt a slight peace. He kissed your head, relieved, something could still reach him, something was still good. “Happy anniversary, love,” he growled.

After a wonderful breakfast, Walter sat on the couch with you and the two of you cuddled while watching a movie. His eyes kept sliding shut, his exhaustion made worse by his full belly. His fatigue became even more apparent when after reaching your hand beneath the blanket, you could not bring his flaccid muscle to attention.

Normally this situation would turn heated quickly, you had a way with your tongue that often had him begging for more. But Walter couldn’t get rid of the images in his mind, the battered and dismembered bodies, and the fact they were no closer to catching the killer weighed most heavily on his thoughts.

After half an hour of you trying to arouse him, Walter said in a resigned voice, “Sorry love, I don’t think I can.” With eyes that spoke of immense pain he looked at you and asked, “Could we please just cuddle? I think I need that more than anything right now.” In that moment he knew you were the one for him. He had expected huffing or crying because you thought you weren’t good enough or you asking him to please you. Instead, you had adjusted your position, so he was tucked into your body, holding him close while your hand stroked his curls.

A calm filled his soul as you whispered, “I am here for whatever you need my love. Rest now.”

Captain Syverson

You were just about to turn the light off and go to sleep when you heard the front door open with a crash and heard a rough curse. You grin, Sy was home and wasn’t sober. You knew what that meant, rough, wild, primal fucking. You quickly turn the light off and hide under the covers, well acquainted with the game, you knew how to play your part.

“Where are ya, woman?” Sy’s voice boomed at your bedroom door. “Don’t think you can hide from me. I’m hungry!”

You peek out from under the blanket, Sy had turned the light on again and was quickly undressing. You lick your lips, watching your big furry ox as he dropped his jeans, and his cock was revealed already on its way to being hard. Turning suddenly, he saw you, and you yelped covering your face again. “I see you woman, don’t play shy!” You giggle nervously, excited, your core already dampening with arousal.

Sy pulls the covers back and smirks as he sees you’re already naked waiting for him, “You’re a cheeky little thing ain’tcha?” You bite your lip, opening your legs slightly, inviting him in. Grabbing your ankles, he pulls you down the bed and gets on his knees. A low growl emanates from his throat before he dives between your legs feasting on you with an eagerness that brings you swiftly to your peak.

Licking at his lips and sucking on his glistening whiskers, he stands up pumping his cock getting it ready. Your brows pull together, puzzled, he’s always hard when he eats you out. You don’t have time to dwell on it because he’s soon ready. Sy flips you onto your knees before he enters and begins his assault on your core.

Something is wrong though, you can feel him falling out of you. Did he cum already? Sy mumbles curses, pulling out and you turn around and see him fisting himself again as he slips his fingers inside you. In a few moments he is hard again, removing his fingers and replacing it with his cock. You sigh, relieved, as he builds his rhythm, and you hear him start to groan. But soon, it happens again, and try as he might he just can’t stay hard.

“Fuck,” Sy growls. You turn around and see the look on his face, a mix of frustration and embarrassment that melts your heart. “I think I drank too much Sugar,” he says, running his hand over his short hair. “Fuck. This hasn’t happened… Fuck!”

“Hey!” you say sharply to get his attention.

“What?” Sy replies just as sharply, but he doesn’t look at you.

“It’s fine, Baby,” you assure him. You see him jut his jaw and you reach up and cup his cheeks, making him look at you. “It’s ok. You’re just a little too drunk,” you smile and give him a soft kiss. “It happens.”

“Not to me it don’t.”

“It’s not forever,” you say. “Come on, let’s go to sleep. I’m sure it’ll be back normal in the morning.” You kiss him again and pull his head down to whisper in his ear, “maybe you could wake me up like you did last week.” You pull back and smirk raising your eyebrows.

Sy grins, still a little sheepish, but there was a hint of mischief in his eyes again, “You’re a good thing, Sugar.” He kisses your forehead and says, “I love you.”

Geralt of Rivia

Geralt had never in his life had this happen before. The bar maid who had eagerly agreed to keep his bed warm on this cold winter’s night, gaped in confusion.

How could it be? She thought, All the myths about Witcher’s said they were virile and could last most of the night. She had been consumed with the thought ever since The White Wolf had arrived in the area and was quick to accept his offer to take her to his bed. She was bitterly disappointed and pouted at Geralt. Her sweet, plump lips alone should have been enough to make his cock stand, but tonight it lay unmoving, and useless.

That blasted sorcerer, it must have been him who had cast a curse on Geralt. It could be the only explanation for his inadequate showing. Looking at the poor wench beside him, Geralt pitied her. She had been most eager to satisfy his needs tonight, giving a valiant effort to arouse him. No matter, he had other ways to enjoy bringing her to the height of pleasure. Granted he didn’t normally concern himself with their needs as his own normally coincided with theirs. But tonight, his fingers, and tongue would be adequate until he broke the curse and returned to give her what she truly deserved.

Mike

The party had been epic, the drinks flowed, pot was smoked in abundance and Mike had managed to capture the attentions of a wonderful long legged blonde beauty. She helped him back to her apartment and his heart rate raised as she slowly stripped him, leaving him in all his naked glory. Laying on the bed he watched as she did a strip tease for him, her perky breasts bouncing as she jiggled her ample peach in his face.

But something was wrong, the situation was right, she was right but… he held his hand out to the two or was it three beauties before him. One took his hand as he guided her to sit in his lap. He caressed her as they kissed, his tongue violating her mouth with as much enthusiasm as his inebriated self could manage. Even with her grinding against him nothing happened.

“Shit” he swore.

The girl frowned and her lips seemed to move in twisted patterns which stilled again before she snickered. An evil cackle reverberated in her throat and her face twisted into that of a demented creature. “Can’t get it up, boy?” she taunted as she continued to laugh. She collected his clothes and managed to push him out of her bedroom and into the night. Standing in the cold with only his briefs covering his body, he stumbled as he began his walk of shame home.

August Walker

August Walker was hands down, far and away, the greatest lover you have ever had. He was the only man who had ever been able to keep up with you, your average session lasting for four hours. He was able to cum and get hard again faster than any guy you had ever been with too.

But being with August meant following The Rules. There were many Rules, rules which governed how you would dress when you saw him, how you were groomed, how you were to address him and when you could contact him. There were punishments too, but you had been a good girl, never broken any of his rules, so you never gave the punishments a thought.

One of the many Rules was absolutely no snooping. He said it was for your protection as much for his privacy. You didn’t know exactly how August made his money, but you assumed it had to be from some sort of illegal activity. So, you obeyed this rule as you did the others until one evening after a marathon session, you realised you got your period. You were shocked August hadn’t said anything, clearly he had continued to fuck you while you were bleeding. You started opening his bathroom cupboards searching for a tampon or pad or something, hoping you wouldn’t have to stuff your panties with toilet paper until you got home.

You opened the cupboard behind the mirror and were surprised to see a pill bottle with little blue tablets. You recognised them and after checking the label and confirming it you were speechless. August used Viagra? But, it didn’t seem possible that he would need it, his stamina was out of this world… unless…

“What do you think you are doing Petal?” August said from the doorway, a box of tampons and a towel was in his hands.

Quickly recovering your senses, you grabbed the box and towel out of his hands and kissed his cheek saying, “Looking for those. Thank you, August.”

Quicker than you thought possible you were bent over the counter, cheek pushed into the stone benchtop. “You found my pills,” August said coldly. Leaning his body over yours, his weight pushed down on you, holding you in place as he kicked your legs apart. You muffled a cry as you felt him hard again against your ass. “I don’t need them, for most women, Petal. But for particularly slutty, insatiable, cock hungry brats such as yourself, it’s a necessary assistance.”

“I didn’t mean to pry,” you murmured, hoping he would take pity on you. Tears welled in your eyes as his finger pressed against your ass, forcing your tight muscles apart and you cried as he entered you. “I’m sorry, August.”

“My dear sweet, Pet,” August grunted as he violated you with a second finger. “If you aren’t sorry now, you will be.”

Napoleon Solo

Napoleon had been watching the siren from a distance all night. Her lithe body commanded all around to her attention. After she finished singing her call to the night goddess, he made his move. Two drinks in hand he set his sights and went in for the kill.

The two danced, drank and now were in her apartment, laid out on her bed he was happily pleasing her, mouth buried between her delicious thighs. His tongue flicked expertly over her button bringing her to climax, exciting his body, he climbed forward and for the first time that night claimed her lips. They kissed passionately until something changed, his mind grew foggy, and his cock deflated.

“Aww, is the great Casanova having trouble?” she laughed her sweet siren song changing to a bitter retort. His confused eyes tried to fix on hers as she began to distort, her last words filling his gut with fear. “Don’t worry love. I’ll take good care of you Napoleon Solo.”

Clark Kent

Clark was in college and his new friend Tommy was egging him on to take Crystal out for a date. He couldn’t understand why the cheerleader wanted to take him out. He wasn’t anything special as far as she knew, but she had been flirting with him all week.

Dinner was nice and Clark was surprised when Crystal suggested they return to her share house for dessert. Nervous as he was around her, he was pleased when after ice cream he had allowed her to talk him into a make out session in her room. They had only been in the room a few moments when he had felt strange. They had been kissing, it was enjoyable, but his stomach had begun to feel off and he felt unusually tired and weak.

The more they kissed the more frustrated he was to realise he wasn’t getting a rise out of his little friend. He noticed a pendant hanging on the wall near her bed, the green stone glowed eerily at him giving him a bad vibe. After a few more moments he politely excused himself, saying he must have eaten something off. Clarke murmured apologies and gave promises that he would call her and he left. Strangely, by the time he left her house he felt better, as if he had never felt ill at all. He was only a little upset that he had ruined his chances with Crystal, something about that pendant made him hope he would never see it again.

Charles Brandon

Charles sat in the apothecary rooms, wondering what he had gotten himself in for. The King had recommended him when Charles confided in his friend of his problem.

“So young man, why are you here?” the old man asked, his face kind but stern.

“Well, I’ve been having trouble, when I pee it burns and well, I can get an erection, but it deflates quickly and sometimes I cannot get one at all. I’m also having abdominal pain.”

The old man chuckled. After examining the affected area, he turned to his wall of potions. Pulling together some salves, and powdered herbs he turned to address the Charles. “Here, rub this on the affected area twice a day, and drink this tea three times a day.” The apothecary paused and said with a grin, “And finally, give the ladies from court a rest for a bit, you will regain your vigour again.”

Shame and chagrin filled Charles as he pulled his coverings back over his privates. Taking the medicines, he snuck out of the room trusting that no one saw him, and hoping against all hope, that this would work.

Sherlock Holmes

Sherlock sits back in satisfaction, marvelling at his new invention. Based on some literature he read from the America’s he perfected the design and made it fit himself perfectly.

Having commissioned the glass tube and rubber attachments, the contraption worked by winding a small handle, creating the necessary suction to create a vacuum, pooling enough blood into his cock to make it erect. By placing a rubber ring at the base of his shaft, he found he was able to maintain an erection for approximately thirty minutes. He could even bring himself to orgasm by his own hand.

It really was a delightful invention. Now, he just had to find that little vixen of a maid and see if it worked with her too. Perhaps he should try and use her mouth first.

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