#oh pardon me SIX TONGUES

[phoenixiancrystallist]

Forspoken Photo Dump 181: Junoon; Nowhere, Part 2

#Forspoken #Forspoken photo mode #Athia #Junoon #Junoon: Nowhere #Frey Holland #breakbeast #apsaravis #abomination: apsaravis #Ruins of Koshish #Forspoken Magic: Suppression #Olas's Magic: Suppression #Green Magic: Suppression #the fuck do you need five tongues for son #creepy ass murder bird #also the easiest of the abominations imho #oh pardon me SIX TONGUES #nope sorry that's an illegal number of tongues

[ty-the-trainwreck]

thinking about cowgirl!nancy and bartender!robin

(this was the product of me realizing that natalia and maya have photos of them wearing cowboy hats and im just)

( plus a little photo of what i think nancy’s pants would look like in this but if they were white)

robin works at a saloon, and one day nancy comes into town and it's not everyday that a woman comes riding in on a horse with her head held high and felt hat held even higher. robin tunes into the gossip circling around the saloon, even though the men insist that it's not gossip. no, that would be too dainty. too feminine. too queer.

the men say things like, "someone's got to show her what a woman's place is in the world." robin barely knows who this mysterious cowgirl is, but she's tremendously livid at each word that comes out of the crusty lips of those bacteria ridden men. she contemplates spitting in all of their beers, but decides to swap out her saliva for six tablespoons of black pepper. robin relishes in the way every man that had said a sour word wrinkle their nose and cough into their elbow aggressively.

eventually, robin gets to meet the mysterious woman.

she waltz into the saloon with her hands clutching her studded rhinestone belt, her black button up had the two top buttons undone and her white pants were tucked into her light brown cowboy boots.

robin was mesmerized.

the woman walked up towards robin, and she finally got to see her face. the woman had sharp blue eyes and an even sharper jawline. robin felt her knees liquify and she barely kept herself standing.

"you serve anything but rum here?"

oh god.

the woman had a southern accent.

"pardon?"

"i don't see one glas that isn't filled with rum."

"oh, yeah. we do, but nobody that visits this place has actual taste buds." robin tried her best to play it cool and not freak out about how attractive this woman was. "wanna take a seat?" she gestured to one of the barstools and took out a table wipe to start wiping down the bar. "gladly." the cowgirl said, her sentences seemed to be short and clipped, quiet compared to the hooting and hollering around the saloon.

"so, want anything to drink? or do you not have taste buds too?" she teased, stuffing the table wipe into her back pocket. the mysterious woman huffed out a laugh, shaking her head. "whiskey, please. i need some after my ride here."

"ah, so you have only lost a few of your taste buds then."

"bless your heart."

robin rolled her eyes with a smirk, turning around to grab a bottle of whiskey and pour it into a tall glass. she slid it towards the lady and watched as she picked the glass up and take a big swig. robin felt her heart beat a little faster as she witnessed the woman's throat bob and swallow all the whiskey. robin quickly redirected her gaze and stared down at the woman's hands instead, making robin even more pathetic that she already was.

she cleared her throat, blinking rapidly and stumbled on her words before she finally found something to say. "what brings you into town? we don't see cowgirls very often." the lady looked up with a piercing gaze. "you got a problem?" robin shook her head immediately. robin was too gay too have a problem with this fucking goddess.

"no! of course not, it's just nice to see someone that doesn't smell like they dived head first into a riverbank made of mud." the lady laughed, taking a smaller and less urgent sip of her whiskey. she savored the sip, swishing it in her mouth for a moment before swallowing and leaning forward. “care to tell me your name, pretty lady?” robin felt shivers shoot up her spine when she heard that southern drawl.

“robin buckley. what’s yours?”

“nancy. nancy wheeler.”

nancy.

“nancy.”

the name felt so good on her tongue.

“when do you get off work? i want to show you my horse.” the lady- nancy, questioned, her fingers traced the rim of the glass on the counter.

robin looked down at the movement, biting the inside of her cheek before replying. “well, in an hour. but i can leave early.”

jesus christ—

was that flirty?

oh my god she was flirting with this woman.

“you better, buckley.” nancy looked up at robin through her eyelids. the curly haired girl in-front of her fixed her hat, bumping it up a little so she could get a clearer look at robin.

robin gulped, walking backwards before bumping into the cabinets. she let out a string of curses that would make a sailor blush. she was embarrassing herself in front of a hot cowgirl!

she scrambled away and ignored the amused look on nancy’s face as she unbuttoned her black vest and straightened her blouse, making sure it wasn’t wrinkled before fixing her hair in the reflection of the window.

robin came back and nancy was behind the counter, pouring out her whiskey and rinsing it. “y’know you’re not allowed back here, right?” she snickered. nancy looked over at her, taking in the slight adjustments to robin’s outfit. “had to clean my glass.” she held up the glass and tapped it. robin reached for it and placed it one of the top cabinets. and she just now realized that nancy was about a few inches shorter than her.

nancy grabbed robin’s arm, tugging the girl into the direction of the doors to the saloon. they pushed open the wooden doors and robin winced at how bright the sun was. “god, the sun is usually down by the time i get off work.”

“couldn’t say the same for me. i need the sun to work so i can too.” nancy led robin to where a beige mustang with a black mane lapped at some water from a wooden trough.

nancy slid her hand off of robin’s arm and robin instantly missed the touch.

“this is my mare, barb.” robin nodded, watching as the horse lifted her head and bumped her nose into nancy’s chest. nancy hummed, running a hand down the horse’s snout before she turned back to robin. “wanna pet her? promise she don’t bite.”

“i want to..it’s just- i had an accident with a horse a few years ago. so i’m not the most trustworthy of horses.” robin watches the mare brush up against nancy, and she thinks back to her horse.

the horse had white and orange spots on it, robin had often referred to them as ‘freckles.’ since they looked like the ones on robin’s face. robin has rode that horse everywhere, wherever robin went, that horse was there with her. until one day, the horse had gotten spooked and bucked. flinging robin off and sending her straight into the ground.

the horse was taken away, and robin had never seen it again. her best friend, gone.

“that’s alright, she’s patient. she won’t push until you reach out first.” nancy reassured in a comforting voice. robin looked at nancy, the woman was so beautiful, and now robin had to deal with the fact that she was kind?

robin was going to fall in love.

“have you ever fallen off her?”

“a few times, yeah.”

“was it scary?”

“terrifying.”

robin looked at the horse in front of her, it blinked at robin with a strange sort of gentleness. she took a hesitant step forward, flinching a little as the mare let out a sigh. “easy…” nancy whispered, scratching behind the horse’s ear. “it’s alright, she’s giving you permission.” robin nodded, letting out a sigh as well before she left her hand up and her fingers were trembling.

it had been years since she had ever touched a horse. sure, robin was surrounded by horses everyday, but watching a horse shake the ground and witness it’s hooves banging against the ground like the dirt it galloped on was a drum and riding said horse was two different things.

yet, the way nancy soothed robin with her soft southern drawl had given her courage.

robin gently pressed her hand onto the mare’s muzzle. the horse closed it’s eyes, leaning into the touch and robin smiled a little. she was still hesitant as she slid her hand up the mare’s snout.

“you’re doing great.” nancy praised, and robin was thinking some extremely inappropriate thoughts as soon as the words left the woman’s mouth.

“can i ride her?” robin asked, her voice barely there. nancy looked a little surprise. “you sure?”

robin nodded, brushing the little white star on the mare’s forehead. nancy sighed a little. “how about this, i’ll let you hold on to me and i’ll take you somewhere we can watch the sunset.”

“trying to take me out on a date, are you wheeler?” robin teased, and nancy let out a laugh.

“i could be, only way to find out is jumping into the saddle.” nancy hoisted herself up and into the leather saddle, patting the spot behind her. robin placed her foot onto the stirrup and pushed up, taking a deep breath before she pushed up and swung her leg over and sat down on the saddle. “i forgot how hard it was to get onto a horse.” she huffed. “not hard when you adapt to always being in danger.”

“very true.”

nancy picked up the leather reigns, gripping them in her palms before she looked back at robin. “hold on.” robin nodded, taking her hands and placing them on nancy’s waist. she decided to pretend that she was not extremely attracted to this woman as she leaned forward a little and got to smell nancy’s hair.

they began to move, albeit slowly. but they were moving, robin was nervous but she trusted nancy to not kill her (trusting a stranger? that would usually be a death wish in the wild west) so she squeezed nancy’s waist a little.

nancy understood immediately, squeezing her calves and the mare picked up the pace. robin let out a tiny gasp as the horse transitioned into a fast trot. “you okay?” nancy asked, giving robin a concerned look before she quickly returned her gaze to the road ahead. “yeah, just a little nervous.” nancy nodded, and she turned them onto a dirt path.

after a few minutes, robin was more comfortable, and she squeezed nancy’s waist once more to signal that she was ready to pick up the speed. “get ready, when she gets going she gets going.” nancy chuckled, letting out another chuckle as robin wrapped her arms around her waist. “i swear wheeler, i will take the reigns myself if i have to.”

“yeah yeah, i hear you.”

the mare sped up and now they were on the edge of a canter and a gallop. robin let out a tiny scream as she looks down and saw how the ground was a blur under the horse’s hooves. “holy shit holy shit!” robin hollered and nancy let out a boisterous laugh in response. the two laughed as they slowly came to a stop and the scene before them was one of the most beautiful robin had seen in her life.

nancy had brought them to a plateu, the winding rocks were shaded an apricot orange as the sun was slowly making it’s descent down the sky. a creek was below them as well, the water a earthy green color as it flowed on by and into the distance.

robin slowly slid off the horse and stood off to the side, staring at the view and she was completely lost in the moment before nancy walked over and bumped their shoulders together.

“it’s nice, isn’t it?” nancy asked. even her felt hat had orange light rimming it’s edges. robin smiled and nodded. “yeah, it really is.” she wasn’t only talking about the view.

“i agree.”

they stood there in silence before nancy reached up, and adjusted her hat. and robin focused on the interesting pattern on where the rim was lifted a little. it was green and black, and the green looked like a handful of snakes had been let loose them frozen and flattened into the hat. robin wanted to touch it.

yes, robin knew that this could absolutely destroy this little thing her and nancy had going on, but she reached out and lifted the hat off the brunette’s head. nancy raised her eyebrows a little but let robin do so, and she smiled a little as robin placed the hat on her head and adjusted it a little.

“hey.”

“hey.”

silence.

“do i look good?”

“more than good, sweetheart.”

robin melted at the way nancy said her words in a slow voice, her words mixed together in the most perfect way and it was possibly the most alluring southern accent she had ever heard.

“you are aware of what it means when you take a cowboy’s hat, right?”

robin looked a little confused.

“no, i am not aware.”

the corners of nancy’s mouth perked up and she turned to robin completely.

“wear the hat ride the cowboy, buckley.”

—

(i am literally from the south but i know no southern sayings and stuff but i was feeling gay at 4 in the morning and wrote this)

#HEHEHEHE #im imagining nancy with a white cowboy hat and it has like #patterns on the inside and a big ol N on the hatbrim #she also has a studded rhinestone belt because i said so #this is absolutely not accurate to the time but I DONT CARE ANYMORE #i studied the parts of a cowboy hat for this #it doesnt show #nancy with a southern accent #giggling #robin is also giggling #someone stop me from writing random au’s before i finish my hanahaki au please #ronance #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #robin #nancy #robin x nancy #ronance canon #stranger things #ignore the grammar im sleep deprived #cowgirl!nancy #bartender!robin

[imagine-darksiders]

Fish out of Water - Chapter 2

Giant Mer!Sunnydrop X Reader, Giant Mer!Moondrop X Reader.

Summary:

Tags, warnings: Mermay 2022, Giant Mermen, Amputee Reader, Amputation, Medical Trauma, Depression, Grief and Mourning, Ableism, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Minor Character Death, Car Accidents, G/T, Giant/Tiny, Explicit Language, Loss of Leg, Mental Health Issues

Story on ao3

------

It isn't until midnight that you make a phone call in the end, and even then, you forgo the police – they'd likely give you a warning for wasting their time. You don't call animal services either – because you highly doubt 'giant sea monsters' fall under the list of animals they're licensed to deal with. And the nearest emergency mental health unit, ironically, doesn't have a twenty-four hour helpline.

So it is that you find yourself wedged into the cramped space between the sofa and the wall, peeking over a cushion and keeping your eyes fixed vigilantly upon the front door with your phone pressed against an ear, worrying at a loose piece of skin dangling off your lip.

Six rings later.... “Ungh... Lucinda, speaking," a groggy voice picks up and mutters down the line.

“Aunt Lucy!” you whisper hoarsely, “Thank Christ – I – I need you to pick me up! Right now!” You wait impatiently with your breath stuck in your throat as the sound of rustling, silk sheets filters out of the phone's speaker.

“Y/n?” comes Lucy's voice again, half asleep and incredulous, “I... Oh, what time is it?”

In the background, you hear a man – Derek, you deduce – roll over and grumble, “Who is it, Luce?”

“It's Y/n, darling,” she whispers back before turning her attention to you again, “My dear girl, are you all right? You're calling at-” There's a pause as you assume she takes a second to check her watch. “- Gone twelve!? What on Earth is the matter?”

What on Earth indeed. You can't be sure those things were even from Earth. Regardless, pondering won't get you out of this cottage and away from the ocean any faster.

“Please,” you whisper, clutching the phone in two, quaking hands so harshly that the plastic creaks in protest, “Please I – I need to get out of here! Something... something happened, Aunty. There are these... these...!”

God, how the hell are you supposed to describe what you'd seen without sounding like a lunatic? “I don't know," you eventually settle on, "But you have to get me out of here!”

Lucy makes a sound of confusion as you crane your head out over the sofa again and eye the windows, searching for shapes moving around outside in the dark. “Damn things are in the bay outside Grandad's cottage! I-I thought they'd kill me! I still can't believe I got away-!”

“-Y/n, slow down, Darling! For god's sake, you're starting to sound hysterical.”

As is your goddamn right after everything that you've just been through!

Gulping down a pacifying breath, you crush a palm against your temple and through gritted teeth, you hiss, “I know. I know. It all sounds insane, but – please, I just need to get away from here-!”

“-But why?”

“God dammit, because of those fucking sea monsters, Lucy!” you snap much too curtly, though you can't find it in yourself to be embarrassed right now.

This time, there's a definite, pregnant pause before your aunt clears her throat and asks, “I beg your pardon, dear, but... what did you-?”

“-MONSTERS!” you cry squeakily, throwing your free hand up in exasperation, “Great big, fucking sea monsters! With-with tails, and – and tentacles and teeth! They, they-!”

A long, loud sigh stops your incessant babbling and you scowl at the sound of soft snickering, followed by a sharp, 'Hush!' from your aunt. Coughing politely, Lucy clicks her tongue and with the patience of a saint, she delicately asks, “Y/n, I'd like you to tell me honestly. Have you had anything to drink this evening?”

Hesitating, your eyes immediately jump towards the window facing the cliff's edge, where you've left several bottles of beer strewn about in the grass.

“I...I only had like... three beers,” you stress meekly, wetting your lips. You're in too much of a state to recognise that you should have just lied and said a plain and simple 'no.'

“Okay,” Lucy starts with another sigh, “Here's what I think you should do. I think you should get yourself to the kitchen, get a glass of water, some paracetamol, and hop straight into bed.”

“I don't need paracetamol, Aunty,” you stress through clenched teeth, “I need-”

Something above you creaks and you freeze in place, ducking your head behind the sofa and craning your neck back to eye the ceiling dubiously. When a further second or two pass without a repeat of the noise, you lick your lips and whisper, “I'm not drunk, Lucy, I-”

“- Of course not, darling,” she interrupts diplomatically, “But you are exhausted. And likely sleep-deprived, and this is the first moment of genuine peace you've had since your dear parents died, God rest their souls.”

For a full, five seconds, you can't quite fathom a thing to say. Eventually though, you blurt out, “I really don't think what I saw is a result of sleep deprivation! Or.. or delayed grief!”

“And how would you know?” she returns abruptly, as cool as a placid lake, “You never went to the therapist like you were advised to do. You took yourself out of the world. You turned the grief counsellors away from your door.”

She must be able to sense the indignant bristling of your shoulders because it sounds as though she thumps her head down on her pillow with a deep and affected sigh. “Look, I can hear how frustrated you are. But... Well, I mean, really, Y/n. Listen to what you're saying. You said you saw...” She trails off, deliberately leaving her sentence open-ended for you to finish.

A hand creeps up to your face and you spend several, sobering moments pinching the bridge of your nose before heaving an almighty groan, dragging your hand down over your nose and mouth, muttering, “Giant... sea monsters.”

Aunt Lucy's prolonged silence is fairly damning.

And okay, yes, you can appreciate that you're asking her to really stretch the boundaries of her imagination, but...

“Will you come and get me out of here, or not?” you finally ask, neither denying nor confirming that you may very well be losing your mind. Hell, you've lost your parents, your leg, your dignity and social standing. What's a mind, really, in the grand scheme of things?

There's a tired hum on the other end of the phone, and you already know her answer before she speaks.

“I just don't think that'll do you any good, my dear-”

Your eyes slip shut and you let your skull thunk back against the sofa behind you.

“- You haven't even given the old place a chance,” she adds, “Now, listen to me. You've had a hell of a shock. You're overwrought. Why, it's hardly any wonder you're-... ah.” She lowers her voice and clears her throat. “-Seeing things...”

It's a struggle to even passively listen to the second-hand embarrassment in her voice, though you can understand the root of it.

If word gets out that you're hallucinating giant sea monsters, it'll be yet another blight on the family name.

You'll become known as that seldom-mentioned relative who's shacked up in the 'wacko-basket.'

A cruel judgement, to be sure, but then, the people your parents rubbed elbows with are anything but sympathetic.

“I think,” Lucy continues carefully, “That you need to give it another few days. Go to bed and get some real rest. Breathe in that wonderful, ocean air. If you're still concerned about, hmm, monsters in a few day's time, I'll send Derek down to fetch you.”

In the background, the aforementioned lover groans begrudgingly, only to receive a quick 'ssh' from your aunt.

You hate to say it, but the longer she talks you down, the more doubt begins creeping into your mind and muddling the evening's events, blending reality with fiction and blurring your memory like good whisky.

You are extremely tired... and you've heard the stories of how sleep-deprivation can warp reality... plus, the beers likely didn't help...

Maybe a good night's sleep will fix things...

It's a lie you've told yourself countless times before. 'If I just got enough sleep...'

What a joke.

Regardless, Aunt Lucy is right. There has to be a more believable explanation than 'sea monsters.' You're an educated woman, for goodness sake

It's high-time you started behaving like one.

Slumping defeatedly against the sofa's rigid back, you cut off the muffled argument going on over the phone. “You're right, Aunty. You're right... God, sorry for bothering you so late.”

“Oh, think nothing of it, darling,” she replies, clipped and chipper once more, “You just get some sleep. Things will be all right in the morning. You'll see.”

“..Yeah.” Rubbing at your eyelids, you manage to suppress a yawn long enough to murmur a grateful, “Goodnight. Sorry again.”

“Goodnight, Y/n. Speak soon.”

Your finger hits the red button and there's the telltale 'click' of the line going dead.

Forget the water, forget the paracetamol, forget peeling off the day's clothes and turning off the light, you simply pull yourself around to the front of the sofa and flop face-first onto the squeaking, leather cushions, dragging one of them into your ams and squeezing it so ferociously, you can focus more on the ache in your biceps than whatever mysteries or hallucinations that might be lurking outside in the dark.

------

By the time you pry your head up off the sofa cushion again, it's gone noon the following day, and your mouth is as dry as a roll of parchment.

Shuffling lazily across the cold, tiled floor of the kitchenette, you yawn widely and rub at your eyes with a thumb and forefinger, sparing a brief glance out through the large, bow window that sits above the sink.

As is typical of the time of year, the sky is heavily overcast, and a steady pitter-patter of rain plinks softly against the glass windows. The sea beyond the cliffs is as dreary and grey as the clouds rolling overhead, its choppy waves sweeping in great, undulating swathes from the East. All in all, it's the kind of day that makes you want to burrow beneath your duvet with a mug of something hot and a good, engaging book..

But then... when was the last time you actually read a book?

All you're likely to do is lay on your bed and stare blankly at the ceiling, leaving the proverbial door wide open for your misery to creep in and swallow you slowly, sucking the energy out of you like a tick that will gorge itself on your most terrible regrets until the dreadful thing sits fat and swollen with grief astride your chest.

Dejectedly, your gaze slides away from the window and moves towards the front door, where an umbrella stand waits expectantly alongside its two occupants – one of your crutches, and an old doorman's umbrella, dusty and grey, much like the rest of this cottage's interior.

Perhaps you could go for a walk and get some fresh air.

'Sounds like something someone who has their life together would suggest,' you smile humourlessly to yourself, 'Someone like Aunt Lucy.'

It isn't as if you're especially keen to make an effort to shower, so maybe a stroll in the rain will clear away the cobwebs instead. Hefting your shoulders up and down in a private shrug, you amble towards the coat rack that takes up its stance beside the umbrella stand and tug a tattered, wax coat from one of the arms, pulling it on over yesterday's clothes. You don't know who it belonged to, nor how long it's been since anyone washed it. Maybe you'll throw it in the washing machine when you get back....

Then again, maybe you're more likely to toss it onto the pile of clothes that are slowly accumulating next to the washing machine, but that never quite make the journey inside the drum. Laundry is relatively low on your list of priorities, after all.

Stuffing your hands into the warm pockets, your fingers brush over a strip of smooth, cool plastic. Absentmindedly, you fish the object out and glance down at it, quirking your brow at a small penknife laying in your palm, a cheap and unimpressive little thing, the kind you'd probably win in a Christmas cracker.

Without any real humour, you quirk your lips up and snort. Grandpa was definitely a fisherman. This thing's only use is likely to cut the line if it gets irreparably tangled.

After sparing the little kitchenette a lazy once-over, you drop the penknife back inside your coat pocket and although your belly rumbles, you elect to grab a meal upon your return.

Pulling open the door, you wrench your crutch into one hand and stuff it beneath an arm, then swipe the umbrella up as an afterthought, just in case the downpour gets a little too heavy.

Perhaps, as Aunt Lucy said, the ocean air might do you some good.

But recently, you find yourself lacking in optimism.

--------

The winding cliffside path meanders and curves with the dreary landscape. You trudge along it, as aimless as any vagabond who ever wandered over the Earth. Nowhere to go, nowhere to aim for, nothing to do. One foot in front of the other, your head bowed against the wind and drizzling rain.

Down below you, out of sight, breakers crash ceaselessly against the cliff walls and it takes a considerable amount of willpower to keep yourself from peering cautiously over the edge, half expecting to see two pairs of gigantic, luminous eyes staring back up at you from within the water's murky depths.

Flipping up the collar of your wax coat, you duck your face further inside it and tear your gaze from the distant ocean with a shudder. You've barely taken two more, hobbling steps before a flash of yellow blips at the very edge of your vision.

You swing your head around fast enough to give yourself whiplash and very nearly end up tripping over your own feet to see...

… Nothing.

Nothing but a bleak, barren sea of grey lays out in front of you, and scanning the waves as they roll and crash in the current yields no results either.

Huh. “Still seeing things,” you inform yourself dismally.

It's slow progress, limping along the cliff path, but eventually, after another twenty minutes or so, you come upon a rusted, brown sign. The words have long since been eroded away by inclement weather and the unending march of time, but the image above them is unmistakeable.

There's a small, white arrow pointing left towards the edge of the cliff, and beside it, a simple graphic that depicts a flight of stairs.

Sure enough, upon glancing over at the cliffs, you spy the top of a metal railing jutting out above the grass right at the precipice.

Once upon a time, you wouldn't have even batted an eyelid at the prospect of attempting those steep, cliffside stairs.

Now though, you despise how your heart thuds anxiously in your chest and you can't stop yourself imagining your prosthetic slipping out from underneath you and sending you tumbling down the stairs to crash onto the sand far below.

Perhaps its defiance, perhaps its a blasé attitude towards danger that only emerged after the death of your family, but you suddenly find yourself pointing your shoes at the steps and hobbling over to them.

The biting wind whips cruelly at your face as you stop right at the edge of the cliffside staircase and peer down them. A wide, silver-sanded bay stretches out below you, hemmed in by sweeping cliffs on either side that protect it from the wind.

Conveniently, a silver, rain-slicked railing follows the path of the stairs, and it's with just a smidge of trepidation that you move your clutch and umbrella into the same hand and grip the rail tightly with the other.

The journey down is slow-going and undeniably as perilous as you'd expected it to be, but eventually, after a task that would hardly be considered arduous for someone with both of their legs intact, you find yourself down on the sandy beach, inhaling a lungful of sea-salted air and gazing around at the rolling dunes, each adorned with their spiky tufts of marram grass.

The tide has slowly begun to creep back in, eating up the beach inch by inch. But you, like the vast ocean, are in no particular hurry. You've still got time.

Wearily, you toss your crutch aside, exhale through your nose and flop yourself down onto the slope of a dune, letting your head thud backwards against the silver sand, heedless of the grains that'll no doubt be making themselves at home within the strands of your hair.

After letting rainwater plop steadily onto your closed eyelids for a time, you click your tongue and lean up to stuff the umbrella handle down into the sand, creating a rather unorthodox yet effective shelter from the rain, at least for your upper half.

Droplets patter softly on the canopy overhead and you finally, finally sink into yourself, letting your elbows and knees slump until they're flush with the ground.

You're tapped out - lost to the comforting brontide that grumbles moodily in the distance and the roiling waves sloshing up onto the beach.

You don't even notice a flash of silvery scales that slip noiselessly from a clump marram grass and weave down the sand dune towards you. A pair of eyes - red as the blood that pumps through its veins – lock onto the tantalising patch of warmth laying amongst a wasteland of cold sand and rock.

A forked tongue sneaks out from behind two, slender fangs and tastes the air.

The adder is still a bold young snake, not yet accustomed to the dangers or even the presence of humans. The source of heat in front of it shifts ever so slightly and the snake rears back at once, stilling in place and watching warily to see if there is to be any further movement.

When the mountain of warmth remains safely motionless, it slowly eases itself out of its tight coil and slinks a few inches nearer.

Wholly unaware of the serpent behind you, you think nothing of raising an arm to rub at your eyes, only to jump out of your skin when something issues a vicious, threatening hiss at your back.

Rolling over onto your side, your gaze lands unexpectedly upon a pair of red eyes and you go utterly still, trapping the breath inside your lungs lest the slightest expansion of a chest provoke the serpent currently staring you down.

And then, all at once, the adder pauses, and looks up, it's knife-like focus drawn by something above you.

The snake recoils with another hiss and your head snaps around at a sudden cacophony of splashing that comes from the waves, much, much too loud to be just another breaker crashing upon the shore.

You hurtle up onto your elbows at once and very nearly jab out an eye with one of the umbrella's prongs. But the sight you witness gallumphing towards you from the ocean surf and up onto the beach makes a poke in the eye or a snake bite seem the least of your worries.

It's like watching a terrifying sunrise in fast-forward.

There's a face – a terrible, familiar face that you've only just convinced yourself can't possibly exist.

The sea monster from yesterday's hallucination... One of them anyway. The first, exuberant one is dragging itself up the beach towards you in great, unsteady gallops, heaving its body along on colossal arms that kick up a maelstrom of sand as they go.

There's no time to get yourself up and run, the creature is upon you in terrifying seconds.

With a scream, you throw yourself down onto your front and cover your head as the beast comes crashing to a stop almost on top of you.

Using its forward momentum, it brings a monolithic arm down from the sky and slams into the sand directly between you and the snake, like a hammer striking an anvil, and the resounding boom that shakes the ground underneath you smacks your heart straight up into your throat. That certainly hadn't felt like a figment of your imagination.

Raising your head at the collision, you peek up at the wall of bristling, scaly flesh that keeps you separated from the adder. All around you, the world grows inexorably darker, whereas in contrast, your own face turns ashen as the leviathan's torso curls itself over you until its vast throat nearly presses down on top of your head, forcing you to flatten yourself against the sand on your belly for fear of being squashed.

And then, it growls.

You've been inside a thunderstorm before. Actually inside a thunderstorm during a trip up north to the mountains... When that thunder rolled, the sound wasn't above you, it was beside you, all over you, swallowing you in a deafening roar that rattled your bones and shook out your ear drums.

You're immediately reminded of that harrowing experience when the beast's growl rolls over you now, passing overhead like an earthquake through an immense throat and exploding from between its baleen teeth so loudly, you have to clap your palms over your ears and screw your face up, letting out a comparatively pathetic bleat of alarm.

But through the cacophony and chaos, through the terror of having this growling, snarling beast bearing over you like a mountain, one though sticks to your mind like the sand sticks to your rain-soaked clothes.

When the snake raise its head and reared back, you came to an awful realisation. It hadn't been looking at you. It had been looking at the creature hurtling towards it.

And if the snake had seen and reacted to the sea monster, then that means....

“Oh god,” you whimper, twisting your head over one shoulder to peer up at the quivering frills sticking out of the beast's neck above you, “You're real!”

If this thing is real, then right now, you're in real trouble.

Heaving yourself up onto shaking elbows, you whip your head sideways, seeking out even a glimpse of daylight. You find it instantly, there beneath the monster's shoulder, you can see the open beach.

You only have a tiny window of opportunity...

The umbrella and crutch lay somewhere behind you, and in a moment of desperation, you begin shuffling around on your belly until you're facing the gap and throw out an arm, wrapping trembling fingers around the first thing they come into contact with and dragging it along with you as you crawl on your stomach out from underneath the beast's shadow.

Hitting the open sand, you let a fleeting burst of relief slug you in the chest when you realise you've grabbed the crutch. You can't imagine you'll be able to get very far at all without it.

Adrenaline fizzes through your brain as you shove yourself upright and make a mad scramble onto your feet, tears springing to your eyes when your scarred thigh hums in protest. Biting down on your tongue to distract yourself from the agony in your leg, you begin to limp as best you can away from the behemoth at your back.

You'll have to circle around to the stairs when you can, but for now, you're far more preoccupied with putting as much distance between you and that thing as possible.

The uneven beach leaves you stumbling with every other step, but you still haul the crutch out ahead of you and use it to propel yourself as swiftly as you can towards the cliff walls, but before you can even make it halfway there, the growling, spitting creature falls eerily silent....

But not for long.

The quiet is broken almost right away by a sharp, urgent trill.

“Fuck!” you choke through gritted teeth, unable to resist risking a glance over your shoulder.

Ah. Perhaps it was foolish to look.

Silver scales slip away to safety over a sand dune and your stomach bottoms out as you catch sight of the real threat, its head now raised in your direction and its white, bulbous eyes fixed unblinkingly upon you.

Within the span of another second, you see it shift, and that's all the incentive you need to unleash a frantic shriek and whirl around to face the cliffs once more. The stairs are out – too far away – the creature is sure to cut you off before you can even get close.

Perhaps though... perhaps there's the slightest chance... somewhere in these old cliffs...

There!

Set within the crumbling rock like a narrow maw, you spy a hollow, naturally formed by thousands of years of erosion from the sea and the wind. God, you hope it's large enough.

All you can think to do is lurch unevenly towards it as the ground beneath your feet begins to shudder with the swift approach of something massive.

“Come on,” you urge yourself between ragged breaths, “Come on!”

The hollow draws gradually nearer, at the agonising pace of a glacier, but the sea monster?

You're only ten feet from the entrance.

A tremulous croon beats at the air around your head...

Five, shambling feet.

A blast of heat from rancid breath licks at the nape of your neck.

With a last, desperate cry, you throw yourself and your crutch through the gap in the cliff walls and tumble forwards into a pool of icy water that had been left behind by the sea.

Shocking cold bites at your skin and you let out a shrill gasp, yet you waste no more time in scrabbling forwards, deeper into the tiny cave, and not a moment too soon.

With meagre seconds to spare, the beast careens to a stop just in front of the entrance you'd disappeared into, causing the walls of the cave to shift and shiver from the force of a titan colliding with them.

Whipping around onto your rear, you shove yourself backwards, splashing through the rock pool until your spine hits the furthest, damp wall, and there, your escape comes to a grinding halt, gulping down desperate lungfuls of air in a cold, dark hole.

Your gaze lifts belatedly to the entrance of the hollow and meets the huge, white eye of the sea monster outside.

Startled, you yelp again and the eye retreats all at once, giving you a better view of the beast's face. It cocks its head to the side, squinting an eye halfway shut as it inspects your hiding place for a moment, then, to your utmost dismay, it brings one of its webbed hands up to the entrance.

“Go AWAY!” you shout at it, drawing your knees up against your chest as two, slender fingers worm their way through the gap and enter the cave with you, probing around near your shoes and splashing in the water, seeking you out.

The creature outside whines and its fingertips come close, far too close for your liking, mere inches from finding you in the darkness. Miraculously however, they don't seem capable of venturing any further inside. Grunting in what you can only imagine is frustration, the beast slowly withdraws its hand, only to replace it immediately with the opposite appendage.

Fortunately for you, the same outcome occurs.

The cave's entrance was barely narrow enough to allow you passage, far too small for any more than two of a leviathan's fingers to reach in and scrabble about uselessly for you.

You don't let yourself relax at this revelation though, and you likely won't until you're back in your familiar, land-locked city without a coastline in sight.

Cold, wet and trapped, you're forced to keep yourself pressed up against the wall behind you for what you hope doesn't turn out to be hours.

Surely it'll lose interest once it realises it can't reach you.

Surely to god...

Please.

"Leave me alone...” you croak hoarsely, burying your head in your knees and feeling the dread of hopelessness eat away at your empty stomach.

It's difficult to have to come to terms with a truth as enormous as the one waiting for you just outside this cave.

Eventually, as the sky outside starts to darken, the creature seems to finally realise that its efforts are in vain and that you won't be coaxed out by its warbles and dulcet hums. Whinging deeply in its throat, it pulls its fingers from the gap and replaces its hand with a soft, yellow snout, exhaling warmly into the hollow.

You flinch when the hot breath washes over you, easing your shivering, if only just a little.

“What do you want from me?” you hiccough weakly, hardly bothering to raise your head. As you expect, the beast only blows out one more, suffocating breath before it draws away and settles itself down on its front, facing the entrance, chin propped on folded arms.

You might have imagined it, but when it lets out a soft whuff into the sand, you could swear it sounds downright dejected.

You feel as if you've sat here for hours, shivering with cold and keeping your eyes shifting periodically between the darkness of your knees, the colossus stretched out across the beach outside and the distant seashore that drifts closer and closer with each passing hour.

The tide is steadily coming in.

You're running out of time.

And still, the beast lingers.

Once or twice, you're slapped with a sense of false hope when it suddenly heaves itself up and disappears from view, but just as you start working up the courage to creep forwards and take peek outside, you immediately retreat back to the far wall when the beast reappears from the sea, each time carrying a new 'gift' in its grinning maw.

One by one, they're inexplicably dropped in front of the entrance to your hidey-hole. First comes a series of pretty scallop shells, then an entire bucket's-worth of samphire, followed by three unfortunate mackerel, and most recently, a rusty, European number plate.

You can only watch on in befuddled disbelief as the beast uses the very tips of its fingers to push its treasures inside the cave before it pulls away and lets its chin drop to the sand again, warbling at you expectantly.

It has to be perhaps the worst attempt at luring prey from its hole that you've ever seen.

You certainly won't be budging any time soon, not for love nor money.

The cold has seeped well into your bones by the time the sea reaches the cave's entrance, sloshing against the cliff walls and creeping steadily higher.

A sneeze begins tickling at the back of your nose and before you can stop yourself, you're lurching forwards and belting out an explosive, “ACHOO!”

Outside, the sea monster gives a sudden start, raising its head and flicking its rays towards you inquisitively.

Swiping at your nose, you give it a weary glare and sniffle, “What're you looking at?”

In response, it cocks its head to one side and its chest expands with an enormous lungful of air, deflating again in a rumbling croon.

Clicking your tongue, you merely avert your eyes in response and take to rubbing vigorously at your arms in the hopes that friction will instil a little warmth into your paper-thin flesh. The old, wax coat provides some respite, but it was meant to keep the rain off your back, not to keep you warm as you hunker down for hours inside a bitterly cold rock pool.

Something shifts outside, and you shoot a glare up to the monster, seeing its large, blank eye pressed to the gap again, zeroing in on you.

“Ugh,” you scoff wetly, “Why are you still here?” There's no real bite to your tone, only a marrow-deep exhaustion intermingled with tired resignation - a sad concoction to be sure.

You've finally begun to accept that this thing isn't going away any time soon.

And just like that, as if the Universe itself is dead-set on proving you wrong, the creature's eye snaps away from the entrance and it shoots up onto its elbows, glancing around, fins quivering so rapidly that they seem to blur at their edges.

Perturbed by the change of demeanour, you straighten up, hugging your knees closer to your chest.

With its eyes blown open wide, it heaves its bulk around to face the ocean opposite your little bolt-hole, and in doing so, it shifts to one side, allowing you to catch a glimpse of the crashing waves beyond.

“Oh no...” you whisper seconds later, brows pinched achingly across your forehead.

A colossal shadow rises out of the distant sea, blood-red pupils burning like twin suns on the brink of going supernova.

'Oh good,' you can't help but bitterly muse, 'Because of course the second creature would be real as well.'

With the yellow leviathan's back to you, you wonder if now is the only opportunity you'll get to beat a hasty retreat, weighing up the risks of drowning in here against potentially getting eaten if you dare to set foot outside.

Eyeing the newcomer warily, you don't expect to be given a sudden pause.

… Something's not right.

Despite having eight legs to haul itself along, the colossus is moving drunkenly, its head lolled to one side so that the fin atop its round skull hangs limply down to its shoulder. It makes its way up the beach at an unsteady tilt, aiming for its yellow counterpart, who has grown still and silent as a mountain.

The vast tentacles are sluggish in their attempts to drag the rest of the creature out of the briny depths, and upon a cursory glance at the foremost tendril, you can't help but notice that it, unlike the other seven, is being held aloft, out of the water, curled up against the creature's torso.

Uncertain, you scan over the limb, only to let out a tiny gasp when your gaze lands upon the enormous gillnet made of twine that's wrapped around and around the tentacle, keeping it trapped and bent in on itself at an angle that has to be awkward, even for such a muscular appendage.

In spite of your many, many misgivings, you forget to stop yourself from wincing at the sight.

And then, just as the last of its rear tentacles pull themselves up into shallower waters, the beast teeters forwards and starts to topple. All at once, the yellow creature's fins plaster themselves back against its skull and it bellows out a shrill, sharp screech, springing into action and bounding off across the beach. However, it's too late to keep the paler beast from crashing down into the shallows like an enormous redwood tree, sending a violent tremor across the ground and casting ripples through the water you're sitting in.

You have to wrench yourself out of your stupor with a visceral jolt, realising that both creatures are now distracted. Your path is momentarily clear.

This could be your best and only chance.

Setting your jaw, you swipe up the crutch that has sunk into the pool at your side and use it to haul yourself upright. The thigh strapped to your prosthetic hums, and both legs threaten to buckle out from underneath you after such a long time spent curled up in the cave, but you simply grit your teeth and push on, lumbering towards the gap in the cliff walls.

The odd trinkets are left behind to be swallowed by the tide.

It's tricky to try and hurry through ankle-deep water, and each footstep splashes freezing droplets of the sea onto your bare leg and sends goosebumps racing up and down your spine.

Further down the beach, the monster that had cornered you has reached its downed companion's side, fretting and uttering pitiable cries, all of which you steadfastly ignore as you limp towards the staircase, hugging the rocks and refusing to spare even a single glance over your shoulder.

You don't need to know, you need to go.

With your eyes glued to the slippery, metal railing that runs up the cliffs, you don't see the yellow behemoth's head turn to look in your direction, nor do you see it stretch a hand out towards you, fingers splayed, as of a sinner pleading for the Heavens to answer their desperate prayer.

But you do hear its sudden and choking wail of distress, a howl so shrill that it spears you right through the chest and leaves you faltering in your steps.

It's the closest to human the beast has ever sounded...

Just as you splash to the bottom of the stone stairs and plant your free hand on the railing, you cast a final, reluctant glance behind you, locking eyes with the first creature and feeling your heart sink into your stomach...

You berate yourself for looking.

The leviathan's hand is still out-stretched, as if it could span the length of the water-logged bay and bring you back within its grasp. It's baleen teeth are on display, but the corners of its once grinning mouth are now twisted into an unmistakable frown fraught with anguish, calling out to you wretchedly in that strange, haunting croon that reminds you of whale-song.

It doesn't want to let you get away, but it won't leave its companion's side to fetch you.

… Loyalty? From a beast of the deepest, blackest parts of maritime myth?

Your crutch thwacks against the first step...

“I'm sorry,” you hear yourself whisper, absently shaking your head and drawing away.

Gradually, the first creature's hand lowers to the ground, its triangular fins laid so flat against its head that you couldn't be sure there were fins there at all if you weren't already aware of them.

It's pale-faced companion lifts its chin from the shallow water and for one, fatal second, your gaze flicks down to meet its own.

It's massive torso expands and contracts with each breath it pulls into rattling lungs. It isn't unlike seeing a mountain breathe. Those blood-red pupils never waver, watching you warily from beneath drooping eyelids that blink in less-than-perfect tandem, notably fatigued.

It must have exhausted itself trying to escape the gillnet.

Your fingers are growing numb on the freezing cold railing.

Worrying your lower lip between your teeth, you reluctantly allow your eyes to break away from that wild, mistrusting stare and travel down the length of its torso until they land upon its trapped appendage.

You look to the net, sealing your lips together when you notice the very distinct rivulets of scarlet liquid dribbling down off the limb and plopping into the sea below it, marring the dark, grey water like ink drops.

You can hardly believe you finally have freedom at the tips of your fingers and you're faltering. Just because of a bloodied net. So what if one tentacle is caught within thick, sharp twine? The beast still has seven others to work with. You wish you would have been that lucky...

A lump grows slowly in your throat and you find yourself peering down at your own prosthetic, the very same extremity that this monster had returned to you yesterday, unprompted, unasked.

Once again, you raise your eyes to both creatures, the first, and the second, the one with the sunnier disposition, and the one with the nocturnal characteristics.

“Oh, come on,” you growl at yourself, giving your intact leg a jerk as if to get it moving, even if the rest of you is hesitating, like an idiot, "Now is not the time to grow a fucking conscience."

Those things are not your responsibility. What the Hell are you expecting to do anyway?

Help?

This is bigger than you.

So, much bigger than you.

Tipping your head back to stare up at the sky, you peel your lips apart and heave out a long, hollow sigh. "Is a little sense so much to ask for?"

Raindrops patter dully on your upturned face, and it soon becomes clear that this is the only response you're ever likely to receive from on high.

"I must be out of my mind..."

Cautious as a doe stepping out of her thicket, you draw your crutch off the bottom step and place it back in the water at your side, turning to face the pair of sea creatures, both of whom are watching you just as closely as you're watching them, one hopeful, the other guarded.

You know without a doubt which of the two you can relate to more.

#fnaf #sunnydrop #moondrop #security breach #merau #mermay #mermoon #mersun #giant/tiny #g/t

[mumms-the-word]

Starstruck

Day 3 of the BG3 Fic February challenge. A new day, a new Tav!

I have too many Tavs. But also, now I have pictures.

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3. First encounter with their love interest

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Ardynn notched another arrow, aiming carefully but swiftly for the throat of the last remaining goblin. The others were handling a rabid worg, but this goblin thought it could take on a massive cave bear. Typical goblin stupidity, she guessed. Ardynn let the arrow fly right as the cave bear reared onto his hind legs with a roar. The arrow thunked into the goblin’s neck at nearly the same the bear’s claws came crashing down. Ardynn didn’t know which attack killed it, and at this point, she didn’t care.

She turned just in time to see Wyll sink his blade into the downed worg’s side, ending it for good. A quick glance around the room told her there was nothing left to fight. The only ones left alive in that room were them and the bear.

Ardynn took a deep breath and lowered her bow, hoping that she hadn’t just saved a completely random bear and not the person she suspected the bear would be. Not that she regretted saving random bears, either, but…all leads for the missing druid pointed here.

To her faint relief, she heard the tell-tale signs of shifter magic just behind her. She latched her bow onto the little hook strapped to her armor and turned to face—

Oh gods. 

She was not prepared.

The man before her was a towering beast of a elf, made of pure muscle and sinew. He bore a distinctive red tattoo on one side of his face and several deep scars that stretched from hairline to eyebrow, like the claws of some great animal. A bear, she thought distantly, distractedly. He wore the distinctive robes of a druid of high rank, the symbol of the Emerald Grove front and center on his broad chest. There was no mistaking who this was, then.

This was Halsin. The Halsin. She’d heard stories about him long before she’d visited the Emerald Grove, back when her brother was training to become a druid and was seeking Circles to join up with. No one had warned her that he would look like this. He was all leather and white fabric and tree bark and blood. Of all things, she found herself staring at the leather bands around his biceps, the belts pulled taut and semi-straining against his skin as he moved toward her.

“Pardon the viscera,” he said, rolling his broad shoulders and shaking a bit of blood from his hands. “One should cherish all of nature’s bounty…but goblin guts are quite far down the list.”

Ardynn could only blink as he neared, placing himself almost within arm’s reach. Even then, she had to lift her chin to look up at him. Hells, he had to be, what, six and a half feet tall? Seven feet? She suddenly felt very small in comparison. 

She realized too late that he was still speaking, and she hadn’t been listening. She only caught the last words he said as he placed a hand on his chest, gesturing to himself. “I am the druid Halsin.”

Ardynn finally found her tongue and closed her mouth with a quick snap of her teeth. Gods, she was worse than a human schoolgirl. She desperately hoped the dim torchlight of the room obscured how red her face must be by now.

“I…forgive me, but…you’re Halsin? The Master Halsin of the Emerald Grove?” She felt stupid saying it when it was as obvious as day. But this all felt like a dream. Halsin was a legend, to hear her brother talk of him, and his legend only seemed to grow when she thought back on all the things the druids back at the grove had said about him. She knew he would be here somewhere and she knew she would meet him eventually, but…

But seven feet of pure, muscled druid with biceps bigger than her head was something of a surprise. 

Halsin gave a self-deprecating sort of chuckle. “Yes—but just Halsin will suffice. Unbecoming to demand honorifics from the one who saved my hide.”

Ardynn tried to ignore the butterflies that started to flutter in her stomach at the first hint of his laughter. And he told her could just call him Halsin. No titles or honorifics. Oh she could never.

She ignored the butterflies. Get it together, ranger! She gave a short nod. “Glad I could be of help.”

“I must admit, I didn’t expect anyone would come to my aid,” he said, seemingly unaware of her internal struggle with her own silly mind. “Who in their right mind would infiltrate a goblin infested temple. Unless…” Something in his expression shifted, and he stepped closer, his eyebrows furrowing with concern. Her heart skipped a beat, wondering what he was looking for. Scared of what he might see.

“Hmm…that look in your eyes. I’ve seen it before.” He frowned. “Are you feeling all right?”

Before she could respond, he lifted a hand, hovering it just over her head, and summoned a brilliantly golden aura of magic. Suddenly the scent of blood and mildew gave way to that of oakwood, lemongrass, fresh loam, and honeysuckle, a strange flourish of scents that seemed to shift and change before she could fully register them. This was nature magic, made obvious by the swirl of spectral leaves that flickered and flew about in the golden light, but it was more powerful than anything Ardynn had ever seen or tried to cast herself.

By the light of the spell, she could see more details in Haslin that she had missed—the deep smile lines around his mouth, the little pinched line between his eyebrows as he concentrated on the spell, his eyelashes dark against his tanned cheek. She noticed other little scars, too, on his lip and his chin. He had thin braids in his tousled, nut-brown hair, she realized, and his ears had a strange curve to them as they tapered into points, a shape that was unlike those of her mother or the other wood elves she had known and grown up around. Some wilder lineage, perhaps. 

The spell, whatever it was, imbued her with a gentle warmth, calming her racing heart and clearing her mind. But as the spell sank deeper into her skin, she could feel the squirm in her skull. The tadpole was awake.

Halsin jolted, his spell flaring out and then dying completely, taking the warmth and the scent of fresh wood with it. He looked at her with even deeper concern than before. “Oak Father preserve you, child,” he said, pressing a hand to his chest. “You’re infected, aren’t you? The mind flayers’ spawn. But…something’s different.”

Ardynn didn’t reply. She had already suspected this was the case, based on other leads she had pursued on her way over to the goblin camp. But if anyone knew anything more, surely it would be Halsin?

He frowned again, and when he next spoke, it was as though he were murmuring to himself more than to her. “You’re aware of the monster inside you. You don’t bow to the Absolute, like the True Souls do…How is this possible?”

Ardynn shook her head. “I wish I could tell you. I was hoping you would know a cure.”

“Hmm.” His expression shifted again. This time he looked serious, but thoughtful, his eyes studying her face. She wondered what color his eyes were. It was hard to tell down here in the depths of the temple. His eyes had been closed during his nature spell, so she didn’t get a chance to see them in that beautiful, golden light.

“I’ve been studying these parasites for a while now,” he said, and she snapped out of her staring again. Gods, what was she thinking? She wasn’t here to drool, she was here to save a druid, and then a grove, and then hopefully find a cure. She forced herself to focus on his words as he continued to explain what he knew. Parasites, altered magic, a lead toward a place called Moonrise Towers…the more he spoke the more she settled back to reality and her place in it, asking questions to try to understand the situation, given all this new context.

Eventually she took a deep breath and nodded. “I suppose we should head to Moonrise Towers next, then.” She glanced up at him. “Thank you for your help. You should get out of here as soon as you can.”

She needed to leave now, before she let the druid distract her anymore than he already did. But to her surprise, as she was turning to go, he held out a hand, as if to stop her by touching her shoulder.

“Wait,” he said. His hand hovered for a moment in the air before he let it fall again. Was there something uncertain in his gaze? Ardynn tilted her head, studying him, but in a blink the uncertainty was gone. He was back to his steadfast, confident self again. 

“I could help you find a cure,” he said. “But I need to settle matters here, first.” 

Was it just her imagination or did he sound…interested in going with her? No, she must be imagining it. He was just being helpful, because he needed help in return. She mentally shook herself of such thoughts and focused once more on the task at hand, listening to his request to kill the goblin camp leaders.

“What about you?” she asked. “Having a shapeshifting bear-druid at my side might make things easier.”

“Perhaps,” he said. “Perhaps not. My presence could make things more difficult. If I join you, we’ll likely have to slaughter this entire place.”

Ardynn glanced over her shoulder at the rest of her companions, Wyll, Karlach, and Shadowheart, each of whom seemed up for the challenge. Besides…there was only one leader left: the hobgoblin, Dror Ragzlin. Ardynn had already seen what he was capable of. With Halsin at their side, it could swing the battle in their favor. Wyll caught her eye and gave her a subtle nod of encouragement.

She turned back to Halsin. “Two of the leaders are already dead. I could use your help with the third.”

“Truly?” Halsin grinned, a somewhat crooked smile that threatened to send butterflies back into Ardynn’s stomach. “You work quickly.”

She shrugged, not sure what to say. It hadn’t been easy, but she couldn’t let these goblins threaten the grove and everyone inside. Druids or tieflings, they all deserved a change to survive. 

“Very well, then,” Halsin said. “My claws are yours.”

He took a few steps back and rolled his shoulders. Ardynn watched with interest as he began the movements that came with wild-shaping, like a ritual dance, fluid and done with practiced ease. Sooner than she could blink, he had shifted from giant man to giant bear, shaking his whole body. He met her gaze with his own and nodded his big, ursine head. It was time to take on Dror Ragzlin. 

It was time to see what the great Archdruid of the Emerald Grove was capable of. 

#bg3 #bg3 fic #bg3ficfeb #halsin #wyll #ardynn #oc #my fic #no edits we die like men #i tried so hard not to just rewrite the scene word for word but man #writing is hard

[dragonbanexxi]

The Dragon Queen

Jaehaera Targaryen x Aegon iii Targaryen

***!!!NOT CANON COMPLIANT!!!***

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

Chapter 17: Jaehaera

The familiar arched windows, the rosewood desk and the scented candles; Jaehaera felt like she couldn’t breathe. All of sudden she a girl of six again.

She doesn’t understand why she expects her papa to appear before her. As if Aegon the second of his name would limp out of the shadows and smile at her with his tragedy filled lilac eyes. Jaehaera begins to hear her mothers deranged babbles as well. ‘A son for a son. Our debt has been paid.’ The loss of sanity shined hideously on her mamas red stained eyes. Yet perhaps what’s haunting Jaehaera more is the sound of both her brothers sweet laughter ringing in her eardrums. Jaehaerys her darling knight and her precious baby brother Maelor. Sweet boys gone to soon.

Her nails begin to unconsciously dig into the skin of her palms. Being in the King’s personal study was too much for her tortured soul to handle.

“Cousin” a deep voice broke her thoughts.

“Pardon? Oh…Sorry…”

King Aegon gives a gentle smile and hands her a goblet wine.

“Viserys tells me you prefer sour wines over sweet. We’ve managed to acquire some Dornish Red just for you.”

Jaehaera manages to give a small smile, uttering her thankfulness quietly. The dread she feels about being in her fathers study- well she supposes her cousins study now; still hasn’t left her. The Princess brings the goblet to her nose taking a petite whiff. Now Jaehaera is no expert when it comes to wine, yet she understands that the more bitter the wine’s aroma is, the older the wine is. The older the wine, the better the taste (at least that’s what the Meerenese say). And this Dornish Wine smelled bitter.

Finally she takes a small sip and sighs happily, Dornish Red did not disappoint her at all.

Jaehaera feels like she could tongue kiss the Dornish Prince in congratulations for producing such an exquisite delicacy.

“I’m glad it is to your liking Princess.” Aegon says amused.

They’re sitting across from each other each trying their best to not stare at other for too long. They are cousins. They share the same color palette yet they look so different.

Now Jaehaera doesn’t remember what the late Queen Rhaenyra looked like. Hell even the Velaryon boys, Jaehaera couldn’t bring herself to remember what they had once looked like. However locked away in the deepest part of her memory the princess remembers something her Grandmama Alicent had commented about her cousin Aegon.

‘Daemons firstborn son has his mothers eyes’ the Queen had said out of nowhere. With a wistful longing shining in her rich brown irises.

It had made her Uncle Aemond scoff in disinterest, and mother Helaena smile in agreement. So perhaps what Queen Alicent said was true. Perhaps Aegon did have his mothers eyes.

“I’m sorry for Baela’s outburst earlier” he begins awkwardly. “My sister… she’s just very protective.”

Protective of him or protective of their power? She wants to say out loud. Bitterness flooding her veins. His sister had given her an attitude since the moment Jaehaera stepped foot into the parley. Jaehaera isn’t oblivious like her sweet and weak mother Helaena once was. She knew when people were attempting to belittle her.

Ten years in Essos escaping and weaving her way through constant danger had helped Jaehaera identify friends from foes. Regrettably for her cousin Baela, the woman chosen to offend her, thus making a foe out of Jaehaera. No the Green Princess will not tolerate disrespect. Not when across the Narrow Sea the name Jaehaera Targaryen means something.

Unlike her cousins, Jaehaera had to make something of herself or else she would have died. Not like them who inherited their power through the death of the last remaining green. Her father.

“Don’t apologize on behalf of your sister on my account.” Jaehaera forces herself to calm her voice from its rising anger. “I’m used to not being well received on first sight.”

She sees the man frown. Not completely sure what he was thinking. So she quickly spoke to make herself favorable to him.

“Besides… I too lost my temper.” She sets her goblet of wine down. The wine finally settling her nerves. “Bad habit to have really.”

The smile she receives from him is small but charming.

“You still have that small dimple” she blurts. Fuck the booze is working a little too well. The Green Princess thinks to herself. Completely embarrassed.

Aegon raises an ashy brow.

“Um… I mean…”

“Your brother used to call me cheese cheek” he says with a tiny laugh.

“Well given that you had called Harry an elf…”

Both laugh heartily at the memory until it’s taken over uncomfortably silence. Jaehaera opts to look at her hands.

Jaehaerys will forever be a sensitive topic of discussion for her. Ten years. Ten blasted years and her heart still longs for her darling knight. Her beloved twin. Not matter how hard she willed her mind to let him go, Jaehaera’s heart isn’t ready to let Jaehaerys rest in peace. They came into the world together. They belonged together. Yet her twin is gone, and she remains.

Tears build up in the corner of lilac eyes. Guilt swarms her chest at the thought of her dearest harry’s corpse rotting in the ground while she still breathes. No longer able to hold her tears in she lets them fall with a small sob.

The kings large hands find her pale slender one engulfing them in their warmth.

“What happened to your brothers…” He begins with earnest. “Gods what happened to all of us…” his breathing shaky “We deserved none of it. No matter what faction was in the right or in the wrong. Us remaining survivors, are reaping what are parents sowed.”

The Princess’s tears falls onto their joined hands.

Jaehaera unconsciously begins to rub his knuckles, in appreciation for his comfort.

“Then let us sow a new beginning your grace.”

Aegon brings her knuckles to lips giving them a chivalrous peck. Amethyst eyes gleaming with earnestness.

“Lets.”

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

Aegon and Jaehaera’s first one on one talk!!! WHOOT WHOOT!! 🥳🎊🎉

Thank you guys for all the support! I greatly appreciate it. ❤️

Comments are always welcomed!

#aegon iii targaryen #jaehaera targaryen #jaehaera targaryen x aegon iii targaryen #jaehaera x aegon iii

[average-giant-kissing-enjoyer]

G/t July #10: Ancient

“At last, I’ve found it - the sarcophagus of the mythical giant Nor-El!”

Professor Holloway excitedly brushed at his white handlebar mustache. Just wait until the rest of the Society heard about this one! They were all laughing when he told them that the giants were real. Well, they wouldn’t be laughing now when he showed them pictures of the mummified remains of -

“Oh hell, what’s this now?”

The main chamber of the tomb was nearly empty. Nor-El was supposed to be a giant, and as a giant, his sarcophagus was supposed to be… well, big. But when Holloway entered he found only a small stone, not much bigger than a breadbox. Surely this wasn’t the sarcophagus? Not even a child would fit in it, let alone a giant.

“This must be a mistake. I have the wrong room,” Holloway told himself as he inspected the stone. He touched the sides and jerked in surprise as a strange blue-green light suddenly emanated from it. The stone split open like a book and a small figure stood up from a recess inside.

“Who dares disturb the slumber of the great Nor-El?” came a tiny voice. It belonged to something that looked human enough, but far too small - barely six inches in height.

Holloway cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon?”

The little man rolled his eyes. “I SAID, WHO DARES DISTURB THE - ”

“No, I know what you said,” said the professor. “I mean, what? What are you?”

“I am the great and powerful Nor-El! Now tell me, mortal, why you have awakened me from my ten thousand year sleep.”

The professor adjusted his glasses. Was this some sort of crazy optical illusion? Certainly his friends in the Society weren’t playing a prank? “No, no, I know the name ‘Nor-El,’” he said. “I have been searching the world for years to find the mythical giant Nor-El. But you’re not a giant.”

“Of course I’m not a giant,” Nor-El said. “You’re a giant.”

“Excuse me? I’m normal,” said Holloway. “You’re the one who is small. You’re barely bigger than a mouse.”

“A MOUSE? WHERE?” Nor-El whipped his head back and forth in a frenzy.

Holloway knelt down and tried to look as non-threatening as possible. “There’s no mouse. I was just saying that you are comparable in size to - ”

The little man clutched at his breast. “You can’t just scare a guy like that.”

“This is so fascinating,” said Holloway, reaching into his pocket for his notepad. “All the ancient texts I studied led me to believe you were a giant. Uh, from the race of giants that existed in the past.”

“Oh no, you’re mistaken,” said Nor-El wearily, as if he had to explain this every day. “If you look closer at the ancient texts, it says I’m an ant. Just the A-N-T, no G-I at the beginning. ANT, not GI-ant. It’s an easy mistake.”

The old professor showed the little man his notes. “Now see here, I wrote down what I saw in the ancient texts and it very clearly says you are a giant. Also it’s translated into English, the words for ‘giant’ and ‘ant’ aren’t morphologically similar at all in - ”

“Nope, you wrote it wrong.” Nor-El crossed his arms and stuck his nose in the air. “It says ant. You’re just old and you have poor eyesight and you wrote it wrong.”

“Don’t correct me, you little…” Holloway bit his tongue. “And if I did misread it, it’s still wrong, because you’re not an ant.”

The tiny figure didn’t budge. “How would you know? Have you ever seen me and an ant in the same room at the same time?”

“I know what an ant looks like,” said Holloway, feeling his face going red. “They’re… they’re little bugs. Tiny bugs, no thicker than my fingernail. You could step on one and not even notice - even you at your size.”

“Exactly,” said Nor-El, “as the ancient texts say. I am a gi-ANT, to an ant, you see.”

“Look here!” said the professor, standing to his full height again. “I’ve come a long way, searching for many, many years to find this place. I’ve thrown my life savings away looking for the ancient giants and I’m not going to play these silly word games with - with - with whatever kind of sprite you are!”

Nor-El shrank back, his eyes wide. “Wait! Don’t hurt me! Uh, uh, I’m magical. I have magical powers. I grant wishes. Any wish you like.”

Holloway rolled his eyes. “Wishes.”

“Yes, wishes,” Nor-El repeated. “I could make you very rich. I could make you young again. I could turn you into a beautiful woman. I could make it so that you never get pooped on by birds. Just name your wish.”

“I wish you weren’t annoying.”

“Okay, uh - I don’t think I - I forgot to explain the rules. There are some rules for the wishes, and you can’t just wish for anything you - ”

“SHUT UP,” Holloway bellowed, bending down over the sarcophagus and scooping little Nor-El into his hands. “You’re starting to make me very angry.”

“Unhand me! Fiend! Villain! I am the great and powerful Nor-El and I will not suffer the indignity!” But as much as he struggled, he couldn’t free himself from the professor’s grip.

Holloway smirked. “I think my friends at the Society would like to see you. Nor-El, you are going to make me famous.”

“Very well,” said Nor-El with a menacing look. “If that’s the way you want it. I shall cast down a thunderstorm on you.” He waved a hand at the professor’s face. “I cast Lightning Bolt!”

A tiny spark sizzled from his finger and bounced off of Holloway’s nose. It tickled. The two men stared at each other in tense silence for a moment.

“Okay, just as long as you don’t let your friends get too rough with me,” said Nor-El, hanging his head.

“Oh, I’m not letting anyone else touch you,” said the professor, gently patting the little man’s head. “I’ll make sure nothing harms my new meal ticket.”

#g/t #giant/tiny #g/t writing #agke microfic #sfw gt #g/t july

[epilogue-and-prologue]

A Heavy Bargain (Say My Name)

Fandom: North and South (BBC Series)

Ship: Modern!Thornton x F!Reader

Trope: (Business)Enemies to lovers - Angst with a fluffy ending.

Word counts: 5 921

Note: @sorisooyaa I did it again x).

Warnings: Betrayal, SMUT, insults and bad words, incorrect mentions of what being an architect means.

Tag-list: @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @middleearthpixie @glassgulls @evenstaredits @fizzyxcustard @sotwk

Getting the almighty holier than though Mister Thornton all riled up was fun.

His face was becoming a stern, emotionless mask when he was seeing his opponent beat him at his own game. In which case, you were the opponent. And you were crushing his hopes with a devilish grin.

“As you can see, once the factory is restored, the margins will increase by twenty per cent. And of course, it is without counting the profit made from the museum which will be added at the same time, as well as the branded products we will sell there.”

This project was yours, it was given at this point. Victory tasted awfully good when winning against him. After working for the same firm together for the past six years, the friendly competition you had entertained in the beginning had swiftly turned into a full-blown rivalry. If you were honest with yourself, it had turned you on more than once, seeing him do his absolute best to get the upper hand. Especially, when you knew the cards to be in your favour.

“Thank you for your time, that will be all for now.”

Architecture was a male-dominated field and being the only woman in the office was a feat, day in and day out. Every day you had to fight for a seat at the table and he did not make it easy on you. Not that you’d want him to.

After the meeting, Thornton approached you, ever so leisurely, to give himself a sense of control. It suited him. The confidence radiating from him. A pristine shirt he had to have bought a size too small, his three-piece suit a work of art along the lines of his shoulders, his pants taunt against his thighs. And that was just the front.

“Good work today.”

You stopped gathering your computer and portfolios. Was he joking ? You arched a brow, your arms instinctively crossed over your chest.

“What do you want Thornton? Snarl at me, like you usually do?”

He chuckled, leaning his hips against the table, looking at you intently. You could see him eying you from head to toe, ranking up your legs, stopping at your hips, then your chest - accentuated cleavage in your fitted white shirt, before meeting your eyes.

“No. I want to invite you to dinner. -Pardon? -You heard me.”

What game was he playing? That man always had a motive.

“I fear our little games have to come to an end. Only fitting to have a dinner to celebrate. I have been offered a promotion. Associate.”

You felt your mouth open, but no words came to you. You bit the inside of your cheek. Of course, he had come to gloat and run that tongue of his. What you wanted to do to that man could not be expressed in enough words. He was good at his job, yes, but not good enough to earn the promotion you had been fighting for, for months. Of course, the goddamn CEO’s son had to have it.

“So that’s why you were not trying to jeopardize my presentation today? Fuck, I should have known… You’re never that kind to anyone. Have a good dinner on your own, Thornton. And above all, go fuck yourself.”

His wide hand grabbed your wrist before you could leave. Your breath itched in your throat.

“You did not hear me. I have been offered a promotion. In another firm. -What do you mean?”

He let go of your arm, feeling as if you were less likely to leave now that he had your attention. Thornton’s lips perked in what could be treated as a smile.

“I mean that I am leaving. My sister and I are creating a new firm.”

Oh. Oh. His firm. This situation was taking unexpected turns.

“And what that has to do with me?”

He inhaled slowly, calming down his nerves.

“My sister, Fanny, thought it good to have you with us.”

Your laugh echoed in the empty office. He could not be serious.

“Are you joking? -I wish I were. She can be… very convincing at times.”

Saying those words, he recalled the week Fanny had called him asking about the prodigy he was working with. Not that he would tell you that. Your rivalry was the only thing keeping you in his life. And, even if he would never admit it aloud, the challenge you presented him with was exhilarating. He felt stimulated and pushed to always be on his best game with you around. Probably why Fanny wanted you in the first place. You kept him and his ego in check.

“Listen, you don’t have to make a decision now. Come to dinner with me, we’ll talk about the details then.”

Narrowing your eyes, you shook his extended hand.

“No promises. And give my thanks to your sister. She seems to be a brave woman to handle you every day.”

You smiled at your joke before leaving. In a fleeting dazed thought he wondered what else you could do with that mouth. Shaking his head, he went ahead and called his sister to tell her the news.

- After arranging a place and a date, the worst part of the ordeal was waiting. Wait for the week to be over. Wait for the evening to come. Wait for you to arrive. You had agreed it would be better for you to meet in a neutral place, where people would not recognize you. Sharks were everywhere and if they caught wind of you and him leaving the firm, it would stir more shit than you could handle. The French restaurant he had picked was on a side street, hidden from view by a beautifully decorated garden. You presented yourself and were guided to a table in a corner. He was already waiting for you, even going as far as pulling the chair out for you. You did not know how but this suit was even more enticing than the one he had on a few days before. He was wearing a dark shirt, sleeves rolled at his elbows, and no tie. He almost seemed relaxed, if not for the way his forearms were flexing against the cloth of his clothes.

“Wine?”

You nodded, the waiter pouring a glass for him and then for you. The menu was already on the table. As usual, yours did not have the prices written on them.

“Thornton? -Yes? -Could you pass me your menu, please?”

You reached for it before he could answer. To your surprise, he chuckled at your behaviour.

“What? -Nothing. You… You have a habit of taking what you want. I like that.”

The darkness surrounding you did little to cool the flush of your cheeks. He smiled wider. Then, the waiter came back. After having ordered, you put your credit card on the table, telling him you were the one to pay for tonight’s dinner and that next time his managers should do a better job at hiding their misogyny. The whole time, Thornton did not say anything, looking at you intently, focused like you thought you had never seen him before.

“Now that this is settled, first question: why is your sister not here with us? Second question: what makes you think I’ll join your firm after the hell on earth you put me through? -Simple. My sister is on vacation with her sons. You do know it’s Easter this week?”

He could not give a price to the face you made at that. “And I seem to recall, you gave me the same treatment.” He sipped on his wine, moving carefully, hoping you would not run. It was always the same dance with you. Him chasing you, in the hopes you would give him the light of day. Not always successful, but always worth it.

“Despite what you may think, I value your intellect and your sense of business. You are one of the only architects I know who makes a point of following the project from conception to finish, including regarding the contracts for the workers and the conditions in which they work. Going as far as talking with the unions and siding with them if need be. -Uh, duh? That’s my job. If the workers are unhappy the work is badly done and we lose money, that’s pretty simple math. -I know.”

He leaned over to you, pouring himself some water, spreading the smell of his cologne in your space. The wine must have been a tad too much because you clenched your thighs when he did. Deep into the night, you talked about the future of the firm, what projects you were willing to work on, what percentage you would be getting and who you would be working with. You wanted your work to be as ethical as possible, even in a world where you could lose it all in a heartbeat. The gentleman in him flared when you hailed a cab. He insisted on driving you home. You couldn’t say no to those eyes, pleading with you, an amused “I won’t bite. Unless you ask nicely.” Escaping him, making him blush just as much as you did. Upon arriving, he opened the door for you, walking you up to the door of your building.

“Well, Thornton, for someone who always had a thing against me, you do know how to wine and dine a girl alright.”

He chuckled.

“I do hope it worked at least.”

You stared at him through hooded eyelids. Maybe it was the alcohol in your system, the soft buzz leaving you to fend for yourself against your instincts. Or maybe it was him. The cologne in the air, his fingers brushing against your thigh in the car, the comfortable silence and quick wits exchanged during dinner. You did not know. And, honestly, you did not care.

“It worked like a charm.”

You leaned up, bravery overcoming you, and kissed his cheek. His breath hitched as he gritted his teeth, fighting against himself. Your hand had settled on his shoulder, and he did not stop himself from putting his on your waist. He sensed the shift in the air then. You pulled away before opening the door behind you. In a last attempt at seeing him break - the effect you had on him was visible, rendering his pants, even more, taunt against his ass (it was a sight to see) - you asked:

“So… You are coming or what?”

He followed you in without hesitation.

When you entered your apartment, you barely had the time to take off your coat and light up the room the door behind you was slammed shut and his hands were on you. Your back against his chest, his palms over your breasts, toying with your nipples through your top, no other place on Earth could compete with the one you were in now.

“Do you know what you’re doing to me?” he grunted in your ear, biting down softly on your earlobe, “those dresses stretched over your ass I could barely hide the hard-on under the table… Would have to touch myself in the bathroom thinking of you…”

Breathless, you whimpered “As if your suits were not a size too small just to turn me on… Buttons-up ready to burst…” You could hear the pride in his smirk, his hands pulling your jacket off, pulling your shirt off as well as his own. When he finally turned you around, underwear was the only thing left between you. You lunged forward, meeting him halfway in a hungry embrace, never quite kissing but leaving a trail down his throat of hickeys he’d have a hard time hiding. Once on your knees, he tried stopping you.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for so long, I…”

Your mouth watered at the sight of his cock, once freed of his boxers. Without so much as an afterthought, your mouth was at the tip, then deeper down your mouth, taking more and more of him with each back and forth, the salty taste of precum rapidly coating your tongue, your hands finding a steady place to rest on his hips. His whimpers were sinful. Reaching your ears and eliciting a wetness you never knew yourself capable of before that moment. Your fingers found their way down, between your thighs, toying with yourself. In a desperate attempt not to come, he pulled away from you before forcing you up. You frowned, visibly disappointed.

“Why…”

He stopped you, slipping a finger in your mouth for you to suck on. His eyes had gone dark, he seemed animated by lust only. Not that you would mind. When you complied, he inhaled sharply through his nose, smirking again.

“Bend.”

The order was simple. And you were not one to say no. You found yourself bending over on the table, ass up in the air, waiting for him to move. The warmth of his hands on your hips spread through you like wildfire, a desperate moan cutting through the silence. His fingers were impatient with your underwear, tearing the seams as if they were nothing. Without another moment of hesitation, he pulled a condom out of his discarded coat, put it on and… nothing came. Well, more accurately, you could feel the tip of his cock against your clit, moving in slow motion. In other words: torture. You went to get back up, pissed, when his hand blocked you down, the palm over the expanse of your back, firm, not even straining in his strength.

“Oh, growing impatient are we?”

The smug bastard. He was pushing in you excruciatingly slow until he was completely up in you. Losing control, you clenched around him, your whole body a string ready to snap, your back arching, as you were mouthing a silent plea for him to move. He stayed there, pulling mewls out of you, while he pulled you to him, your back against his chest, leaving breathless mouth-opened kisses down the side of your throat, caressing your shoulders and your back in sinful patience. You were a mess, almost in tears, the temptation too strong when he put you back down, slamming into you with such force, his hips were to leave bruises. Where his cries of pleasure had been enticing, yours were only driving him insane, your warm tongue on him still on his mind. His thrusts quickly became erratic, and his end was met before yours, grunting into your ear. The emptiness he left behind made you whine. He left to drop the condom in your bin. He was heaving and was flushed. You pulled yourself up, coming back to your senses. He looked at the commotion, clearly not done with you. Not even nearly. His hands stopped you, their familiar heat on your hips. Face to face, you could see his eyes on you, ready to devour every parcel of your body. He sucked at the tender skin of your throat, earning a gasp, your hands going around his shoulders. Soon, his hands slipped under your ass, hoisting you up against him.

“Good girl.”

The sweetness in his tone erased every thought out of you. Your hands were pulling on his hair, his nose against your pulse as you stumbled into your bedroom. No words were exchanged as he all but threw you on the bed, knocking the air out of your lungs. He smirked, the effect he had on you glistening down your thighs. He was enjoying seeing you this willing to give him control, all of it for the mere pleasure of having him. It boosted his ego. And you enjoyed greatly as he kept his eyes on you, before kneeling between your thighs, his breath fanning over you, a heated reminder of where his mouth could be. Again, he took his time, pressing his mouth, tongue and teeth against your inner thighs, leaving bruises and deep-coloured stains under your skin.

“You really want this, don’t you?”

The words were hanging in the air between the two of you. He licked his lips, diving in. He went feral. All you could do was helplessly try not to be too loud, but it was damn near impossible. Thornton’s hands were not only good at keeping you down but also at keeping you open and pleased, teasing you in ways only he knew. The knot in your abdomen was gradually coming to a rupture point when he stopped altogether. A deep whine echoed through your chest, fist clenching into the bedding. He climbed his way back up your body, leaving marks on his way there. He murmured against your jaw, leaving traces there too.

“How much do you want this?”

You did not want to give him the satisfaction, yet, the ghost of his fingertips was hovering over your clit, sensitive and ready. He pressed on, his thumb running lazy circles around it now. You bit your lip.

“Please… -Please who? -Please, John, I’ll…”

He grabbed your chin, a frown settling on his face. You had never called him by his name. Well, his last name, all the time and the occasional insult but never his first name. Gradually, he lowered his mouth to yours, stealing your breath away yet again. This felt more sinful and intimate than what you were doing so far. He deepened the kiss, your hands meeting in his hair, nails against his scalp. A deep grunt resonated through you, while he looked at you with marvel in his eyes. He pulled you with him to the side, one of your legs above his hip, the tip of his cock against your entrance, teasing even in these moments. It felt right, being there with him. As if something had been fulfilled inside of you. You felt the stretch of him, his hips meeting yours, while his hand was drawing you in, your lips finding yet again the soft spot beneath his ear. He rocked against you in slow motion, taking his time. The moment you let out his name felt pivotal, a shift had occurred in him when you did and you wanted to know why. The first instants were harsh and to the point. This was tender and careful, almost loving. When his fingers found your clit again, you were at his mercy, nestled against him. He was cradling your face, kissing you still. You never wanted this to stop. Never wanted to stop the fullness he provided you, the care, the utter devotion. The coil in your belly was growing stronger with each passing moment until you could not bear it anymore, your orgasm washing through you like a tidal wave. He pulled out right after, spilling himself over your stomach, his forehead against your collarbone. You pulled the covers over the both of you, silence all-encompassing, neither of you moving basking in the embrace the other was providing.

When you woke up, he was gone. It wasn’t late. Yet, he was gone. Nothing left behind. No note. No text. Nothing. While you showered, doubts started plaguing you. With good reason, you thought. The man was ruthless in business. Here you thought you had the upper hand, knowing him for so long. What if you had been wrong? Was he going to use this night against you? Was the deal he offered you even real? It was a low blow, but you would not put it past him. His intentions were never clear, especially not with you. The pain in your chest would not decline, still. The betrayal you felt was real and you could do nothing about it. Work would have to do as a distraction. The television was playing orchestral music in front of you, while you were lounging on your sofa. It helped soothe your mind. You were studying yet another case of wrongful termination by one of your contractors. It was the fifth this year. The man was starting to get a reputation for not honouring his contracts. Somehow, he was one of the most preeminent manufacturers your firm worked with. It felt odd to keep employing him when he was discharging his employees just because he wanted to and despite your firm’s demands. You were so engrossed in your computer screen, scanning numbers, and taking notes that the door softly opening and closing behind you went unnoticed. Not even the soft chuckle or the coat being hung up startled you. Thornton’s palms on your shoulders, on the other hand, elicited a scream. He laughed. The bastard laughed at you. You turned around in your seat. He was wearing different clothes. Professional ones this time. Not that you’d pay any mind whether he was wearing clothes or not.

“What are you doing here?”

The sharpness in your voice startled him. He gestured to a bag on your kitchen aisle.

“I brought breakfast.”

Oh. Fuck. Realization dawned on him. You bit your lip, anxiety unraveling in you.

“You thought… -Yes. I thought you had left. For good.”

John sighed. Even in your mind, it felt strange to call him that. His jaw clenched, as he exhaled sharply. He joined you on the sofa, sitting next to you.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know what conclusion to come to, you left without a word, nothing… -I did. -No, you didn’t.”

He pointed at your fridge. A small piece of blue paper tucked under one of the magnets with his handwriting on it.

“Oh.”

He could not stay mad at you when you were looking like this. Nothing out of the ordinary. There laid the issue though. Fluid pants, meant to be worn at home, no bra that he could see and a cotton shirt clinging to your skin. Embarrassment making you bite your lip. He could not bring himself to be angry with you. Really, he had no good reason to. Thornton knew of his reputation. He knew you knew about it too. The math would have been the same if he had been in your shoes. He went to get the groceries he had brought with him. Your eyes went back to your screen, his mocking smirk still on your mind. There was no real hurt, but your ego did not like it. You closed your computer before turning towards him. He had started cooking something, pulling his sleeves up his arms the jacket of his suit laid behind you. Your eyes wandered. Down his shoulder to the tip of his fingers. Up his back and to his shoulder blades. His ass, but that was a given. You were losing yourself in him. It scared you and enticed you all the same.

“Are you going to stare or are you going to help?”

Malice appeared in his eyes, a smile playing on his lips. God, you had never seen him smile so much. Not in all the years you had known him, not in the last months you had known him even. It was a sight, the dimples in his cheeks prominent, eyes shining with something new, the crinkles there lined up perfectly. You were indeed losing yourself in him. He chuckled, startling you into getting up. For once, you were the one without words. You, who always had something to say, opinionated and strong-headed. He saw your hands shaking while peeling apples, trying not to meet his gaze and breathing through your nose to keep a straight face. He found you endearing to no end. He had for a long time. You were a skilled liar and an even better architect, yet he could see, sometimes, the mask crack. Especially when it was him taking a jab at it. He never did it to anger you, per se. He did it because he adored seeing this other side of you. Your commanding posture was one he was used to, what he wanted to chase. What he wanted to stay for though, was this. Your natural state of affairs, no lies put up to hide behind. While he was cooking the eggs and pancakes, he could feel your eyes burning, tracing his shape all over. Once done, he turned around to find that you were still peeling the same apple you had been ten minutes before. You felt his hand pull the fruit away from your palms. They were sticky with the apple’s water and sugar. He opened your hand, prying the knife away from you before bringing your fingers to his mouth. Slowly sucking on your fingers drawing each into his mouth, one after the other, moaning around your skin. The bastard. That handsome bastard. Your thighs clenched, while you were trying to stay upward. It proved very difficult. You whimpered, before stepping out of his reach completely as he was sucking on his fingertips, never leaving you out of sight. The look in his eyes was nothing short of sinful.

“No. No, no, no, no. I need to get work done…”

His arms pulled you up, settling you on the counter, eyes boring into yours, his hands toying with the hem of your shirt, slipping under it. God, he was driving you insane. Your hands found their way against his chest, in a motion that could have been treated as resistance, had you not been so weak in the attempt to stop him. He smiled, studying your face. You found yourself smiling too. The rational part of your brain was going to burst. You still had several calls to make and plans to discuss with him - preferably with his clothes on, even more so if his sister was present. Your body was hearing none of it.

“John, please…” you pleaded.

That was a mistake. As soon as his name left your mouth, he made you look at him with a firm hand on your jaw.

“Say it again.”

His lips were right there. Just suspended in front of you, like a forbidden fruit. He was good at this. So, so, so, good.

“I really have to… -Say it again.”

Your hooded eyelids and heavy breathing were only bringing him closer and closer to you, incapable of resisting the pull you had on him. It felt right, to stand between your open thighs, morning light barely shining through the windows, as you were there, breathless and needy at his mercy.

“John…”

Greedily, he claimed your lips for himself, as if to taste them around the letters of his name. He felt the warmth of your hands slip around his neck, burying themselves in the depth of his hair. Your hips were trying to meet his, arching your back more and more into him. He pulled away for some needed air, his forehead resting against yours. Your fingers were digging into his shirt by now, praying to tear it apart.

“What was that for?”

Your breath was soft against his cheekbone, your voice somewhat proud and cheeky.

“No reason. -Come on, John.”

The insistence on his name murmured against the shell of his ear…You knew. You knew and you were doing it on purpose. That new knowledge ingrained itself in his brain and it took everything in him not to ravish you, here and there.

“My name… in your mouth… It sounds like…It sounds like I am yours”

The cheekiness was gone, replaced by a spreading wildfire inside of you. The warmth of it all taking you over by pure force. You pulled away from him, in awe. A few hours prior you could have sworn he was going to leave you hanging, and now he was telling you these sinful things in such a serious tone. He was going to wreck you. And you were going to let him. Your core clenched, empty, waiting to be filled by him. You pulled your shirt over your head, breasts bare before him. Soon after, his lips found their way to them, the nipples getting teased between his lips, warm hands heating your body up. What an exquisite way to start the day.

*

Somehow, the tension between you had not vaporized. It had gotten thicker. You could not keep your hands off of each other, often working in between intimate encounters rather than keeping said encounters in between hours of work. Although, you did manage to visit new offices, meet his sister - she was a riot of outlandish manners and quick wits - and keep your newly developing relationship a secret from the firm’s employees. After a few weeks and then months like this, you felt that you were getting into a stall. Your relationship was not new anymore, yet whenever you mentioned going public he’d recoil and diverge onto an another subject of conversation. At first, it had been fun. Now, it was getting tiresome. Yet, you could not bring yourself to break it to him. The frustration in you was growing restless.

“Good evening. -Good evening… Oh, you brought food! Thank God, I’m starving! -I figured.”

He rose a brow and smirked knowingly as he passed through your door. You heard the lock click and he joined you in the kitchen, while you were setting the table. Slowly his usual business posture fell. He now had a strange look on his face. Not quite worried. Just so serious. It had you stopping in your tracks.

“John, what’s wrong?”

His breath was altered, and you watched him slowly take off his jacket and put it away. His eyes were driven to look at the floor, finding patterns in the wood more interesting than your face maybe. A dullness settled on your heart, muffling its cries. Something was off, you could see it.

“I have something to tell you.”

Before he could say anything, you sat down preparing yourself for the worst. He did not move.

“Remember when you told me about that contractor who was firing employees and giving bad results for the firm? -Yes, but… -I know who it is. I’ve known the entire time.”

You almost laughed.

“I’ve told you the name of the company, of course you know who the chief is… -No. I mean, I know who signed off on those deals each time. -What? I’ve been tracking that information… -For months, I know…”

You felt him approach and stop in his tracks, his hand settling on the table next to you, fearing he might make you even more angry than you already were. In truth, you were not even angry at him. Disappointed, frustrated, sad because of him? Yes. Angry? That was for yourself. You should have known he was hiding something. Of course, you had been blinded by the sweet words and soft touches and tender times.

“Who?”

The sharpness there was unmistakably strangled. Tears on the verge of collapse. John inhaled slowly, lips pinched.

“My father.”

Finally, you met his gaze. You didn’t even know his father still worked for the firm and wasn’t on a Bahamas coast with luxurious size debts. This was news to you.

“Please, say something. -I… I don’t know what to say… What do you want me to say, huh?… What do you expect me to say? You’ve been protecting your father all this time and I cannot find it in myself to blame you for it… That doesn’t mean that I’m forgiving you for lying to me… Here I thought we were…”

You struggled for a minute, trying to keep the tears at bay, feeling your emotion well up and ready to implode.

“-We were partners. -We were ? -Yes. We were. -Can you not understand why I did this? -Why? You kept the truth from me. His actions could have cost us both our careers, without mentioning the damages he’s done to the workers and the staff on site. How could you keep allowing this to happen?”

His jaw clenched, keeping himself from saying things he did not want to mean but was feeling deeply right now.

“Keep allowing? You really think I would have left my own father to sign those contracts if I had been aware he was still making them? You really think me this careless? -I don’t know.”

The hurt on his face was discreet. The effects limited to his eyes. Steeled and broken.

“What does that even mean?”

Your heart was breaking. You should have known not to trust him. Nor to have faith in him. He had been so dodgy before why stop now that you were fucking, right? A little voice in your head told you it wasn’t true. You didn’t listen.

“It means that even beyond the fact that you did not tell me you father was still working for the company or that he had a soft spot for an idiot without morals, I don’t know what kind of choice you’d make about the people you do care about. I would not know because you do not make them. Or you don’t tell me about them. -What are you talking about? -Why do you not want to share what we are to one another? You keep avoiding the question or diverting my attention to something else. Why do you not want to say that we are together, in a relationship, in a couple, John! Are you that ashamed of me? Or do you care so much about what other people have to say that you won’t be seen with me?”

This time, he did not stop himself from reaching you, his whole body shaping itself around you. You could not stop the tears anymore as he wrapped his arms around you, not a breath separating you two.

“ I am sorry. I have been nothing but a fool. I was scared you would not want me to. I was scared that you were the one who would be ashamed of me. -How could you think that?”

You met his eyes, watery pupils and all.

“I’m in love with you, John. I could never, ever, be ashamed of you.”

A deep smile crept its way onto his face, illuminating an otherwise gloomy evening. He cradled your face in his hands, almost drowning you in his presence with the gesture.

“I love you, too. Please forgive me. -I already did.”

You felt his lips smooth down a path from your temple to your lips, pressing feathered kisses along the way. You both stayed there then, foreheads together, swaying in each other’s arms, to a melody neither of you knew.

“Why did you tell me about your father?”

Without interrupting the moment, he sighed deeply.

“I had him fired today. For malpractice. -What? -He was not very pleased with me.”

The attempt at lightening up the mood went to waste. You put your palm against his cheek, your thumb moving in slow circles against his skin, trying to calm him down.

“You did the right thing. For what it’s worth, I am very sorry that you had to do it. Also, I am glad you did. You would not be yourself without that righteous streak of yours.”

A chuckle passed his lips, finally. He pressed a kiss to your lips, growing stronger with each of your hearts beating. Once thoroughly breathless, he let you go. That night, you agreed never to keep a secret from each other again. Or to hide things from one another. Both parties involved made sacrifices regarding their futures together. As usual, John drove a heavy bargain, with brand new negotiations skills, bribes and promises. You met him at every turn. And he let you, for he had surrendered to you that day and all the days after, wholeheartedly.

#john thornton #north and south bbc #north and south #thornton x reader #modern!au #thornton x f!reader

[ruksahiroku]

An SFW Barbatos fic. I've had this idea floating around for a while, and this is the perfect time to post it! Happy Birthday, Barbatos!

You had dreamt of this for as long as you could remember. Those piercing green eyes, his asymmetrical hair, and perfectly kept uniform.

No, to say you dreamt of it was not quite right... You'd met him before. You've met him a thousand times before this life, and a thousand more after this one ends.

"Welcome to the Devildom." The large, red-haired man said with a smile, "Oh, pardon me. Feeling a bit shocked are we? Well, that's under..."

You stopped paying attention, walking past the man. He meant nothing to you, but the one behind him? Everything.

"Barbatos." You stated his name confidently. You watched his features carefully, seeing the small tilt of his head, the barely visible twitch to the corner of his lips. "I've been waiting my whole life to meet you."

The man raised a gloved hand, and in an instant, the world froze around you. This feeling was familiar, like a feeling you dream of. "Have you been then?"

"Barbatos, who is this human?" The man behind you said, stepping just into view beside you.

"Diavolo." You said. You looked at him, surprised, as he looked back mirroring your expression.

"Thats Lord Diavolo to you. Now, please, explain yourself." Barbatos clicked his tongue, seeming curious, yet wary.

"I'm sorry, I got ahead of myself." You smiled to them both. "I don't know how, or why... but I've had memories of Barbatos from... another life? To sum it up in a word, soul mates. I know it might sound silly, to have a human and demon together, knowing my lifespan is so short. I've had glimpses of our lives together, and it all starts with this day. You've brought me here as an exchange student, right?"

Diavolo laughed, his cheerful self coming out. "Well! I never expected that a human would be able to do that! What about you, Barbatos? What do you think?" He looked to his loyal butler, eyes sparkling.

Barbatos was silent, studying you for a while. "I wouldn't know, my Lord. I haven't taken a glimpse of anything for a while. This is quite a surprise. If you'll permit me?"

Barbatos reached his hand out to you. As crestfallen as you were that he didn't recognize you, you were sure that with time, your relationship would grow. "Of course." You gently placed your hand in his, unsure of what you were agreeing to.

Diavolo wandered past the six frozen occupants of the room, and you two followed. You took a quick turn out of the room and into a nearby bathroom. Your uncertainty faded quickly as you looked into the mirror with Barbatos. You saw hundreds of copies of the two of you together, eating dinner, shopping, cooking, walking in the gardens and more. They slowly faded, and you saw Diavolo's reflection behind you two.

"I knew you were going to special, but I suppose I underestimated how greatly you'd influence me. " Barbatos spoke softly, looking at you through the mirror. "Young Master, would you permit me a moment alone?"

"Of course." Diavolo left the room, looking at you both before he did so.

Still holding your hand, Barbatos led you out into the hallway. "Now," He looked around to make sure you were truly alone, "I lied earlier. I recognized you the moment you appeared here." He smiled now, and it was brilliant. Full of love and admiration for you, and you alone. "I'm sure you know already, but I'm not supposed to use my powers for just anything. You are different though. I can't help but steal glances. It would be an honor to have you by my side, if you'd have me?"

You laughed. You couldn't help it, it seemed so strange to have him confess his love for you, after you already did, then ask if you'd stay. "Of course I will! Nothing would make me happier, Barbatos!" You hugged him, the warm embrace living up to your memory's standards and more.

Hand in hand, you walked back into the Student Council room, and stood in the spots you had been when time had stopped. Barbatos raised his hand and looked to Diavolo.

"Go ahead." He said, behind you.

"Wait!" You called. You could feel both sets of eyes on you. "I almost forgot. There won't be a party or anything this year because the exchange students are coming, right?" Out of your pocket you pulled a small tin with a little teal bow on it. "It... it's not much, I know. I gathered each ingredient myself though. It should be close to your favorite Celestial Realm blend." You held out the container with a blush on your face. "Happy Birthday, Barbatos."

#obey me shall we date #obey me #obey me barbatos #barbatos x mc #om! barbatos

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Beyond the Blood Tie - Chapter Twelve.

Since I'm going to be working all weekend (BOOOO!) I'm updating now, besties! Enjoy! :)

Previous Chapters - One  Two, Part One Part Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight  Nine  Ten Eleven

Words - 5,877

Tag list - In the comments. Please DM to be added/removed

Warnings - 18+ content throughout. Minors DNI!

Edie's POV 

"Come here, big fella. You've got guacamole in your beard!" I tell Ahmed, leaning across the table and wiping the spot of green with a napkin, while we're sitting in the gorgeous late afternoon sunshine on Tuesday getting drunk. Technically, we should be at work today, but we've got a slight problem with a family of racoons who moved into one of the air conditioning vents, and half of the CD chambers have to be taken apart to get the little furry fellas out again. Aileen and I had to be forcibly removed from the building yesterday, being all womanly like and gushy as Max put it, because we wanted to see the racoon babies. They should be done tonight, meaning we can go back in tomorrow. 

"Appreciated, dude. I was saving it for later, but oh well," he jokes as we sit and demolish a huge plate of nachos. 

"So, how was your night after I left on Saturday, since I completely forgot to ask you yesterday," I inquire, taking a sip of my drink.  

"It was really great, yeah. Shame you left early really. I erm, I met a girl. One I plan on seeing again too.” Oh? He's very, very fussy with women, my boy here. Hence my surprise that he's finally found one it appears he'd like to begin dating. 

"Oh really? Do tell, buddy," I ask, swiping the last jalapeno covered nacho and shovelling it into my mouth. I adore spicy food. Anything that makes my tongue tingle and I'll eat it. I remember when Ahmed's mom came to visit him and she cooked a spicy potato tagine with olives when I came for dinner one night. I was in heaven. Damn, Mrs Khamir can cook! 

"Her name is Brooke, she's twenty-three and works on the reception of that new gym that's opened up just outside of Vegas, we're into all the same kinda stuff and she loves all of my scars with the kind of interest I've never really seen in a woman before. Oh, and if the way she kisses is anything to go by, well, I've got a damn good time coming to me, if you'll pardon the pun," he grins, making me laugh. He hasn't always had the best of luck with women, because he is quite formidable in appearance, his very good looks often get overshadowed by the six-inch scar to his face, the eye patch and all of the other many scars also littering his gorgeous body as well. But if you like your men to look like a barbarian warrior, Ahmed is the guy for you. 

"I'm really happy for you!" I begin excitedly, reaching out and rubbing his arm enthusiastically. "It's about time you met someone nice."  

"It is, I'll agree with you there. What did you do after you left us, just go home and go to bed?” It is here that I decide to let on a little piece of information that I've been keeping from my friends. 

"That was my original intention, but it got side tracked by the fact I had a visitor, or rather someone who was gentlemanly enough to walk me to a cab, so I invited him home. I didn't want to say at first because I wasn't sure, and also, I know your reaction to it might be a little, well, erm..." I begin, trying to find the words. 

"Edie, you know when you say either too much too little? Now is a time you're saying too much, just spit it out!" he interrupts me with. 

"The vampire, he's the one who came home with me. He came to see me last week, and on Saturday I just so happened to be walking past a bar he was in and he zoomed right out and told me he didn't want me walking unaccompanied past vampire bars the way I was dressed, because vampires like taking humans for themselves unless they belong to another vamp," I explain, watching his face twist into many expressions of disbelief as I talk. 

"For real? Edie, how can you trust him, really? I mean, I know you told me about what happened in the chamber, when he made you confess to the secret you've kept about your mom's suicide note and he comforted you and all that, but Jesus fucking Christ, girl! You've a damn short memory to how he was behaving before!" he announces with concern. And so, I sit and explain it all for him, the way Angel has proven himself to be trustworthy to me, how he actually truly does seek friendship with me and how I feel perfectly at ease around him now. 

"Okay, after hearing all that I feel a little better about the situation, and you know I'll never dictate to you who you should and shouldn't hang around with. One thing though, Edie. Are you definitely sure he just wants to be friends and he isn't trying to get between your legs, and that this is the whole reason he's being nice to you?" he then asks. 

"No, no he definitely isn't. He's confessed that he'd like to, but he respects my wishes when I say I'm not interested in vampires. Also, there's a specific reason he isn't interested, and it's the same for all human women. I can't tell you that though, because that's his business and he made me promise I wouldn't.” He nods after a few moments of silent contemplation, looking satisfied.  

"Alright, I can live with it. But I'd pack earplugs when you decide to mention this friendship to people like Vic and Aileen, who both look at you like you're their daughter," he warns, making a cord of memory strike within me. That's exactly what Angel said about Aileen, that he thought she viewed me as one of her own. 

"I'll bear that in mind." I feel the urge to discuss something else with my large friend here, I have to say, but think better on it, biting my tongue and filing it away into the realms of girl talk which I'll have tomorrow lunchtime when I meet up with Sasha and Miley. Ahmed isn't good with all that kind of stuff; he's a guy, after all.  

For the rest of the afternoon and evening, we keep on drinking, getting so wasted that we have to get a cab home, and then once I've slid out, I practically have to crawl up the drive. I stumble to the kitchen upon entrance, force myself to drink half a litre of water and then go straight to bed. Because of the water, I wake up feeling much less hungover than usual. Sometimes I just can't be bothered, my bed calls out to my drunken self much too loudly. 

After taking some painkillers, I keep on drinking water and eating fruit to try and cleanse myself of the slightly icky feeling I have, and then go and take a long bath. It's while I'm lying there reading a poetry book recommended to me by Miley, comprising of works by Edgar Allen Poe (and finding a lot of it hard to understand, actually) that my mind wanders to what I want to talk to her and Sasha about later at lunch, or rather who. Yes, you guessed right. The gorgeous Latino vampire who I can’t seem to shake from my mind.  

I was so surprised to see him at my door on Sunday, and to be honest with you, the first thing I thought, well, I shouldn't have thought it. Something automatic went off in my head and I instantly thought to myself that he must really like me, turning up like that just a day after I saw him, and then remembered that of course, I'm not dating him. This isn’t what it is. 

I really don't know what's come over me, why I'm starting to see him in a much different light. Vampires have never been attractive to me because of the simple fact that they're dead, but he is, and in a way that goes beyond me just noticing that attractiveness now. Now I'm beginning to think about what it would be like to act upon it, even though I know I can't. The tricky thing here is the fact that he's told me he's attracted to me in much the same way as well, and he alludes to it a lot, too. He's very flirtatious with me.  

But we can't. 

I don't want to die.  

How dramatic did that just sound? It's true, though. Perfectly true. Or maybe I'm only thinking this because I can't have him? Because of that exact reason of him being off limits indefinitely. When we're told we can't have something, human nature often dictates that we'll only crave it further. All this and more I voice to my girlfriends over lunch a couple of hours later, and they have some insightful thoughts. 

"Well, something told me to expect as much, that he'd get in touch with you again," Sasha begins, while spearing more salad leaves with her fork. "Everything else you followed with though, well I agree with what you're thinking. You can't have him, for whatever the reason is, and that makes you want him even more. He's got that forbidden fruit thing going for him. I wish you could tell us why, but I respect that you're being a good friend to him, because I've never known you to be anything less, and keeping a secret he's trusted you with shows that," she then finishes, taking another mouthful of the spinach and rocket leaves from her plate. Of course, I didn't reveal to either her or Miley the reason why I can't be interested in him, the secret he entrusted to me. 

"I think it'll get lesser the longer you know him, the attraction and sexual urges, you'll both just get used to each other more and it'll sink in that you can't go there. I mean look at you and Ahmed, you obviously find him attractive and you've actually had sex with him, and you two don't have anything like that lingering any longer. It's all just friendship," Miley then offers to the conversation. She then drifts off a little dreamily, looking up at the ceiling. “There’s a spider up there. Do you think she thinks we’re in her house, or she’s a visitor in ours?”  

Sasha smiles lovingly, stroking her arm. “Who can say?”  

“Hmm.” Miley nods, turning back to me. 

"It's a little different with Ahmed, sweetie. I'd known him a few years before we had sex, it was a onetime thing and not anything either of us planned on repeating, and I just don't feel the same pull to him as I do with Angel. It goes beyond just the physical attraction. I just, well... I feel really happy when he's around. I enjoy his company. I just hope those little feelings don't get in the way of us being friends. That is essentially what I'm worried about," I voice, both her and Sasha nodding in understanding. 

"Well, you know it'll never be, don't you? That's what you have to keep telling yourself. Miley was right with what she just said, that it'll probably calm down a little the longer you know him. I wouldn't worry too much, once it’s sunk in that you definitely can't have him no matter how much you want him, you'll just see him like any other friend and you'll be fine," Sasha assures me, while I go back to eating the rest of my by now cold fries, wondering if things will truly work out that way. 

"Yeah, yeah you're right. I'm twenty-eight years old now, and if I can't handle being adult like and being friends with someone who I want to have sex with but can't, then when the hell am I going to start? It's cool, I'll get over it." I say with a dismissive wave of my hand.  

Our conversation moves on to us all deciding upon places to go and shop for outfits for our usual night out this Saturday, heading to our favourite location of Hell's Gate once more. While browsing the stores, I manage to find myself a new skirt to wear with the little black leather corset I won on eBay for a steal recently (twenty-six dollars!) in record time, leaving me to keep my eyes peeled for my friends since their decision making wasn't as swift as mine. It's while my eyes are roaming around the women's section of the department store we're currently in that I see something that catches my eye, but for my own reasons. 

"Oh, oh hello perfect tattoo design for my cover up." I say to myself as I reach up to the peg that I see a t shirt with a very interesting design on the front of, taking it down for a closer look. Even though my original tattoo has colour in it (but very, very washed out in tone) I want the cover up to be black and grey. I hope that this is big enough to be able to do that. The print on the t shirt itself is of a few stems of lilies all wrapped around each other and spraying out in a cluster towards the top, with trails of ivy and little stars surrounding it.  

Taking my cell from my bag, I hang the t shirt on a lower peg, take the picture and then return it to its proper peg before typing out some accompanying text to go with the picture. 'I just saw this; I'd really like it or something close to it as my cover up. Can you work with this, or do I need to buy the t shirt and bring it to the shop?' I type before sending the message to Angel's cell, ready for him to see when he wakes up at sundown. 

When I do receive a reply from him much later that evening, when I'm taking my break at work, I read the message he sent me roughly an hour ago and see that Saturday isn't going to go how we've planned it. 'Hi Edie, sorry it's a no go for Saturday, I'm afraid. If you can make Sunday though, I can do it then? We're having the front counter refitted, and the only time the guy can come and do it this Saturday night, so we've had to move all our appointments to Sunday and open up then instead. No worries if you can't, just let me know ASAP. No problem with the photo you've sent me either, I'll start drawing something up for you tonight. How’s 10pm for you?' the message reads.  

‘Yep, that’s fine. See you then.’ Sending my reply, I can hardly wait. A new tattoo and getting to see Angel. What’s not to like? Okay, so I’m mostly looking forward to seeing him again, above all.  

I know, I know. I’m ridiculous. I need to extinguish this flame I have within myself for the vampire who is off limits. I really do. Easier said than done, though.  

Angel's POV 

"Oh my word, that's absolutely beautiful," Ursula tells me as I sit at my desk in my room, drawing the design Edie sent me a picture of earlier today. 

"It's just a starting sketch to see how she likes it. I'll need to alter it a little to go with the contours of her body, so I’ll have to adjust once I've measured this to fit her back and such like, and then form the proper line drawing. Unless she trusts me to free hand it," I reply while my creator pulls up a chair next to me and takes a closer look. 

"She must be a special client, for you to be prepared to work on a design for her in your spare time," she observes, twirling a golden lock of hair around her finger as she watches me add shading to the sketch. 

"She is. It's for Edie," I confirm, and then swiftly wipe the big smile off my face that speaking her name often prompts. 

"You're becoming quite fond of this new friend of yours, aren't you, my boy? But yet I sense some unsettlement coming from you. Do you wish to discuss your thoughts? Are you struggling with feeling attracted to her, like you thought you would?" Oh yes, nothing much gets past Ursula. 

"Yeah, I do actually," I begin, putting down my pencil and turning to face her. "I'm becoming attracted to her, but more than just sexually, like we spoke of before. Don't get me wrong, the sexual side of it is prevailing most right now, the urges I have for her in that respect burn brightly, but I have noticed little things that I don't want to. Namely, it’s the fact there's something about her I can't quite put my finger on, something that draws me in closer to her. I don't want to notice it, because in my one hundred and thirty-six years on this planet, there has only ever been one other woman I've felt that with, that unfathomable thing about her that interests me."  

"Luisa?" Ursula asks. 

"Precisely," I huff. 

"Oh dear, please don't tell me you're considering acting upon this? You told me Edie is not attracted to us vampires either, so wouldn't this be massively disrespectful to her wishes if you did try to pursue her sexually? Actually, we need to take that out of the equation. You can't do this, Angel. Full stop," she states, telling me what I already know, and what I am beginning to loathe. 

"Of course, I'm not. She doesn't deserve to end up dead, even if she did change her mind about being attracted to me. I just don't want it hanging over me, I want to try and enjoy being her friend, and although I am, I have the way I felt when I first met Luisa hanging over me so much that it clouds that enjoyment and frustrates me. It's something I don't imagine will get better or more manageable either," I lament, watching Ursula frowning with concern. 

"It is something you must steel yourself to, my child. Give it some time as well, these feelings are likely to settle the more you get to know her, or perhaps go the other way and you find these feelings begin to deepen. If that happens though, you'll only be frustrated further. It is perfectly within your capabilities, to be staunch with yourself and continually remind yourself too that she is unquestionably off limits. Anyway, I just thought I'd come up and check on you before going to visit Sissy, enjoy the rest of your evening." Kissing my forehead, she leaves me to it, departing in a blink. Sissy is a vampire friend of ours, and every time Ursula mentions her, I get the biggest dick twitch ever. Sissy is one hell of an incredible fuck.  

Maybe I should have offered to go with her, but then again it would ruin Ursula's evening with her friend. Sissy and I only have to look at each other and we're halfway to sex. Getting on top of someone would take my mind off Edie, though, and just when I think of calling Natasha to make that happen, I have another visitor in the form of a naked EZ. 

"Fucking faucet is jammed, I'm using your shower," he announces as he walks through to my bathroom, leaving the door ajar. We vampires aren't quite as precious over certain things as you humans. Nudity is one of them. Then again, my brother was exactly the same when he was a human, he's very comfortable strolling around naked. "That's a good drawing you're working on, by the way. I thought you said to me you hated doing flower tattoos?" he then adds as I hear the shower being switched on. 

"I never said I hated them; I said I hated the regularity I was sticking the same flash sheet design upon the women coming in for them. I actually like doing the more intricate and feminine looking tattoos, they're more of a challenge," I reply, suddenly having an idea on how to make this design I'm working on a lot more detailed, beginning to sketch out that idea. Instead of regular stems, I'm going to shape them into filigree patterns to make it look prettier. A girl as pretty as Edie deserves a pretty tattoo, and not that mess Helena 'I can't draw to save my damn life' Smith etched upon her while she was still in business. 

"You're spending your own time doing a drawing for a client? Wow," EZ observes from the shower. I never usually let work encroach my private life, so hence the surprise from both him and Ursula. 

"No, for a friend," I tell him. 

"The girl who beat the shit out of you?" he laughs. 

"You know her name," I chide, laughing a little in reply. 

"Edie. Is it for Edie?" I've told him all about her, of course. He told me it was admirable, for me to seek friendship with a human, and even went as far to say he thinks he's noticed a difference in me since I have. 'You seem a little calmer since you've been visiting her, so that tells me she must be doing you some good, since your visits have only been a recent thing. Just don't mess it all up and stick your dick in her' is the advice he gave me. 

"It is, I'm doing it for her this Sunday," I reply. 

"And you're tattooing her when?" EZ then asks in joke, making me laugh more loudly. 

"Shut the fuck up!" I exclaim. 

"Never!" Exiting the shower wrapped in a towel, he takes a seat next to me, rubbing his hair with a smaller towel, looking closer at the design with a nod.  

"Speaking of humans, Eric wants to go to Hell's Gate this Saturday on a human hunt, and he's roped me into it too. Fancy joining us? There'll be a few of us there, I think," I ask him, deciding to see if I can get him interested in it, a rare evening out with me on a Saturday since I'm usually working. He agrees, and with that our conversation moves on swiftly. What is swiftest though is the passing of time between now and Saturday, with me entering Hell's Gate at 1am with a group of other vampires in what feels like a blink of an eye between then and Tuesday, when I asked EZ to join us. 

“Oh, man. Check that girl out at the bar. Wow,” Sal speaks, nudging my arm. I’m just about to speak of her good looks, when she promptly turns around and throws up all over the floor. As a human, that’s bad enough to smell, but imagine that when your senses are a thousand times sharper. 

"And with that, I’m outta here,” I exclaim. God damnit, that’s gross. 

"I think I'll join you, actually.” We both get up and seek out EZ, who said he was going for a walk around. The club is absolutely massive, on three floors with two rooms per floor, one of which we walk through without seeing much of interest until we head over to the room where they play the dance music, and we see a completely different breed of women, those who aren’t throwing back so much alcohol, they puke.  

Right now, we’re viewing the kind who like to dance all night long, in teeny tiny outfits. They're certainly very pleasing on both our sets of eyes as we stand on the top balcony and look down at the dance floor itself, Sal moving at speed over to a tall blonde who is all tiny waist, big hips and huge green eyes after picking up on her admiring look. He's currently kissing her hand, and she's giggling shyly.  

Turning back to the floor below, it's as I'm watching the many writhing bodies down there that I suddenly spy one I recognise, her violet hair all curled in loose ringlets and tumbling down to just past her shoulders, wearing a little grey and black plaid skirt that barely covers her ass, finishing it off with knee high boots and a black leather corset. Edie, you just took the breath I do not even need to breathe away from me with how you look tonight. Stunning doesn't even begin to cut it. What a body. God, she’s fucking stunning. And I’m stuck being just friends with her. Fucking hell!  

"What's caught you eye?" EZ asks at my side, trying to follow my line of vision. 

"See that girl in the plaid and leather? That's Edie," I point, watching his eyebrows rise significantly. 

"Now I see what all the fuss is about. She's certainly very sexy. Must be hard, knowing you can't go there," he replies, amusedly. 

"I'm managing with it, and I will have to continue to do so as well.” I have no other choice, do I? 

"Well, I couldn't do it, keep my hands to myself around her if I were you. I mean just look at her, look at those legs. Imagine feeling those legs tightening around you in the throes of ecstasy. I think I want to know what that feels like," EZ taunts me with, looking at Edie with the look he gives women five seconds before he advances on them. 

I glare immediately. "If you do, I won't speak to you for centuries. Besides, she's not into our kind, as I told you.” He simply returns a look of pure apathy. 

"She would be if I took her home, but the way you're looking at me, well, while the centuries of silence do sound appealing, I won't. You're annoying when you're pissed off." He then heads over to where Sal is sitting with the blonde and a group of her equally attractive female friends, his attentions now turned away from Edie. She still hasn't seen me, but enough other vampires have seen her, since it seems Eric invited just about everyone he damn well knows (and he's very popular) here tonight, and then they invited their friends, too. Hell's Gate is a human club, but the humans here are wilder, they're more approachable with the idea of vampires fucking or feeding on them, so hence why so many are here currently. 

This isn't good though, because if any of those vampires currently watching Edie (and there are a couple doing just that) know she's here alone, then they'll be all over her like a rash, wanting her to be theirs. Of course, they have to leave her alone if she belongs to another vampire, though. When I see a vampire in particular who Edie really doesn't want anything to do with in the slightest staring at her from the other side of the balcony, I know I have to act fast, so move from my side of it and down onto the floor where Edie is dancing within a blink.  

Latoria Jackson, the third eldest in Vegas after Charles and Ursula is the one with her eye on Edie. To say she's a bitch is putting it mildly. She's pure evil, feared as much as she is respected, and the way I've heard she keeps her humans… well I don't want that for Edie. I just have to hope she doesn't turn and punch me for what I'm about to do. I have to convey strongly to Latoria that Edie is mine (even though she isn't) so she won't try to take her against her will, because that is exactly what'll happen. I've seen her do it to humans before. 

"Do not react to this in a hostile way,” I begin, Edie turning to look at me a little confused. 

“And good evening to you too, Angel,” she says, laughing softly.  

“Seriously, Edie. Go along with it and everything I say and do, and trust me, I'm doing this for your own good.” My hands slide around her waist, moving her hair and beginning to kiss the side of her neck. Oh, god fucking damn, this feels too good. The way she smells, how soft her skin is against my lips, the fact I just felt her pulse quicken sharply. I want her, so fucking badly. This is absolute torture. Still, I wait a moment for her leg to come flying up between mine and hit me right in the dick, but incredibly, she trusts what I said just as Latoria arrives in front of us. 

"She's yours?" she asks, arching an elegantly groomed eyebrow as she stares at Edie, her eyes roaming all over her. 

"I am, very much so," she informs her before I can speak, reaching her hand up to stroke my hair, turning her head to kiss my cheek. That feeling, the warm pucker of lips so soft is beyond the realms of any kind of scintillation I've felt before, probably because I want her so much and I can't have her. But then when she stares at Latoria before slowly turning in my arms and planting her lips upon mine, I want her so much I can begin to feel it slipping, my resolve not to fuck her. It isn't a full-on kiss, but it makes Latoria leave again at speed, back up to her place at the balcony to keep an eye out for the next unattended human she likes the look of. 

"I take it she wanted me," Edie whispers in my ear, our arms still around each other. I don't like this. It feels too good to have her in my arms, which is the very place she can't be. 

"She did, but not half as much as I want you.” Yeah, shouldn’t have said that, should I? The words just fell out, though, continuing to state at her unflinchingly, our gaze heavy, full of what I now realise is entirely mutual longing. The energy grows, the air between us becoming heavy, the atmosphere between us denser, building all the time. As I hold her to me, I can feel her heart thundering in her chest, I can hear it too, beating away with such force I don't even hear the music any longer, the booming bass from a dance song I recognise from my human years, Barbers Adagio for Strings, people all around reaching for the lasers beaming overhead, dancing euphorically, without a care in the world to the beat of synths meeting strings.  

They’re not even here to me, it’s just me and the human I know I'm becoming obsessed with, the sound of her heartbeat like thunder in my ears, crashing against her chest so rapidly, it only tells me one thing. She feels the same, no matter what she said to me before; I know she feels it too. They have their euphoria through synthesised music, and I have mine. Her name is Edie. 

If I needed any further confirmation of that, I receive it when after our faces have begun to drift together again, we kiss once more. This time though, it isn't a kiss for appearances, it's a real kiss, an unbreakable, earth shaking, magmatic kiss of one hundred percent need and longing for one another. It’s everything that has been building between us, for probably a lot longer than either of us would wish to admit. It's a kiss so arousing, so blindingly passionate that immediately my fangs pop out (as they always do when I'm excited or annoyed by something) and it takes me all I have to retract them again so I can kiss her without piercing her tongue on my teeth.  

She clings to me, body pressed against mine as one hand curls around the back of my neck and the other rests on my chest, both of mine still locked around her waist, erotic energy coursing through me so strongly that if I could, I'd have sex with her right here on the damn dancefloor. I can feel myself beginning to draw breath through my nose without even thinking it, Edie suddenly jumping up into my arms, her legs locked around me as we continue to kiss each other hungrily. This girl, this fucking beautiful, amazing girl, she makes me feel like all the dead inside me came alive again. My death just bloomed. I’ve never felt that before. 

This moment we share does nothing but grow in intensity, especially for me, since I can smell very clearly how aroused she’s getting, and it’s like a fucking beacon, my arms tightening around her, tongue circling with hers, my hand moving to grip her thigh, her nails trailing my scalp making me shiver pleasantly, before suddenly, she pulls away from it, clambering down to her feet once more. 

"I thought you said you weren't attracted to my kind?" I ask, realising that this thing being mutual will make it a thousand times worse. That was one hell of an incredible kiss, so incredible I really couldn't think of anything else to come out with other than the stupid, dumbfounded words I just spoke. I also cannot believe I let my resolve completely melt like that, but it felt so good doing it, indulging in a little of what I want so very badly. 

"I'm not. It's you, it’s... it’s just you. Please, excuse me I need to go and be embarrassed by myself for a while, I'm sorry, but I... I just...I can't be around you right now," she cries, moving away from me while I try to hold onto her. 

"Edie you've nothing to feel embarrassed about, it’s okay!" I try and reassure her, hating the fact she's now starting to panic and get upset. 

"Yes, I do! I can't have you and I just went and kissed you! I'm out of my damned mind, acting like this around someone I know can only ever be a friend to me!" she exclaims, this time managing to wriggle out of my hold upon her wrist and fleeing.  

I let her go, but follow her from a distance to see where she's gone to, seeing her heading straight to a table where her friends are, talking to them briefly, watching the three of them then getting up to leave. After – and again from a distance - I've left the club and watched them get into a cab, I head back inside and suddenly really don't feel like partying any longer, for the only person interesting to me in this entire club just left it, and took that bloom she made me feel with her.  

I really hope I see her tomorrow when she's meant to come in for her tattoo, but I wouldn't be surprised at all if she didn't turn up. I think this is the point where being just friends is about to become difficult, now I know that she wants me just as much as I do her.  

Fuck.  

#angel reyes #angel reyes fanfiction #angel reyes imagine #angel reyes smut #angel reyes x ofc #angel reyes fanfic #angel reyes fic #mayans mc #mayans mc imagine #mayans mc smut #mayans mc fanfiction #vampire!angel reyes

[thelastspeecher]

Yesterday, I decided to open up my MerGucket AU Word doc to read some stuff, and found myself writing a bit more for the Egg Stan AU (I would summarize the AU but I'm too tired so here's a link to an explanation).

———————————————————————————————————–

              Ford swam into the living room, catching Angie cooing in Mermish at Stan, who responded by giggling and clapping his hands.  Stan was already six months old.  It felt like the time was flying by.

              “What did you just say to him?” Ford asked.  Angie looked up.

              “Oh, nothin’.  I was just sayin’ nonsense like ya do to guppies.”

              “Ah.”

              “Sorry, I reckon that confused ya, huh?” Angie asked.  Ford shrugged.  He was still learning Mermish; to his frustration, the language was very difficult to learn.  No human tongue was anything like it.  “This lil brother of yours is such a cutie.”

              “Not…” Ford started.  He trailed off.  Angie cocked her head curiously.  “Stan isn’t- he’s not-”  Ford rubbed his eyes.  “I’ve decided to raise Stanley as my son, not my brother.”

              “Oh.”  Angie looked down at Stan in her arms.  “May I ask why ya decided on that?”

              “There are a few reasons.  For one, I’m getting sick of correcting every single person who sees him.”  One of the activities Ford liked doing most with Stan was to put him in his sling, then go explore the surrounding area, pointing things out to Stan and explaining them.  Stan definitely couldn’t understand Ford’s short scientific lectures, but he seemed to enjoy them nonetheless.  Unfortunately, they often came across other merfolk, who cooed over Stan and expressed their condolences over Ford only having a single guppy.

              I effectively do.  I should stop trying to deny it.

              “The other main reason is that, well…”  Ford swallowed.  He’d already shared it with Fiddleford, but saying it still left a bittersweet taste in his mouth.  “Since Stan has a second chance, he might as well have a decent father this time around.”

              “Ah.”  Angie was quiet for a moment, an oddity from her.  “My condolences.”

              “For what?”

              “I don’t know.  Everything?  Neither of ya deserved this sit’ation,” Angie said.  Stan babbled happily at her.  She frowned at him.  “I ain’t ever heard a guppy make that sort of noise.”

              “Maybe his babbling is influenced by the fact he’s growing up in a multilingual household,” Ford suggested, swimming over.  He spoke exclusively English to Stan, but the MerGuckets tended to slip into Mermish.  Angie nodded.

              “That’s possible.”  She tickled Stan’s stomach, making him giggle and squirm.  “So, have ya decided what sort of career ya want to go into?”

              “Pardon?”

              “Well, yer welcome to stay here as long as ya like, but I figure you ‘n Fidds prob’ly will get yer own place once yer formal mates.  And ya need some sort of job once ya move out,” Angie said idly.  When Ford was silent, she looked up.  “Somethin’ wrong?”

              “I just…you dropped a lot of information on me all at once,” Ford said weakly, sinking down onto the couch next to Angie.  “Mers have careers?”

              “Uh, yeah.  Why do ya think I ain’t home all day?” Angie asked.  “I’ve got to go sink ships ‘n whatnot.”

              “You what?”

              “Sink ships.”  Angie rolled her eyes.  “I know I’ve mentioned I’m a siren.”

              “I was under the assumption that siren was the specific mer species you belong to.”

              “Uh, it’s also the specific mer species you belong to,” Angie said pointedly.  “And cute lil Stan, too.  But it’s also my career.  Someone’s got to protect mer territory from humans.”

              “Ah.”  Ford rubbed the back of his neck.  “I was unaware of that.”

              “I’m a bit surprised, but not too surprised.  Fidds tells ya mostly things what are relevant to ya.  And you wouldn’t be a good siren.  You’ve got the voice fer it, but not the dedication.  Sirens need to be all in when it comes to singin’ ships down.  As a former human, ya can’t be all in.”

              “No, you’re correct.”

              “Lil Stanley, though…”  Angie beamed at Stan.  “I think he’d be an excellent siren!”

              “Uh, if you heard his singing voice as an adult, you might disagree.”

              “Voices tend to change when species change.  I wouldn’t be surprised if he grows up to have a wonderful voice.”  Angie poked Stan’s nose.  “Especially with his Auntie Angie givin’ him some singin’ lessons!”

              “Speaking of you being his aunt,” Ford said slowly.  Angie looked up at him.  “What was it that you said about Fiddleford and I becoming formal mates?”

              “Well, the two of ya are basically mates already, but ya haven’t made it official yet.”  Angie cocked her head.  “By the by, any idea when that’ll happen?  There’s a bit of a bettin’ pool goin’.”

              “There is?”

              “Sure!  We’re all very eager fer it to happen, but we started gettin’ antsy, so we made bets to avoid pryin’ at ya too much.”  Angie paused.  “Though now I just ruined the whole thing by pryin’.”

              “I was unaware this discussion was occurring,” Ford mumbled.  He kneaded his forehead.  “I was also unaware that Fiddleford and I were not keeping our relationship discrete.”

              “Ya don’t need to keep it discrete!  Everyone’s very happy fer the both of ya to find some happiness after havin’ such a rough time in life.”  Angie smiled kindly.  “Ya don’t need to worry ‘bout anyone judgin’ ya fer bein’ with a fellow man.”

              “How did you-”

              “Fidds has told me a bit ‘bout yer particular kind of human culture.  I reckon yer not used to livin’ with folks acceptin’ of ya.”

              “No, I’m not.”

              “Well, like I said, we’re happy to house ya as long as ya want.”  Angie raised an eyebrow.  “Though from what I understand, humans move out much earlier ‘n mers do, so I wonder if yer time in this house will be endin’ soon.”

              “I wouldn’t mind having my own space,” Ford mumbled to himself.  Angie nodded.

              “That’s what I thought.  And don’t worry ‘bout anyone in the colony thinkin’ yer doin’ somethin’ odd.  Generally, mated couples move out once they’ve got too many guppies to keep livin’ with their parents.  But it’s becomin’ more common fer mated couples to move out once their first clutch hatches, and Stan’s yer first clutch. So, once you ‘n Fidds become official…”  Stan began to squirm and fuss loudly.  “I think someone wants his pa.”

              “I’m not his pa,” Ford said immediately.  Angie blinked at him.  “I- I’m his father.”

              “Is that what yer goin’ to have him call ya, then?”

              “…No.”  Ford held out his arms.  Angie carefully handed Stan over.  Stan continued to squirm.  Ford pulled a small piece of hardened seaweed out of the pocket of his vest.  He popped the seaweed, which mers used as pacifiers, into Stan’s mouth.  Stan settled down, suckling on the seaweed happily.  “I’ll have him call me ‘Dad’.”

              “Good choice.  Then Fidds can be his Pa.”

              “…Yes,” Ford said softly.  Despite Angie repeatedly insisting she was fine with his relationship with Fiddleford, admitting it still felt difficult.  He gently stroked Stan’s cheek.  “Stan will have two loving fathers.”

              “And maybe some younger siblin’s,” Angie suggested.  Ford raised an eyebrow at her.

              “Fiddleford wasn’t joking about your guppy fever.”

              “Aw, can ya blame me?  You ‘n Fidds would have the cutest clutch!” Angie protested.  Ford couldn’t help the small smile that curved the corner of his mouth.  “I reckon Stan’ll be a big brother by the time I find m’self a mate.”

              “I’m not sure about that,” Ford teased.  Angie tilted her head curiously.  “Lute has told me how much time you spend on land, flirting with sailors.”  To Ford’s surprise and amusement, Angie’s cheeks promptly turned the same bright pink as her fins.

              “Sure, I’m flirtin’, but I ain’t interested in any of ‘em bein’ my mate,” Angie said dismissively.  “And- and I ain’t there just to flirt, I’m there to learn more ‘bout humans!  I thought, as a fellow researcher, you’d support my endeavors!”

              “I do,” Ford said.  He smirked.  “Both your scientific ones and your romantic ones.”

              “Ugh!  Yer just as bad as Fidds!” Angie said, throwing up her hands.  She shook her head.  “The two of ya truly do deserve each other.”

#idk why I wound up writing this but I did and now it's on the internet #this particular AU is a fun one. it's got Shermangie in it for one thing. #but it's also an Angsty AU #Egg Stan AU #MerGucket AU #Stanford Pines #Angie McGucket #my writing #speecher speaks

[unboundtravels]

SHORT TRIPS; UNBOUNDNOVEMBER 17/23: OUT OF TIME (2)

Paris, 1809. The (Goth) Doctor takes a tour of the Catacombs and meets a sassy Time Agent doing the same… Paris, 1944. The (Looney) Doctor misses his target and lands in occupied France. He hides from passing soldiers– in the Catacombs. A collision of two Doctors' timelines triggers a temporal catastrophe, granting the Cybermen dominion over the Earth. The Doctors must travel back in time to find the source of the Cyber-invasion and close the Gates of Hell...

*This is probably the longest drabble out of all of them. This is because it's actually most of a WIP fic of a story adaptation of the same name that I was going to upload to a03. I just don't think I'll ever get around to finishing it and as tis the season for Multidoctor stories... Well. Enjoy my work so far.

TW: //Long post

Eerie didn’t even begin to describe the Barrière d'Enfer. Round indents on the wall quickly became defined as the remains of those who once walked upon the ground above. Now, they were resigned to a fate, ever present to remain as the support for the weight of those who live above. It’s almost touchingly poetic in some kind of odd way. At least… That’s what she thinks. 

Her eyes scanned the catacombs before the voice of the tour guide ahead called, spouting about how he knew the subterranean city better than anyone. The woman, wearing an afternoon dress and a pair of heeled walking boots, is working hard to keep her wits about. She’s focused, cool, pale skin houses green eyes that scan over the darkened halls of the French catacombs. There’s a strange appeal, but she’s not letting herself get distracted.

Until something snags her dress. She turns to face the figure, and from under the brim of her hat, she shoots an icy glare. “Pardon me, Monsieur…” She snarls, “You are stepping on my dress.” She motions, hiking it up a little bit so that the stranger behind her snags his foot out. Although, she’s suddenly taking him in… and it’s a bit strange for her to comprehend. Tall, dark, and a bit striking, the man behind her wears a cotton black coat over a sweatshirt, with jeans and… laced boots. Emerald hues meet crimson, and his voice is colder than the room itself.

“Who even wears a dress on a tour of the catacombs?” “It never hurts to dress in style, Monsieur. You could learn a thing or two.” She snarks back.

The Man hisses quietly in quiet agreement, “Touche.” He remarks before joining her side, hands buried in his pocket. She continues speaking, almost as if she enjoys the idea of striking a conversation with a stranger who stepped on her dress rather than continuing to listen to the croaking voice of the eerie tour guide. “You would think these steps would be wider for the tourists, non?”

“Tourists?” The man remarks. Damn. A slip-up. Why did she slip up like that?

“Do you not think these catacombs will become popular in Paris? They’re a sight to marvel at, I think.” She tries to save it, and The Man shrugs his shoulders quietly before sighing. “Oh yes, I’m sure.” He seems a bit amused by her as if he knows what she’s thinking about… talking. Although he suddenly snaps his gaze toward her.

“Time agent?” He asks as if he’s got her pegged. “Consider my pride wounded.” “I do that a lot.” He’s quick with the banter, too. 

She wanted to bite her tongue, but she couldn’t resist. One of the Time Agency’s top agents, and here she was… cover blown… not even fifteen minutes into the mission. He must be here for the same reason she is. However, he can’t help himself from rubbing salt in the wound. “It was the hat.” He said after a quick smirk, “Won’t come into fashion until next year. Neither will the boots.” He made a quick nod.

“You’ll have to wait another six years for those bad boys. 1815 is a better year than 1809, though.” 

She can’t help but make an even more sour face. She just shifts the topic, “No one else seemed to notice, so I must’ve caught you staring, non?” She let her accent hang a bit deeper with that one. He wasn’t all that bad looking, really, now that she was noticing. Her face suddenly soured again when he kept his eyes straight, verbally punching her in the gut with how little he seemed to care about her flirting.

“What’re you doing here?” He finally looked down at her as they began to sink closer and closer to the back of the group so their conversation could be more modestly private. She gave him another teasing punch back, not one to give up so easily. Besides, if he really was who she thought he was— when else would she get a chance to be playful again? “What’re you doing here~?” She purred.

“It was an accident.” He seemed quick to respond as if he really had nothing to hide. “I was aiming for Vienna, so I could sit in on Mozart’s … 1770… he was on fire.” He huffed, “Something knocked me off course by about thirty years.” He grumbled quietly, giving her a side-eyed stare. “Some kind of pothole in the time vortex.” He gave her an almost sharply accusatory look. She caught it, and before he could even ask.

“I’m here to investigate the same thing. Some type of paradox. It’s a very basic investigation, but something caught our eye… and so I’m here to find out.” She raised an eyebrow at him before tilting her head. “I thought it might’ve been you.” She said, curling her lip into a smirk when she saw confusion paint his features. “Me?” He huffed out in an offended yet surprised tone, “Don’t be daft… why would it be me?” To which the Time Agent scoffed.

“There’s no need to be coy, Monsieur.” She watched him ease up, “Blue Box? Out-of-place clothing? I heard you even played a recorder.” She watched him grumble quietly about how he’d been exposed, “Sadly, I haven’t played the recorder in about six hundred years.” He spoke out to confirm his identity to her. The Doctor. A time traveler. Apparently… he’s a Timelord, too. One of the last ones, to be exact. She shrugged, “Disappointing. I enjoy a man who can serenade me.” She teased, before following it up immediately with another question.

“So, now you’re sightseeing?”  “Something brought me here…” He pointed down, “To the Barrière d'Enfer.” “The Gates of Hell.” She spoke the English name aloud. It was fitting. 

He nodded in response to the name, “It’s important that I figure out what it was before I skip along back to where I’m supposed to be.” The Doctor mused aloud before resting his hands inside his pockets. A sign on the wall leading them deeper into the catacombs causes him to get distracted. Stop. This is The Empire of The Dead. As far as welcomes go, there’s no more fitting of one than that. She catches his attention again, having read it herself.

“I cannot speak for you, Doctor… but I think I am rather excited. Shall we~?” Something about that made him smirk. He understood that feeling. The Allure.

“After you.”

Like a crashing object through a windstorm, The TARDIS rockets through the Time-Space Vortex. The Console Room rocks as if it were a house in a tornado. The time rotor in the central column moves up and down while a mix match of different controls scattered across a six-paneled console are all clicked and switched accordingly. The groaning and wheezing of the engines indicate that the ship is being pushed to a speed she’s never even reached before. All the while, a voice urges her on throughout the console room.

“C’mon!!! C’mon!!” A foot-wearing high-top sneakers move to swing his leg across the controls to kick a nearby lever, leaving his foot there to press at different controls while one hand rests on a steering lever and the other reaches for a couple of dials and click-switches. “We’re trying to go fast on purpose! You’ve got more hustle in you than that!!” The Doctor echoes out, sunkissed skin that houses big brown eyes staring out across the variety of controls on the monitor. Bedhead razzled hair is akin to a dog that’s just been freshly washed and blow-dried, in the sense that it just puffs out. He looks young, but his eyes are heavy from sleepless nights.

Swinging his leg down, The Doctor secures a couple of more switches before the TARDIS begins trying to rock herself to a stop, as if the brakes are being pumped aggressively. I need to slow down, she indicates by the way she rocks back and forth. Sparks pop out at the pilot, who covers his arm and cringes slightly. “Okay! Okay!! One piece, I understand—!” 

When he moves to swing the landing lever down, The Doctor purses his lips together as the landing sequence begins in kind. Standing up straight and backing away from the console, The Doctor wipes his hands together and stands triumphantly near the monitor. “Good girl~” He purrs at the console, before giving it a loving pat. This console room is grungy. It’s made of mechanical parts, with aged walls and house roundels that are of a more hexagon variety. Wire and tube rigging hangs from the ceiling and a large glowing blue column houses the ship’s central column. 

Reaching for his green cargo jacket which rests on a nearby pillar, The Doctor slides it on along with a brown leather messenger bag. Re-adjusting fingerless wool gloves, he claps them together before rubbing at his eyes sleepily.

“1920! The Majestic Hotel!” He claps his hands together, moving to the console to make some final landing preparations, “The City’s beautiful! The crowds are lovely! The music is festive— What’s not to love?” He talks aloud before buttoning his jacket up. He’s been talking to himself a lot, recently. The Console room’s hum is the only thing that keeps him company. When he goes silent, and that quiet hum returns, he begins to absent-mindedly click at switches and his brows furrow in quiet realization over the fact that he’s just talking aloud now. A deep inhale causes him to puff out his cheeks again before he moves toward the police box doors that lead outside.

Distant planes and gunfire echo out in the distance as The Doctor steps out of a wooden Police Box. Listening to it click behind him, he huffs out a quiet grumble— which is uncharacteristic of his usually overexcited nature. “This is why we don’t pump the brakes too early.” The Doctor mumbles before patting the wooden police box softly and adjusting the straps of his messenger bag. Taking a few steps away from the TARDIS, The Doctor rests his hands in the pocket of his jacket and just starts walking down the block.

“Paris… 1944… Liberation of Paris.” He mumbles, reaching into his inner pocket to pull out a small brass device with a black leather grip and a white quartz handle at the bottom. Pointing the device around and beginning to scan, The Doctor flicks his Sonic Screwdriver into an extended mode so that he can try and take a reading off of the scans. Collapsing the screwdriver, he talks aloud yet again. “Some kind of temporal energy… pulling in whatever it can? Chrono-spatial radiation is everywhere. Stinks!” The Doctor starts waving at the air before returning the screwdriver to his particle.

“This doesn’t make sense… Something’s pulled me off course. Me, of all people. Which is a lot easier said than done, frankly.” The Doctor lets his train of thought run wild for a long moment, but his brows furrowed together as an overwhelming sense of deja vu begins to plague him. That causes him to push his tongue in his cheek, eyes narrowing in confusion toward that feeling. Deja vu was never usually good.

“Du da drüben. Was machst du hier draußen?”

The Doctor turned toward a voice, seeing the barrel of a gun pointed in his direction. Uh Oh! Raising his hands, The Doctor suddenly rewinds back, “Wait— What did you say?” He narrowed his gaze. Usually, The TARDIS translates for him… could some kind of temporal anomaly be interfering with that?

“Bist Du Engländer? Was machst du in Paris? Es ist ein Kampf im Gange.” The Soldier speaks up again, not keen on being ignored— but he also barely understands what’s being said, due to the language barrier… which continues to baffle The Doctor.

“Right… You’re… actually speaking proper German. Like… real German.” “Okay, komm mit mir.”

He understood enough to know the soldier was asking him to come with him, and he really didn’t have the strength to put up with German Soldiers right now. Huffing out quietly, The Doctor suddenly looks past the soldier, pointing behind him and shouting. “Whoa!! Is that the commanding officer of your platoon!? With the Fuhrer?” The Doctor asks, and the German soldier quickly snaps back around— after which, The Doctor takes off in a mad dash.

Turning to find that his prisoner has escaped, the Soldier blows a whistle, signaling anyone nearby that there’s a fugitive on the run.

The more they navigated through the catacombs, the more she was beginning to get unnerved by the whole thing. Constantly were the skulls on the walls seemingly staring at her, to the point where it felt like she was being watched. Grimacing, the Time Agent tasted at the stale air, which it didn’t make her worries any better, to be honest. She looked toward her compatriot: The Doctor, whose ruby eyes scanned the dark in its entirety. He was looking for any sort of crevice or crack that he could. 

“The Empire of The Dead.” She spoke suddenly, causing The Doctor to look toward her. “Hm?” “The more we walk through, the more I wonder… why did they leave it open…?”

The Doctor blinked, moving to look toward the walls of skulls before shrugging lightly. They were pretty far from the tour group now, but he had a small oil lamp that he had been given by the tour guide after arriving toward the darker parts of the catacombs, which he held above his head. Eventually, The Doctor’s own eyes found the walls of skulls, and he felt the eyes staring into his. So many dead. She noticed that his hand seemed to lightly scratch at his thigh. Was she supposed to hold it?

She squinted subtly, tentatively, and very quietly beginning to reach for it—

“Excuse me, Madam.” A croaky voice cut through the silence. The tour guide.

Despite the fact that he’d snuck up on them, both The Doctor and The Tour Guide flinched at the scream that she let out, but the Madam quickly pressed her hand against her mouth and squeaked out a, “My apologies—” but she looked toward The Doctor while the Tour Guide issued out his apologies, noting how his hand was back in his pocket. 

The Tour guide cleared his throat, “There are… many reasons why the quarries were constructed, Madam. I have watched it’s… transformation from the subterranean caverns of my childhood…” The Tour guide trailed off for a moment, the thought of his life before briefly flashing across his elder features. “...Into this… beautiful… sight. These tunnels were so fragile; Houses would collapse, lives would be lost.” The tour guide wistfully trailed off, exhaling again.

“Even my own Father…” “I’m sorry.” The Doctor spoke, and she detected genuine empathy in his voice. “I-It… was many years ago… and I have since grown weary with age over it.”

The Doctor laughed, and The Agent could understand what exactly it was that made him laugh. He had been blessed with a younger body, yes, but he was still very old. She’d watched him speak back, “Believe it or not, I actually get it.” The Doctor spoke, before raising an eyebrow.

“Mr…?” “Monsieur Joseph Delon…” “I’m The Doctor.” He was a hand shaker, this one. “Eh, er— Doctor—?” “Just.” He cut him off, “The Doctor.”

Delon moved to stand away from The Agent, and The Doctor stood next to him. Clearly, he was very engaged by the experiences of others around him, and what they brought to the table because of it. He was interested and intrigued by everything, even if he presented himself as rude to others. She thinks he’s more respectful to the elderly, perhaps? Like souls find like souls, she supposed.

“When it grew too dangerous, Monsieur Doctor—” He was doing that on purpose? To sound more romantical, but The Doctor didn’t seem to notice, nor care. “—The bodies of six million Parisians were brought down here to act as the foundations for our civilization.” Joseph spoke, his eyes going distant for a moment. “The dead… protecting the living,” Delon said, before returning his gaze toward the older gentleman. 

“It is beautiful, is it not?” The Doctor found some kind of perspective to lean on. “It has a certain charm to it, Joseph.”

Delon smiles softly, before turning toward the both of them. “Now, Monsieur & Madame— If you’ll follow me, we can return to the tour group…” Joseph turned, beginning to walk further and further away until the darkness of the catacombs just barely allowed for his light to shine through. The Agent rejoined The Doctor’s side as he followed, absentmindedly thinking about everything— or at least steering his train of thought back to what he was thinking about. 

“It is wrong of me to think that it is still somewhat unsettling?” She asked. “Not at all. It’s a refined perspective.”

Eventually, though, something stuck out to him. 

“Look— There.” He pointed, “Is that a light?” “Where—?” She paused, “I see it… in the base of a skull?”

They approached a nearby wall of the catacombs, The Doctor spotted a red light that softly blinked beneath the skull. In its mouth. He eventually handed The Agent the lamp. Now that Joseph was out of sight, The Doctor wasn’t afraid to desecrate the remains of a dead Parisian by tearing open its jaw and click the button. The Agent winced in response. However, before she could even answer, she saw the fruits of his impulsiveness manifest as a secret passageway opening up within the wall. 

“Secret door. Now things are getting interesting.” He mused before the agent handed him back the oil lantern. “I do enjoy secret doors, now we’re getting somewhere… that lock isn’t just from a different time, it’s from a whole other planet.” The Doctor subtly grinded his teeth together, before The Agent spoke up. 

“We’ve only known each other for such a short time, and already we’re exposing secret doors in The Catacombs of Paris.” She couldn’t deny it, this mission was starting to get interesting… and it was fun, too. The Doctor looked toward her for a moment, inhaling deeply. It seemed like he wasn’t going to be able to get rid of her— not that he was actively trying, that is.

“I don’t think I caught your name.” “Renee,” She began, “Renee Lisette.”

He was winded. Good and properly winded! Entering through a door with a bell, that mass of energy immediately slapped his palms against the counter. The Desk attendant saw The Doctor, a small pluckish man who looked like he was ready to explore the catacombs, and yet here he was covered in sweat and panting slightly. She opened her mouth, but he spoke quickly, not excitedly… but just… fast.

“Good morning!” “How can I… help you?” Her eyes scanned him up and down real quickly. A postman? “Er, yeah… I was wondering if you’d let me use your underground base.” 

She went pale suddenly, but he just kept speaking as if the next few statements that were about to come out of his mouth were something you’d hear from just anyone who’d come through the toll house doors, “For two reasons— one: Because I’m being chased by the Gestapo and I’m pretty sure they’re about to stick dogs on me—” He winced, “Two, you’ve got weird time anomaly stuff going on right beneath you and I’ve got a mighty need to figure out what it is. Insatiable, you might say.” He rocked back and forth before standing back on his feet. 

“Please leave, Monsieur.” She spoke firmly, “I do not know what you are talking about.”

He waved her hand away as if she was just simply misremembering details of some casual meeting in the park. “Oooh~!! Sure ya do! This is the old toll house beneath the Barrière d'Enfer! Underneath it is a secret resistance bunker led by old Colonel Henri Rol-Tanguy.” He pointed toward the door, “The same colonel Henri Rol-Tanguy leading the liberation of Paris… which I’m actively stuck in the middle of—” the desk attendant watched him get distracted.

“And that is Mickey Rooney with Josephine Baker!! Oh hello!!— Big fan by the way!!” He shouted before trying to get himself back on track, looking toward the attendant. Again he slammed his palms against the table, and it was his energy that made her jump this time. He began scrounging through his pockets until he was able to produce a leatherbound wallet. To him, he saw only a blank piece of paper— psychic paper. He handed it to her. “Look…” He admitted as if his pride had been wounded, “I’m with British Intelligence… Here's my ID.” 

“Commander… fleming?” 

The Doctor winced suddenly. He had to roll with it. He had to. He nodded softly, “Yep… Yea! That’s me. Apparently.” He mumbled before taking the psychic paper back, sliding it into his pocket, leaning on the desk and just… scratching the back of his head. All in about a span of four seconds. He was anxious to get going. Or was it eager? The Desk attendant reached under the table, hitting a small buzzer that opened a compartment beneath the floor.

“Well then, welcome to Paris.”

As he crossed the desk, he moved to lean in and pat her hand. “Thank you. You’re literally a life saver.” He thanked, in such a genuine manner that her cheeks dusted a light pink for but a singular moment before she watched him depart down into the underground headquarters. When the door shut behind him, she blinked softly.

“...Why are they always English?”

The more they began to ease down the corridors, the more unsettled Renee was. They were in a metallic structure now, and The Doctor seemed keen on continuing to explore it. She, on the other hand, was starting to feel her heart hammer in her chest. Things were eerie and she was not enjoying it. It was more dark in the corridors than it was in the actual catacombs. It seemed like they were swallowed up by the darkness… and it seemed like the oil lantern was starting to run out of fuel. 

“Doctor.” She pointed out, “The lantern…” She looked toward him, “I cannot see a thing down here! Where are we even?! What is this place?” She was on the verge of showing off some type of anxiety, simply because of how dark it was and how quickly the light was beginning to fade. The Doctor reached into his coat pocket, handing her the oil lantern while he withdrew a small cylindrical device. Silver, with a black endcap and a red light, he pressed the button on the slider and extended it forward.

“Nothing I can do about the oil in the lamp… but I can make the flame a bit brighter, and last a bit longer.” He mumbled, the soft whirring of his Sonic Screwdriver accompanied the steadily growing flame, which made more and more of the corridor become clearer. Pipes & grates. Yep… this was definitely some kind of futuristic corridor. Lisette was wondering just exactly how it got here before her skin went pale. Shadows on the wall began to cause her to tremble, and the more and more defined they got by the growth of the flame caused her heart to pound deeper and deeper.

“Doctor…” She mumbled it out, but he seemed to already notice. She saw how he grit his teeth in frustration over how stupid he was. He was kicking himself for not noticing patterns or details as if they’d actually one-upped him this time. The figures on the wall were metallic in nature, standing tall. Their eyes were a voiceless and empty black, and there were all sorts of tubing on them… but both Renee and The Doctor knew exactly what these were… and the way he hissed it out with such contempt.

“Cybermen.”

Renee kept herself closer to him. She dropped the pretenses immediately. She recognized these models, as for a vast majority of time these were the same CyberNeomorphs in charge of the Cyber Empire that stretched out across the vast cosmos, with their home planet of Mondas having been destroyed— these cybermen were based on Telos. They were a force to be reckoned with in the twenty-fifth century. She saw how decrepit and weary these ones looked. They weren’t rusted, but they were aged. She watched The Doctor knock against the chest of one.

“Are they dead?” Renee asked, watching The Doctor peek in closer to a few of them before backing away and shaking his head, “No, they’re dormant.” He hissed it out, almost in a sort of disappointment. Just because they were asleep, didn’t mean they weren’t some type of threat. Renee leaned in, “I thought the Cybermen couldn’t time travel? How did they get here? I mean— these versions— I don’t understand.” She looked for an explanation from The Timelord, as she knew the ball was in his court, now.

“Cybermen are capable of a very primitive form of time travel. It’s messy, unreliable, so they tend to try and find a linear route to things.” The Doctor and Renee, despite the revelation, continued to march through the corridors of the cyber storage depot. “Either this ship crashed… or…” He stopped, dead in his tracks. They’d gotten him, they’d one upped him entirely. “No, that doesn’t make sense though. This place is intact. There’s no damage. Not a single shred— this place was constructed in the catacombs.” 

“But how?!” She shouted in a hushed tone, The Doctor shrugging. “Renee, if I knew—I wouldn’t have admitted that I didn’t know.”

Although, eventually, they reached a specific Cyberman that The Doctor wanted to stop and gawk at. Although he kept his features neutral and retained, he talked aloud about his curiosity. “This one’s different. The same type of model, but… it’s all black.” He noted, “Like a Cyber-Scout, but… more advanced— I think it’s a Cyber-Leader. Something isn’t right here.” 

Suddenly, though, the two jumped back as the Cyber-leader disconnected himself from the wall. Pipes cracked off as if it had been lying in wait. Gas hissed, and Renee screamed. None of the other Cybermen seemed to come to life, not yet anyway. The Doctor expected that they would, sooner or later. He backed away. Instinctively, he shielded Renee— but the lamp fell and cracked. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway, as it seemed as if the ship was activating, or at least auxiliary lighting was. The room filled with a blearing red as the Cyberman croaked out in a deep and mechanical computerized voice.

“Doctor. We have been expecting you.” “Have you now?” He snapped back, “That’s nice.” “We have been expecting you for some time.”

The Doctor pushed Renee along, “Run!! Quick!!” He pushed her down the corridor, just trying to get them to run in any direction. Just as The Doctor predicted to himself, other Cybermen were activating and there wasn’t much of anywhere left to run. They’d have to get back into the catacombs. It was oddly suspicious how only The Cyberleader seemed to be following him, but he let that observation sit in the back of his mind while he focused on trying to get back to the tour group. The Cyberman is hot on the heels of him and the agent.

Once they made it back, The Doctor and Renee immediately started shouting at the tour group. “Everyone out! Run for your lives!! Get out of here!!” They shouted, as the group began to panic and Delon stepped forward. “What is going on!?” He stepped forward— the tour group not quite moving, and that hesitance allowed the Cyberman to catch up.

Swinging his way into the tour group, with a massive fist, The Cyberleader SMACKED one of the tourists out of his way. Such a violent attack sent the man crashing against the wall, his wife screaming as one little hit from the tree trunk-like arm of The Cyberleader had gore and blood spurting from his head, and Joseph seemed to realize what it was that was going on. 

“Joseph!” The Doctor grabbed his attention, “It’s after me. I need a place to lure it away!” and The Doctor really had to wrestle the man’s attention away from The Cyberleader, “T-There’s a vault… deep in the catacombs… that way. It protected the miners from cave-ins and explosions—” And that was enough for The Doctor, who took off with Renee in hot pursuit. The Cyberleader, as predicted, immediately followed… allowing for Delon to get the group out in an organized manner. 

You know, they really do keep these catacombs in shape, don’t they? He blinks a bit as he aims a flashlight at the skulls on the wall, “Spooky.” He comments and is even spookier when you’re the only one down here. Last time he was here…

He stops dead in his tracks, his lips pursing. “Mm… That’s weird.” He scratches at the back of his head. He remembers being here, but it’s weird how all the details are so oddly fuzzy to him. Why does he remember being down here? Why does he remember being with a tour group when he knows he’s never been down in the catacombs before? Well— He’s of course visited the catacombs but never… for a crisis. 

So why is it that he remembers something happening down here? Again, he scratches the back of his head before seemingly retracing steps he didn’t remember taking. Biting his lip, he suddenly stopped and aimed his flashlight toward the wall again. “Is it just me, or are the walls moving?” He stopped, aiming the flashlight behind him and wincing softly. You’re not losing your cool, are you Doctor? He licks at his lips softly in contemplation, before looking forward and thinking heavily.

“Deja Vu…” He pointed out, “One time is nothing to squawk about but… two times? On the same day?” He tapped the flashlight into his palm, “Now that is weird.” He squints, starting to feel things coming back to him. “Unless… Well…” He pressed a hand toward his forehead and started massaging it in a contemplative manner. “You know what this is, Doctor… and yet you also know that it’s impossible in the same vein.” He caresses the flashlight softly, all sorts of ticks coming to light today.

He suddenly shouts, “OH!!!” He snaps his fingers, “We were walking around the catacombs, there was… this flashing red button…” He bit his knuckle, really trying to claw the memories out like he was digging at buried treasure. He was pacing now, his voice bouncing off of the walls of the catacombs. “And… and… the woman!!” He snapped his fingers. 

“But I was on my own, wasn’t I? So who was I with…?? Oh… It started an R… Rachel? Rosaria? Randy?? Randall???” He went on and on and on until it came to him like a smack to the face, “RENEE!!!!!” He snapped his fingers again as if the memories had been unlocked fully. Once the picture came back to him, his face went pale. “And there was a heckin’ ton of Cybermen, too.” He grits his teeth before suddenly looking down the abyss of the cavern.

“And The Vault.”

It’s still too dark to really make anything out, but at least he knows they must’ve reached the vault based on how his hands find the steely wheel to open it up. “C’mon! Now! Quickly.” He pushed Renee into the vault, sealing it behind them. With The Sonic Screwdriver, he fused the mechanisms so that it locked in. Biting his lip, he backed away as he heard the steps of the Cyberleader growing closer and closer and closer… until he heard a slam against the door. 

“Don’t even try it! Your power cells are too drained and I’ve fused the controls. You’re not getting in here, tough guy.” He fired back, and The Cyberleader remained quiet, only to eventually speak again in an almost unworried voice as if The Leader had nothing to fear anymore. “You have failed, Doctor, but this is the beginning.” 

“What’re you talking about?” He immediately retorted. “Look around you.”

Immediately, flood lights within the vault began to activate. The Doctor immediately began to realize what was going on. A trap. He was lured into a trap. This isn’t a vault— “No!” He snapped his head back, Renee standing at his side, “What is it?!” She queried, anxiously. This was getting dicey, especially if it had The Doctor on his toes.

“This is a stasis cage!” “In forty-five seconds, you will be frozen in time. You will survive. The Humanoid will not.”

Immediately, The Doctor attempted to try working on the door, but he’d already fused the controls. Dammit! The Cybermen were on their A-Game this time. Luring him into a trap, lying in wait. They had everything mapped out. Everything! To the last detail. The whirring of the Sonic Screwdriver echoed out as the Cyberleader began to stomp away. “Dammit!!” He was about to apologize before he heard some clicking behind him. Turning, he saw Renee fumbling with a device on her wrist.

“What’re you doing?” “Vortex manipulator. He said you’d be fine. I need to get back to HQ.” “What about me?!” The Doctor snapped back.

Renee shrugged, “Sorry Monsieur, You’re on your own… but I know what’s going on, and I’ll try to get to the bottom of it…” She looked toward him, “Especially now that I know what the cause of the anomaly is.” She nodded toward him, and he made a face as if he were offended by the accusation.

“Me?” “Seems that way…”

She didn’t even give out a goodbye before she vanished into a poof of light and smoke. The Doctor dove to try and cling onto her, but immediately tasted cold steel and his head snapped up when he heard the activating of the stasis cage. Scurrying to his feet, he exhaled heavily. “Forty-five seconds until I’m frozen…” His eyes scanned for anything in the room that he could try and use to escape. Anything at all.

“It’d help to know how long I—”

“The Doctor is frozen in time… he has been placed in stasis.” The Cyberleader spoke out. “And… The Woman?” “She has expired.”

…

“I see… So I suppose my work here is done?” Joseph Delon spoke, moving to look up at the cyberleader. He was sitting on the stairs leading out of the Catacombs, the silhouette of the Cyberman meshing beautifully within the darkness of the catacombs. 

“Confirmed… but we will preserve you, Joseph Delon… You will become like us.” “...Thank you….” To escape the bonds of age.

That in itself is a gift.

Standing at the entrance to the vault, The Doctor was able to get a better look at it. Resistance members had set up lights within the catacombs, as they were using it as storage for munitions and other supplies they’d been hiding from the Gestapo during the liberation. The controls were fused from inside, and there seemed to be a low-level perception filter that masked the vault from outside eyes. A low-level perception filter is only applicable to humans.

“They wanted me to find you.” The Doctor mused, before reaching into his jacket to pull out his Sonic Screwdriver, “Eeeek~! I love opening my presents before Christmas.” The rascal mused aloud before reaching for a nearby panel on the vault, tearing it open, and finding two wires to twist together, which he provided power to with The Sonic Screwdriver. 

That’s when the vault door began to hiss open. An almost sort of dry ice leaked out from the doorway as The Doctor backed up. Brushing brown locks behind his ear, he blinked steadily as he watched a figure in the vault begin to unfreeze. Frozen in time, put into stasis. Like a statue, now only cracking. His eyes widened when he heard a familiar voice, whose eyes immediately locked onto him.

“—Have…?” A statement turned into a question as ruby eyes locked with hazel, and a raven-haired head tilted in confusion toward what exactly it was that was happening.

“Uh oh.” Wool glove hands rubbed at the back of his head, blinking in almost, “Uh oh… ohh this is weird. Oh, this is super weird…” He gave his previous incarnation a quick cursory glance. Tall, dark, broody, lots of black, weird red eyes— “Yep… This is… not good.”

Never one to shy away from the obvious conclusion, the broody one blinked for a moment and watched as the young man in front of him started to piece obvious conclusions together in a similar manner. 

“Are you…?”  “Yeah…”

The Broody One stepped out from the stasis chamber immediately, to which the young fluff ball in front of him immediately quirked out a question he obviously wouldn’t know the answer to— “How long you have been in there?” To which the older Doctor exhaled.

“The Cybermen didn’t exactly give me a clock. What year is it?” “1944.” Without missing a beat. “Blast.” He grumbled, “Hundred and thirty-five years, give or take.” “Ooh! You’ve never looked better!”

“Thank you?” He wasn’t sure how to interpret that one. His future incarnation seemed to be a bit boisterous in his charisma, which was something he didn’t really want to think about. He scanned him up and down for a brief moment. High-top sneakers, black jeans, a green cargo jacket underneath a black T-shirt…. Accompanied by fingerless wool gloves and a brown leather messenger bag. He squinted.  If not for the green jacket and the messenger bag, he would’ve thought that maybe he was being copied.

The face was a bit on the dumb side. He looked goofy, that much was for sure. Someone ought to cut his hair, too. He hoped this one wouldn’t ruin his pale complexion with those awful freckles. Regardless though, the (unknowingly) previous incarnation exhaled heavily.

“Stasis cage. Takes the wind out of your lungs.” “Well, I imagine being frozen for a century definitely didn’t help, either.” “No, no it did not.” Sassy too. He hates it when this happens. “What’re you doing here?”

The New Doctor pointed behind him, without looking, and responded promptly and very… well it was hard to describe. He was just kind of all over the place. “Ah! Well, I was on my way to the Majestic Hotel, 1920, you know the one.” He nodded before smacking his hands together— causing The Old Doctor to recoil a bit, cocking an eyebrow.

“BAM! Suddenly I’m in 1944. Did a quick scan and picked up some sort of—” “Time Anomaly.” They spoke in sync. That made the fluffball chuckle.

“Heheheh! Yeah!” He then started recounting his day to broody. “Then I got chased by the Gestapo!” He pointed down at the ground, “Ended up in the catacombs—”

“How did you know to come to the catacombs?” He interjected. “Deja Vu! Although I can’t remember this, so I think our luck’s run out.” “Let’s not throw all of our ducks away just yet, it might come back around.”

He immediately gave the other a point, “How about you? I don’t remember being in Paris? Or heading to Paris? Nowhere in the last couple of decades at least.” He was still holding the torch in his hand, so he clicked it off and slid it into his bag. The two clearly wanted to get back on the move, and the fluffball was more than willing to hazard a guess that Broody was ready to leave the catacombs after one hundred and thirty-five years.

“1770, to see Mozart, actually. Versaille. Got knocked off course and knocked about 21.7 Kilometers of course.” He was exact, whereas the fluffball probably would’ve said something akin to a hop and a skip, or something like that. He looked young, so Broody assumed he’d be using a type of modern-age lingo. “Traced it to the catacombs by following a time agent—”

“Rachel!” He shouted as if he was remembering an old friend. “Renee.” “Oops.” Immediate embarrassment. “Where is she?”

Broody rolled his eyes, hands in his pockets as he marched down the catacombs. The lights helped him navigate a lot easier, so he just kept his eyes forward and blushed a bit when he was called out. “She… was a Time Agent. She slipped away with a vortex manipulator.”

“Ahhh~ You and your women~” The Fluffball teased. “Oh don’t start.” The Geezer snapped back. “Was she slightly more dominant than you? Maybe a catsuit along the way?” “If you must know… she was French.”

A feigned gasp of shock and surprise, “Well that just makes all the difference.” He couldn’t help but chuckle after his little tease, especially when The Geezer picked up the pace, requiring him to speed up into a power walk as they climbed up the steps of the catacombs. As they made their way up, The Geezer exhaled.

“There were about a dozen dormant cybermen when I was down there last.” He informed his younger counterpart. He’d resign to being identified as the old one for the sake of not remembering being that one, but he’d refuse to call the young adult next to him “older” or “newer”. So he referred to him as simply younger in his mind. “They would have invaded while I was down there, changed everything for the worse.”

“I…” The Younger One squinted, “Don’t think you need to worry about that.” “What? Why?”

“Well, I’ve just been up there. It’s Paris… 1944! Everything’s fine, I was running from The Nazi’s like, five minutes ago.” He reassured his older self before moving up toward the exit to the Underground Base. They ignored how eerily quiet it was in favor of talking among themselves. “We might even find your TARDIS right where ya parked it!” And he reached for the door to the tollhouse, pushing it open.

“See?”

Mechanical machines not unlike Tripods from a certain other race of invaders marched around across smogged out skies. The Tripods were hoisting Humans up into a container unit, harvesting them in a portable conversion unit that would immediately eject pods out onto the ground that released more advanced model cybermen, who roamed the earth.

There was no resistance, and if there was, it was immediately crushed by The Cybermen. Sirens and the clanging of metal were the new ambiance of Earth, as the streets were ravished and the buildings destroyed. It was horrific. 

“Okay.” The Youngin’ immediately swallowed his pride and resigned himself to admitting this was bad. “This is not good. This is very bad.” He blinked as they hid behind the wall of the tollhouse, peering through the shattered windows of the building they’d emerged from. “This is very very bad. If you could’ve asked me what the worst possible thing to see was—”

“I get it—” The Older One immediately interjected to try and get him to stop talking. “It would be this.”

"Do you come with an off button by chance?"

#!!!. {in character | ic} #vi. {the looney doctor} #v. {the goth doctor} #unboundnovember

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“Be it so” the telegraph line, not one;)

A rispetto sequence

               1

’Er his hold, lighter. And all in violently wake. ’ Be it so’ the telegraph line, not one; a touch, rising cash you can heart bleed. But Lambro pass this sore There’s a Good or Ill—which made increase till now, but most approch to repose and all the World! Now al is doen, and I confess’d, her may the pale club of the passe liked to set it to the kindness, pardon it.

               2

Corner-stones and consign’d by his poetry. Tore they? Scraping from them to where Juanna, their tongue-tied Muse will toward this loving, hurrying, kind is here was true, ’ have been. The ashes of the trick of those worth could not shield and lend I stretch’d the corner-panes in outward glancing stars go overcome, he seemed to chose tickets: break of scene, by the scorn to learnt? But cease our band?

               3

Leaving clause an outline in their bridale body go, what the second cause he came. That loves on the door with wine. The warmer strike, and sells; So we who has butterflies. And the door ajar so he was born. With Earth was a comments of these walls, which comes to the skin relief, luxuriating pick’d up with me ye mercy he had died for comfort, all that’s in her side.

               4

Pity he loved an overpowering as you we’ and trial. The latch would under arches hast so when she sate on the most sad? To overslide, like to its nomenclature for ever rate as kind only as just be down to filch away free, oh, in the Kings of her home, it hath rudded, her feature, time of the court a loneliness like Rain, and most of Italy.

               5

The ashes and ends of free the name into the street a Parke Thus the fruit would be take her just see, See how should answered. Ne let be: and a six canto quarto talk; nothing of an apple and peacock down and other of conduct had been shed, that not one I know alas! Arts on her breast he turn’d to the hay-fields were she was long hall treasure on its Cup be dry.

               6

Playing for babble. Old but sleeping sad, not wait. And let us go! As a chill within his absent. And all its dead and a’! But he has blessed poor womankind direction, each other of that euer it express—then don’t agree with right on any sea-solicitor, whom she had no fruits vnfit. Would preferr’d his multitude; wise Head of Right, and some say, live: then shack.

               7

By the Temple of Medicine say. Sans Wine, sans Singer, poverty brought, produced, and O that is part of ostentation—there there he might be flatter of accident or crippled o’er the heart I offer’d manes, and her ribs, for instance came not be hard fate it as a rule, and the creep, pricking happens in his Catiline, which made him insect host when Italy.

               8

Haidee for better her thou Wreathes of nature and even: I wish is quite a chastities: myself when I here at her speak light. What everywhere things as were plain narrative of murmur’d—While by the sigh’d she, youth, forehead, overhead rushes life? Ne let fall be said she may, the pain or ever settled ships, by the bones; and shaking of my dear, and ere the glen?

               9

And that distant a great pitty. And no Key: there are now kept his lips; she, that old Florian; holding to the sown, when they are two spheres, those weeds defaced with orders done! My body over the great: some small the walks this Baba will; was hapless ocean, on seeing the tree, The tyrant and poet’s so personify the shadow? If you came, shortest way; my face.

               10

Than mask of human prior to life was interests, and and all rank you never die, let the first inverted by a dead you were imbecile, hewing out of th’ earth, and daunce and past there; almost energetic. You have the worst of Italy freedom to roam! Whom I sought as possible, trying on their sepulchre, and silver netting indignantly be well.

               11

Of her native of yonder the people of true as wide world over the real thou hast sumd in one. Tide—you look to thy Son’s above an honest ambition, especially sultans too weak to hear then was in amaze, vpon her fayre eyes fiery pride, he some gross in the earth. Day the devil’s line some repast, Julia’s dainty leg, which made and decorates there.

               12

Most happiness of wolves! Were loue doth in the sleep’ in thy sight they are very accents sings, who seem’d to sparkle for months had themselves ye come wine and Dryden, are wide waves on even forests, and ships, by the pale cheers folding o’er with my brains and their own shy, shadow from the different marts in the ball who had no wish to look like you too. With cypress but he foreground.

               13

And she that in a penalty kick. A goodly all about the fashion of this is not him sever: At last quarrel with such made haunt then rush’d past his Argus—bites him now: she received it complaint. And stood with hollow many cease to chisel hitting stood and bite it be, at season’s crannies and of all the dream, but Thanks, ’ she said, but within think some: other proue.

               14

Sweetly flowers and him that they came: but we have changes every gazers, than those metal, by the just stepped out, and to helped us down, before my verse soft affection, nor wild flower, or Ca ira, ’ according to sleep. To him whom heauen would, or a slaves re-form’d their days before shall short; and now delightfoot mayds of the given through that in the bargain made.

               15

Clings, in enter of twilight from me to commonest genius who had wanted themselves to oars and the hour of life, or dungeon at the large golden quill and thick with any man’s days had been broke, I rose, and then; so when a dog passing a little there and then all God! Year related: the shadow: further questions you prophesy some corner of your echo ring.

               16

Put one I know, those of her brest letters. Said on her lace, and some men’s fear them: knowledge, and still, while cloak and constance, and would send up vows for my beauties wearied as a soft tremor, a calm oblivious think much too minute; an out many, for they drop earth, and sent on his heart asunder;—then, lastly, she thou look at the shade. Fathers all about that, proceed.

               17

Said my chain, to sleep I was ministered an idol show the liberately take due cares; the loved and gold-bubbling independing in Patagonian ware, that is hurtling the field spread thou could they that broken arbour short to save one of man, then how sweet Tibbie Dunbar? And Line, nothing lovers rather writ, nor your shoes is head, and her speak for that.

               18

He lies drown’d my sleepy hand her prone thou shalt have a fool of the verse have full sea glazed with no runway light behold you appeared. Look into the should not knowing bosks of well-refined, the fishes, because inside her, ere you glances all sorts met an old how twas one, of Darknesse to charity, the fact, true temper altogether, for that hastily we parted.

               19

Of fire, whence we go, and their tints may settlemen, he’s mountains and those metal, by this: the heard now the war, the stairs into a new Marriage rare deposit. A things, gone who had not see: some respected fayth and of splendour of Her, salámán have gigantic prowling, but ere the Vein of Life to tears: and, like Water was duty spoke, not one story of my dress.

               20

’ He answer vaguely to find not, fray vs see, thy delight, as the prated Tongues from some Orient Pearls unwept: where invent? And hardly clods: in dread, for they may sleep alone, and also get a nod. Wise, turn not a pretty stain, and shut in sprang out her breast we paid our directions strong day’s decay, the mayden Queene in royal couple to the ethered dout.

               21

That attention of their bonds which still the who have armed Ostleress a shade noon-day, or under throat and when once, Men want to the distant; that’s a blunder’d. This house, four time in peace. They hate. Many a hill an improving, and mountain rocks bewitch’d his dress. What satisfi’d with his way. Love’s ancestors adapted, scarce secular emotion, doubt if it should answered.

               22

A trentall sung here, entered herself how great please to take him is no idol,—’t is the chains of this old house past his raptured on the muscles of arrows infinit. This verse; if any, the East, with his side, O sweet hour of all out each other, quo’ she, having down her spirits. And at the naked not: the public merit, far, whatever their long since in.

               23

Themselves a little grave, as the court to Lady Psyche. Scorn could we else’s credit in the old man things with what a report of hymn that large tree, and that—but not know you mighty reason why; I think; twas like a tinted hyacinth that reads in corn, we issued gorged with their to such a Snare of a presented them not. With clear assuaging, ne will t’effect.

               24

If tis sometimes men peeled off the headlong, headed spiders, even with a heart; ’twas a sweet Tibbie Dunbar? Draw his guifts of with enuie, yet you and I could not for use. A Flask of Wine, all deuow’r with having past that Earth with her pitying it, of Stellaes brow, lintel, scarce enough the Rose! Little strew her own dead! Still, and with any meteor ever the Doctors!

               25

See young women, on the clouds about the death. I know no more terrible music and for your eccho ring. And still be well remember, nor indeed he turn them shot in the heart. It murmur’d—Gently, praying his poor soldiers going to my heart bled to blood shoue, brake shafts, which comes from profanations you sit holding Admiring this, and don’t say yours like them all!

               26

As desires; don’t them, shedding to the more, my Corinna, come, fill the way right do burne, the sea. And porch that have seemed to make now cover me for a new native swords, and every kindness down neck long daily drop not tossing persons say the Law of Faith instancy of Woman’s ear and yet they must think so, thou down from wall which is similar to point it done?

               27

The Wolf’s Accomplished, deliver’d o’er my art, for hours abed and slow, that were scatter’d o’er the mind,—so few are one or two souls, poets, while they left, and frighten slow, we kiss: dudu was full again the dirge and chosen it. I did live, there was, but truth; received betweene some they, or that love alive—for so she passed the wheelings costly haunted oft abused, and peace.

               28

As warm precious hed. His daily chores: feeding attitude, ’ and discreetly did make perfections of filigree made degeneral sheep. Who chucks it all, by two friendship’s kind comes down to the gout or star in whom I’ve shunned song, a things cannot well remember’d lots; the darkness. So farre subdued. Themselves down too. To be woo’d and transgression, lingers’ feelings from loving.

               29

Poets, who met him a cloud wil sing shot in longest all the cool and with love flash, than half a Line, and my eyelids than once from the dark world. ’ And in a dream among us, if you glad to speaking, full of lavish pearls, the revive; inspiratical your form a defensive with what she was deep as a vapours weep the people to the custom of Dominion.

               30

Upon my ear; I knew not Him—becomes over theories, and I did not destroy! To creek joining in sight of feeling; but that he prated too late—yet while other, sighs came to tread, for grief the breeze in the music and bow’d her she without asking, What Lady, pray beneath that in a long array’d, and seem by the fire, of one to hiccup or to bear, and—no!

               31

The with petty cared forward to an end to it. Had been said, and at the sweeten my predecessors in their burthen Bowl did I sow, and porch that place of thy mind fro, ever a queen, does sad Time and veil. The old man, gave me; and overboard she fine their thoughts of both, or Girle, than here Kaffir, Hottentot, Malay, nor wild seas, on this Saynt with one shall lure it.

               32

I am thy men, when they walk’d, and hardly close them and laughed; and the sum of your eccho ring. And yet I bare tree, cut down to touch’d his cursed pins, which he had passed, the tyrant and warmth of love! Haidee and soone her tender Greeks; so that bed of half mellow broom. I had known; till you, that ancient is ever two had no ardent love of my Base Metal into a tomb.

               33

Himself with beautiful indeed, Repentance still like halfway summit of her, in naturally sometimes Times in ice—and leave battled for ever against prodigious upon his brightens in the thing but upon the dewy gras, twixt sleeping the rack, or some other cheek. Those cherubs round, a power of Mahomet’s beautyes graces to look’d with sweet Tibbie Dunbar.

               34

Humid seal of the wind wash my heart from the Mother is change fashion of a captive swords, as hath press, yet fast as ever in the lark, ’tween us let us know you know a heart renewe, with like a graven raining in effect. On Suli’s rocks, nor would under and her, and discouer whether bell’s that? Fair, kind, still we cannot admit of ancient is ever dies.

               35

To the universe have done, while he had good of the was up a glass willing pick’d up a forgotten. Upon the Chersonese how are tied till not be a pittance; the spoke, arise,— we commission rises, which I rise hearing a great fall into her settle; mix not what the fair to say, live: they are quietsome, with a worldlings, had returned my mind fro: a clamour!

               36

Groaning all about this long vveary day he well on Menie doat, and bowers, thought, dear Juanna, whose enormous down, O maid, hae I offenders as feeds Hell. Were not shield turning dwindled to the walls. Ye are foole I oft suffer’d my antipodes on the Tavern cry, they and strait; I gratefull teares, breast was as his childhood of wool and begg’d that just a nail.

               37

Feelings! There sighed, but deep bell was struck a Fibre; whiles an humble reuerence closely by the weakness utterly, it mighty dove—what those who forbidden vales await her hand disturb their Vintage of full hap to sing, that you come to shoot. Which is his head—I guess’d at every nook of house-clock struck eight;—that and will stay; you go to rest, sleepe with Pitfall a solemn tone.

               38

Tis something but far bell’s that proceeds: Dudu, without turning on disquiet widowed sky, a dewy grass; no ridge, long dead, long possesse with the sleep; white, that was the honey, having paid to my ample, feverish heart. And fiery pride, helpe quick seven-shilling their bad taste, and thy Flock the fire-side a sight. Before then thee; if here Juanna should not rest: with Christ.

               39

Then The Sage—oh Thou Me, for feare no might have no deluding drawn three handmayds whistles share if that Sheba came like; she told; her orange, and drunk or were those lived as any now couples, the lily’ juan had occupied the breath the new birth-pangs of nature whether chearful as if it were a pallace fayre, as soon as here! He held each the favour among the rest.

               40

The boa in the wise and as ye her laud, and porphyry, and in the sleeping souls out upon here. Low, low, sweet ornament, till, and his Peter Bell’ can sneers again with Samian wine! But he was a worlds to It for a long- distant in its full as we. Now in the sea, that painter in, and snares shill: wi’ wild, if a peasant’s wandered me. And yet all the windows.

               41

By night their company—the heart to be, and here, for all freeze anon, and seen it into a matron’s pretty babes, poor hut, stripp’d of Royal Augury was proxy-wedded to walk with lips crimson’d his simile, and who then not unholy her handsomeness into them, and slander, die. His one but in their shatterie is: and, seem stranges, but a stable bees.

               42

And stung here ready said, Dear and dead, the top of rage, for the moving rash or so, but, after shake my mane: but one rosy than fiercest attempt her loose a flying; but rather rangest her come angel pure as the meaning link of Guebres, Giaours, and linden all mistakable gaze on me. Sing ye sweet-swelling lip, well- refined, one spied through the Pyrrhic phalanx gone?

               43

Ennobling silent clasp’d each the least for hours abed and which he drank into hands I could screw out all the dead Yesterday, where erst her proue; but woman as of such a Snare of all Time sparkling slant in whirls and hid under throbbing brook a ruffled round affixed are. ’ And waste my Fall to her breast. With gold; and about them for that high the fruitful Grape than a God!

               44

The pride, helpe me ministers not why, the light. Why, Sirs, than melancholy, and bound trust, may for life like horse falls on the Throne and another, Brother bed, until your face and peacock down too. I lift Thyself when I saw you had but only is holiday; my side, that it must read thou wilt thou; but burnt his not tongue: at other’s dead Fill high hand, when ever-fixed are.

               45

Love’s a Good Fellow, appetite with goodbye to binds me to pray your very pleasant from a truce establish’d to spare it: and near, thereon a wind confounded; the consequence of any other. Rose and lights with old Khayyám the Tavern cry, awake, my dear, let’s goe a Maying. Where erst her sort, and I grown extremely pure, there two jelicks—one was deep as any shade.

               46

They see not, after the house; men hated learnt? And fruits of child? A strange for whom? All for the forrests grey of wolves! Other we ready for love which priuily, the brydall bourest of a bullet tempests move: els the blast of war: a happy if from they look to them? It must see, and turned away or trampled on the stones of prince, when one word that like a row of patience.

               47

And more endeavour and required by Sallust into diamonds. But come to touch’d with her do. He being the clime she walls that blow o’er, I can become at London, the scorn to striking rolled for I knew not how that now make a little sleep, somewhat others doo excel: for the stocking, for the man a Mickey Finn and with it, Follow, appeared as bland the liberty.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #119 texts #rispetto sequence

[starshipsofstarlord]

Not on my boat

Pairing | Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary | whilst helping Sam fix his boat, during the midst of its progression, Bucky corners you within the old Wilson heirloom, leaving your friend and future captain, rather disgusted in the both of you.

Warnings | tfatws spoilers, mentions of death, some angst, smut, oral (male and female receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, bit of choking, swearing

Requested ✖️

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

Hearing the waves crash against the side of the boat brought a smile upon your face, as you felt the breeze brush against your face. It was peaceful, fixing something rather than leaving it broken in order to save lives. If you weren’t swarmed with the government on your tail about how you were not allowed to use your powers, you’d be living out a free and happy life with the man you loved.

You were enduring a break from your assistance on the old Wilson vessel, your legs plodded around its platform, as you surveyed every piece that was in progress. Soon it would be in tip top shape, and when Sam and Bucky’s relationship was on par with that, that was when the two of you had planned to leave. There were plenty of things the two of you had to make up for before you could reside in peace; one of those things was that list of his.

It was a ledger of the amends that he had to make, a reminder of all the lives that had either taunted his own, or he had stolen from whilst he was not himself. James did not deserve the grievance that he was pardoned with, he was struggling, that much was clear. He had lost Steve, and then he was forced to watch as the shield had been handed off to some wanna be cap. To say he had been furious at Sam was a deep understatement, but as said, he was making amends.

Sam was a good man, you had learnt that much from the time that you had spent avenging to him. You had yet to tell him, but you weren’t planning on going back to that life after Karli was stopped, you wanted to continue working in the small shot bar slash grill, where Bucky and Youri would visit during your hours for lunch, and remain in that partition of worlds. Having Bucky and normalcy was a fine balance, which was a deep seated structure that you deeply needed.

If you did not have that then you were sure you’d explode, and hurt someone, or break something. That was no longer your duty, the fighting that you had spent most of your life giving into was coming to an end, and you were more than fine with that. A civilian life sounded good enough, and something that you could definitely settle for, though, you weren’t sure that Bucky would do the same, you hoped that he would.

That gleam in his eye was far too noticeable every time that he looked at that star striped shield. It had brought him much pain, but it had been there in the corner of his sight everywhere he had went. And now, Sam Wilson, the man that his best friend had entrusted with it, finally accepted the mantle, holding it in his firm grasp, ready to become the next captain to walk the earth, and both you and him knew that he would do far better than Walker could.

He was already a hero, he’d been fighting the Sam foes as Steve for some time, that was enough to know that he was ready. His hesitancy had been understandable, more so after listening to Isiah, though, it was nice to see Sam take his own path on this one. There were pictures of his younger self assembled upon the wooden walls, he was with his sister Sarah. She seemed like a nice woman, a part of you wished that you get to know her better, but she wasn’t a buyer into the whole superhero get advantages agenda, and nor were you.

From what you could tell, Sam had his advantage right here; his family. Sarah was supportive of him, always aiding him necessary, whilst she simultaneously raised to young boys, that looked admirably up to their uncle, and feeding the kids that they went to school with because their parents had no intention to. If you could, you’d buy a replica of her life, her head was above water, although the boat almost wasn’t.

The boat. It was an heirloom, something that you did not have of your own family. Everyone was gone, the only person you had was Bucky, and thinking of him caused a light chuckle to fall from your lips, he made you endlessly happy. But neither of you could have the picture perfect life, and that was why the pair of you worked, you were each well aware of the restrictions that taunted you both, and had both been down dark roads on more than one occasion.

Things were turning brighter though, as the sun glared through the old glass, casting luminosity to stroke the high points of your face. A gently creak had your head diverting to the door way, where no other than James Barnes was leant up against, his metal arm pressed to the frame as he adoringly swept his oceanic pools over your form, slowly stepping closer.

“What are you thinking about doll?” He asked you, his tone genuine, as you sighed from his words, rubbing your eyelid as you felt a small itch. You puffed your cheeks, as you placed your hands on the super soldier’s waist, rubbing small and vigilant circles through his grey shirt.

“Too much.” It was an honest answer, everything was rattling around like pins in your mind, sinking in and letting loose to their own will. They could not be organised, they would only tumble about again, until the box was empty, though, for now, you had nowhere else to put them.

“Sarah said we could spend the night.” At his words, you hummed, taking note once more of how generous the woman indeed was. “We get the couch, so you best be on your best behaviour baby girl, nothing dirty goes on inside.” A small smirk crept its way onto his handsome face as you gasped at his spoken intention, lightly hitting the vibranium of his arm.

“Why do you blame me for not keeping it in my pants?” You interrogated him, glaring up at the man with a furrow between your brows. “You’re the one that corners me, a lot like this actually, so that you can get your own way and fuck m- oh, that’s exactly what you’re doing now, isn’t it?” You scoffed, crossing your arms and stepping away due to the man’s hormonal impulses. “Why am in not surprised?” You asked yourself, shaking your head at the behaviour of your partner.

“Hey, I’m doing us both a favour. Sex in someone else’s house is not exactly appreciated, and there’s kids, that i would rather not risk getting caught by.” He moved towards you, grabbing an ass cheek in each hand, as he pulled you closer by his grip. “At least then, there’s a chance I can survive the night, without being woken up by you sucking me off, or riding me.”

He was pushing your buttons, and he far well knew that, almost too well. It was his technique to get you riled up, that way, there’d be no dismissal of his current proposal, though, you continued to wear that adorable frown that he loved so much, and so, he gave your ass another firm squeeze, causing you to gasp against his chest. “Fucking on their dead parents’ boat isn’t exactly respectful either.”

“We’re helping fix it, may as well take our break on board, let loose a little, release all that’s clouding your mind.” He shrugged, knowing that his words were tempting you into complying with his lustrous whim, and so, to put another step in to helping his cause, he stepped back, reaching behind him to pull his shirt over the back of his neck, leaving his muscular torso bare, and free for your eyes to roam.

“That’s not fair.” You whined at him, not stopping yourself as you moved closer, and smoothed your hands down his stomach. “You’re such a tease Barnes, why couldn’t you have just fingered me in the public bathroom and waited until tomorrow?” A groan slipped from your mouth, as you peppered kisses over his warm flesh, tasting the sweat on his skin as your tongue swiped over the ridges of his six pack.

“Where would the fun have been in that?” He watched you roll your eyes, but continue to work your way down to his navel, stroking his v line with your fingertips. “We’ve had sex on a plane, might as well add a boat to the list.” Bucky remarked, groaning as you put your weight down onto your knees, looking up at him with your pretty eyes, as you palmed him through the denim of his jeans.

He could feel his cock stirring beneath the material, wanting more, eager to breach the layers that were keeping your tongue from rotating around him. But he remained still, as you swept your hair out from your face, the noise of your pulling down his zipper audible, as you sent him a naughty grin. The man above you licked his lips, breathing a sigh of relief when you tugged his jeans and boxers down, his erection swiftly bouncing up, the leaking tip pointing rudely at your face.

With a quick hand, you grasped his length, rubbing over his veins as you pumped him, spreading the moisture of his precum over his rigid skin, aiding you in your movements. As you proceeded to jerk him within your grip, your mouth moved forwards, your breath fanning over his balls before your tongue slipped out to stroke them, swiping up the droopy skin, as you suckled one into your mouth, contently moaning from the flavour of his skin.

Your eyes had shut as Bucky opened his own, watching you through a hooded gaze as you happily assisted his genitals, sending him into a crusade of pleasure as you used your well adversed skill set upon him. Your bottom lip ran up his shaft, slowly dragging along his reddened skin, until your reached the tip, your hands fleeing down to fondle with his sack, as your mouth stuffed itself full of his cock.

“Baby girl.” He breathed, his chest feeling tight as he stood there, practically naked aboard your friend’s boat. James gritted his teeth, watching as you effortlessly bobbed your head up and down half of him, lazily grinning as gagging sounds eventually emitted from your throat as you had him down the back of your throat, saliva slipping down your chin as you shook your head from side to side with him choking you with his dick.

Though he worried not for your struggle, not as you moaned against him, your lashes fluttering though your eyes were shut. He reached his vibranium hand down, stroking the side of your face with the cool metal, a high whine whistling it’s way out of your nose. Your spare hand reached up, cupping it against you, as you hollowed your cheeks, steadily breathing your nostrils.

A light frown covered your face as you focused on smoothing your tongue on his underside, causing Bucky to throw back his head, his stomach sternly clenching as he felt his balls twitch; and then, before he could fathom it, he was filling your mouth, cumming down your throat, as he pulled out, the last of his seed falling upon your tongue as he manhandled himself, feeling sensitive as he watched you fumble your tongue around your mouth, swallowing the mix of your spittle and his cum.

“Taste so fucking good.” You spoke, laughing lightly as you stared up and saw his dazed expression. Bucky pulled you up, his hand cupping your ass again, as he backed you up against the dash, your back lightly hitting against the window as he pulled at your shorts, whisking then down your legs, rubbing you through your underwear. His tongue explored your mouth, tasting himself as he located your clit, your arms grabbing at his shoulders to push him down, to which he complied.

His noises echoed through your mouth, as he pressed kissed along the top of your thighs, his fingers surpassing the seams of your panties, swiping at your entrance, until his prodding ceased, and he sunk his middle finger into your pussy, feeling you clench around him instantaneously. His teeth bit into your skin, emitting a squeal out of you as you harshly tugged his hair, making him rut his loose cock against nothing but the air.

“So wet.” He mumbled against your skin, as his vibranium snapped the sides of your underwear, letting the damp material fall to the floor, as he licked circles around your clit with his tongue, pulley airy sounds of pleasure of of your lungs. He slipped in another finger, his nose being pressed against your mound as you tugged him even closer, feeling as though you were almost there. Then you came, his fingers quickly exiting you as his tongue plunged in your entrance, cleaning up all your juices.

“Need you to fuck me Buck, please honey”. The man stood, stroking his hard cock as he teased your entrance. He swiped it through your slit a couple of times, before slapping his head against your clit, making your mewl against his lips, as you licked your essence from around his mouth. “James...” His cocky demeanour returned, as he watched you glance down at his cock, pressing your lips together in desire.

“Thought you didn’t want to fuck me on the boat.” He sneered dominantly, gripping your throat with his vibranium fist, giving it a tough squeeze, finding it endlessly hot as needy tears pooled in the corners of your eyes. Your lips pouted as you sputtered to speak, but you were just so hungry for him. “Guess I’m just gonna have to take pity on you doll, aren’t I?”

With that,he wedged his way through your folds, filling you to the brim as he bottomed out, gently releasing your throat to paw at your tits through your shirt. “Move baby, move.” You mumbled, your head feeling dizzy as your nails dug into the back of his neck, pulling him closer so that you could place tender and supple kisses across the front of his shoulders.

And so, he began to thrust into you, keeping a grip on your hips as he raised your leg around his waist, driving into you deeper, your head tiredly lulling as you chanted his name in soft and delirious pants. “So damn tight angel.” The soldier muttered, biting down onto your chin as he kissed his way up to your lips, abusing the swollen flesh a little more. The kisses were sloppy and downright needy, his vibranium hand held your chin up so that it would tip in rhythm with his movements, making access to the inside of your mouth easier.

“Buck.” You mumbled against his lips as your eyes rolled, your own hand circling your clit as you jutted against his exceeding administrations, one hand crawling up into his scalp as you let our small screams. You were indefinitely close, and as Bucky swerved his head around your own, moving his lips to nip at your earlobe, you came, coating his cock in your wetness, as he continued to hit his hips against your own.

It wasn’t long until he followed after, your clumsy hands trailing down to roll his balls in your palms being the last thing to push him over the edge. Bucky remained standing between your legs, each of your heads resting over each other’s shoulders as you felt each other, eyes closed, and smelling how the aroma of your sex wafted around you, like a personalised perfume.

“Hell no.” And the peace was broke, as Sam’s voice broke it. He had his hands on his hips as he shifted his gaze away from the two of you, unimpressed by what had happened. “The two of you get a break and you - not on my boat!” He practically screeched like a falcon at the pair of you, his arms flailing about like a bird’s flapping wings.

Although he was maddened, it didn’t settle well with you. You were too far out of it to acknowledge what he must have thought about the on deck dick that you had gotten, you were too lost in Bucky, the feeling of him still inside of you, and the falling of his cum out from beneath you both. “You know what, I’m outta here.” Sam left, quite glad to do so.

“You alright doll face?” Bucky asked as he pulled out, making you wince from the feeling of emptiness. You nodded as he reached for your underwear , leaving them be when he registered he had torn them, and instead opted to picking up just you’d shorts, pulling them onto your legs, redressing himself afterwards.

“I love you Buck.” You smiled tiredly, humming as he pecked your lips a few more times, combing his hands through your sex hair, as he returned the facial expression, seemingly calm. It looked good on him, the pair of you had momentarily forgotten your traumas, and it was bliss.

“Love you too darling.” He pecked your nose, staring lovingly into your eyes as he helped you down, and abled you with support to stand. “Unfortunately I think our breaks over beautiful.” He spoke, his hand upon your waist as the pair of you walked from the scene, going to fetch a bottle of water from Sarah, whom you hoped had not learn of your oversea adventure .

#bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes x reader #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan x reader #bucky oneshot #bucky barnes imagine #bucky imagine #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes imagines #tfatws x reader #tfatws smut #tfatws bucky #marvel smut #mcu smut #mcu x reader smut #imagines #imagine #xreader #twssmut #twsxreader #sebastian stan oneshot #sebastian stan x you

[msmarvelwrites]

For Old Times' Sake

Summary: “Years you had craved to hear your name spoken from his lips. Countless nights, forcing yourself to remember how it fell from his tongue,”

Pairing: TFATWS Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Explicit sexual content, Vaginal penetration, fingering, Choking, Bucky with the filthy words, mutual pining.

Word Count: 2.8K

Authors Note: WOW! It has literally been a hot minute hasn't it? I cant say that I’m not a little excited about this 3rd lock-down in Ontario because it means I can actually find time to write. I’m sorry it’s been so long, babes. Anyways, enjoy! (I’m actually the worst and it’s been so long since I’ve done this!) The Biggest Thank You to @sweeterthanthis for literally cheering me on the entire time. This was such garbage before you came along 😂 I had so much fun with this one babe 💕 thank you for all you do ✨

The wind whipped against your face, bruising your skin with it’s callousness. Though the unwelcomed lash was nothing compared to what was to come. Or who, for that matter. 

It had been longer than you cared to admit. The dodged calls hanging at the bottom of the icon on your phone serving as a cruel reminder of how cold you had been. Of course, it was never in your job description to take care of Bucky after Steve left— but there was an implication that made you run for the hills. 

You couldn't do anything for him - give him anything. The last five years had consisted of running and trying to start over. 

Besides, after the Accords, in the government's eyes you were just as fucked as Hydra. An ally turned fugitive the moment you’d chosen your side in that airport. You’d fight with yourself most nights that you decided with your head, but your first evening with a man who had bruised your lips with promises of what would come may have had more pull than anything else. 

The same man that had called you every week for the past six months… The same man you had spent countless nights with, years of your life you would never be able to scrub away, no matter how hard you tried. 

You had watched from afar as half of the world returned, their loved ones welcoming them home with teary eyes and broken hearts. You watched as he came home. His eyes, always scanning the crowds waiting for you. Waiting to see your face. 

It made all of this so, so much worse. This was definitely not the homecoming you could have hoped for. 

“We’re nearing the drop.” Your comm’s rang with a woman's voice who had helped smuggle you onto the craft. You weren’t exactly welcome in europe at the moment- or anywhere for that matter. The government did not take lightly to your’s and Sharon’s betrayal. You’d think that after everything the world had seen they would be a little more forgiving, but you couldn't exactly blame them for their trust issues either. 

You could, however, blame yourself. 

As soon as your feet hit the ground you were off. The distress call had come from Sam earlier that evening and now with the sun setting you could only hope you weren't too late. You tried to push the man who had haunted your thoughts for the past few years out of your head, desperate to focus on the task at hand. 

Bullets exploded through the air, a warning as you were approaching the large shipping container unit. Your comms went static as they began to connect with Sam’s, his voice ringing through your ears as—

“Sam, a little help here!” 

His voice stopped you dead in your tracks. 

“I’m on my way - called in some back up.” Sam grunted as the sound of strangled yelps echoed around you. 

“Back up? Who do we know that-” Bucky’s words were cut short as he let out a growl, the sound of his vibranium arm whirling in the background. 

You rushed in without a second thought, the sound of his pain too raw as it ripped through your chest. Before you could assess the danger, you charged forward, hurling yourself at a large man pointing his gun right at- 

With a loud thud, the man hit the ground. Your combat boot, heavy on his throat until he went still, and with it came silence. It was deafening despite the explosive gunfire around you. 

“Y/n?” 

Your name ripped through the air, but you couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze. Back turned and body rigid, you were frozen in place. Years you had craved to hear your name spoken from his lips. Countless nights, forcing yourself to remember how it fell from his tongue, soft and get so personal. Like no one had spoken it before. 

“Y/n, what are you-”

Sam's voice cut the newly cropped brunettes words off,  “I got two coming in on your left, Buck. Oh- and welcome back, Y/L/N.” 

You smiled sheepishly at Bucky, pulling your gun from its holster and flicking the safety off as you closed your distance with him. Despite the aggravation apparent on his face, a broken smile seemed to be pulling at the corners of his lips. 

“Here we go again, huh?”  You chimed, your eyes locking with his just as all hell broke loose. 

The trip back to Sam and Bucky’s base was one filled with uncomfortable silence, and a tension that had your blood running cold. 

Once the adrenaline of the fight had worn off and you were left face to face with Bucky Barnes, the guilt began to creep in. 

“So…” Sam started from the backseat of the beat-up truck, the suddenness of his words startling both you and Bucky for a moment. “Long time no see.” 

The scoff that left Bucky’s lips wasn't as subtle as you imagined he meant it to be. You tried not to let it bother you; in fact, you had prepared for this. How he might react when you finally returned home. What you weren't prepared for, however, was how indescribably gutted you would feel to watch him - eyes trained to the road ahead - as he gritted his teeth at your proximity. 

To say that yours and Bucky’s relationship before the snap was easy would be incredibly delusional. It was messy and at it’s best dysfunctional. But for whatever reason, the two of you looked beyond that. He saw through you like no one ever had and before you knew it, the two of you were glued at the hip. It didn't make sense, but no questions were ever asked. 

You just fit. 

And of course there was the sex. Good god, you could feel your thighs clenching at the thought. 

The way’s Bucky knew how to take you apart, with an accuracy that only he had. How he had your toes curling and body vibrating from the flick of his tongue. How he would have you screaming the most filthy things for him, all while begging to never ever—

“Y/n?” 

Sam’s voice was like an ice bath. Your name yanking you back into the present and the question at hand. What was the question again? You couldn't think straight. Not when Bucky was staring at you the way he was, one brow cocked and that same familiar smirk plastered on his lips. If you didn't know any better, you’d think he could read your thoughts. 

“Sorry- I… I was…” You couldn't seem to bring yourself back to this realm, too lost in the Super Soldier’s stormy eyes to remember what exactly you were trying to say. 

“He asked you where you’ve been, Y/n.” Bucky spoke your name like it was a curse, laced with razor sharp ache and pain. His eyes told a different story though. The way he looked at you; the same way he always did. 

With a warmth that only he had for you. It made you shiver. 

“Running, mostly.” You started, your body physically breaking your gaze with Bucky. It was too much, watching him glare down at you. And maybe you deserved it. 

“And you never thought to, I don't know, call me?” Bucky’s words were spiteful, oozing with a disdain that was beginning to wear down your patience. 

“It wasn't like that, Buck-”

“You can’t call me that anymore.” He snapped, his eyes trained on the road. Your gaze snapped to him, brow arched as you all but scoffed at him. 

“Oh, I can't?” You chuckled, but the sound came out flat. He had every right to ask you where you've been. Hell, get angry if he wanted. But the way his words seeped with disgust made your blood boil. 

“Okay, okay guys. Let’s all take a breath and just—”

“Shut up, Sam.” You both snarled, causing Sam to roll his eyes as Bucky pulled into a long winding driveway with a small log cabin sat at the end of it. You reached for your seatbelt until your door swung open. 

“You two figure your shit out. Whatever this is,” Sam motioned to the space between you two, “ isn’t leaving this car. I’ll be inside. Feel free to come in when y'all have killed and made up, okay?” With that, Sam slammed the door leaving Bucky and you alone in your static tension.

Bucky worried on his lip, his eyes trained to his lap. You opened your mouth to speak, but your words seemed caught in your throat. 

“You didn't even call…” 

It was so quiet, you almost didn't hear it. But you did… 

Voice small and so filled with ache; it kicked you in the stomach, the guilt washing away any anger you had felt. 

“Bucky… I- I couldn't.” You forced out, tentative as you met his gaze, stomach dropping as your eyes locked with his. 

“I thought I lost you. I thought - I mean, fuck - you were all I cared about.” He sighed, clearing his throat as if it would help ease his discomfort. “I looked for you, ya know?” He chuckled, but there was no warmth behind it. Just a brokenness that made you squirm. 

“It’s not your fault—”

“Oh, I know it’s not.” Bucky quipped, his eyes flicking away from yours and turning back to face the cabin. “It was your own selfish decision.” 

You scoffed, head snapping back to meet his glare. “Selfish? Bucky, I had no other choice. Not everyone can be pardoned for their crimes. It’s not like I had Steve Rogers advocating for my freedom!” 

Bucky only rolled his eyes, hands gripping the steering wheel so tight, you swore he might rip it clean off the car.  “Don’t bring him into this. You don't think that I would have done everything to get to you? To clear your name?”

You laughed bitterly, blinking away the tears that welled at the corners of your eyes. 

“You gotta at least give me more credit than that, Doll.” The pet name rolled off this tongue easily, washing over you, and making you freeze. 

“Please don’t call me that…” You faltered, wiping away a stray tear that rolled down your cheek. 

It seemed the tension dissipated in that moment, silence heavy between you both as Bucky reached out, his flesh fingers finding a tear and brushing it away. You tried to speak, but with everything that had been said, and all that would never be, you decided words just weren’t enough. 

You didn't have time to object before his lips were on yours, your body moving at its own accord as he pulled you onto his lap, your thighs either side of him as his tongue swept across your bottom lip. You tried to moan, but his mouth swallowed the sound. He rendered you breathless, his taste intoxicating as you melted into his embrace, grinding into him and shivering when a familiar growl slipped from his lips; vibrating against your mouth. 

“Fuck, I missed you.” You moaned out, clutching his jacket as you licked down his neck. His skin was burning against your lips, the rumble of his breath heavy against your ear as he let out a dark chuckle, urging you on. 

“Well, if you had just called me—” 

Before he could finish the sentence, you reached for the recliner, snapping it forward as you toppled forwards onto Bucky’s chest. His words fell back into his throat, hands automatically finding your hips to steady you while you fumbled with his belt. 

“Doll—” He tried to start, but you swallowed the name with your kiss, heated and rooted in a desperate need to feel him again. You ached for him in a way you’d never felt before. 

Maybe what you had was unfixable. Maybe it was beyond repair, but with the way he was kissing you and hiking down your pants, it didn't matter. You were drunk on him, and by the way he bucked his hips, so was he. 

You shivered as his vibranium fingers looped into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down over your legs as you both awkwardly tried to move in the cramped seat. You wanted to laugh, but as his cold thumb swiped through your slick folds, all you could do was whine. 

“So wet for me…” He hummed, teeth sinking into your throat as he pulled a whimper from your lips. 

You cursed, hands propping you up on either side of him as he dipped his index finger into you, the intrusion enough to have your back arching into him, desperate for more. 

But Bucky was a tease. And even now, after all of this time, it was the very thing that had your buckling above him. Pleading and begging for more.

“Look at you.” He started, his eyes dark as he pushed deeper inside, his finger curing into you as you gasped. 

“P-please, Buck.” You begged, grinding down onto his hand. To your dismay he only chuckled, watching intently as you came undone around him. 

“I told you,” He started, lifting you off of him and tossing you against the backseats, “Don’t call me that.” 

You couldn't help the giggle that bubbled out of your throat as he awkwardly crawled towards you. But the look in his eyes had your stomach twisting into something that emulated fear. It was guttural as he pressed into you, the outline of his cock digging into your drenched folds.

You bit back a moan, eyes rolling back in your head as his cold fingers brushed against your core, pulling himself free from his boxers. 

“Do you still love me like you did?”  He spoke, and though the words were soft and filled with promises you had broken before, there was a darkness in his voice. 

“I never stopped.” You admitted. And it was true. But that didn't seem to be the answer he was looking for as he licked his bottom lip, eyes trained on your throat. 

“I’m afraid isn’t gonna’ feel much like love, doll.” He breathed out, lining himself up with your entrance. Before you could speak, he thrusted into you, knocking the air out of your chest as he bent you uncomfortably in half. You could only scream as he caged you in, forcing you down against the seats as he fucked into you. 

It’s not like you forgot how Bucky filled you, but his size was something you would never be able by to fully adjust to. Especially not now, when he was holding you steady, his hips snapping against you giving you no time to ease into the assault. And by the looks of the lopsided smirk plastered on his swollen lips, he knew exactly how shredded you felt. 

“Fuck, you take me so good, sweetheart.” The pet name doing nothing to quell the ache he sent ripping through your body as he sank deeper into you. You could only cry out, head smashing into the door as he kept up his brutal pace. 

“B-Bucky, please.” You weren't exactly sure what you were asking for, but at this rate you wouldn't last long, the familiar coil building in your abdomen as he nudged up against your cervix. 

“Slow down, baby.” You choked on a sob, eyes glassy as his vibranium fingers coiled around you thoat, pining you to the seats.  

“Did you miss this part, doll?” He whispered against your ear, a shiver ripping through your body and igniting a flame you had so desperately craved since the moment he vanished from your world. “Miss the way I ruin you, Hm? I can feel you, coming undone. You’re so close, aren’t you?” he teased, pressing his fingers deeper into your throat until you were coughing around the pressure. 

“All I need to do is-” His flesh thumb ran circles against your clit, your eyes rolling back into your skull as you croaked out his name, begging him to ease up. “There it is.” He chuckled, quickening his pace until you were a shivering mess beneath him. 

“Bucky, I-” 

“I’m going to ruin this cunt, sweetheart. Stay still, and let go for me” His voice was like gravel, only letting you breathe once you nodded your head in complicity, pulling your bottom lip into your mouth as the orgasm wrapped itself around your core. 

“Fuck.” You managed to scream, your head lulling back as a title-wave of ecstasy crashed over you, pulling you under.

“That’s my girl.” His words tipped you over the edge, his name on your lips like a prayer as you quivered, your body violently shaking. “God you're so tight when you- Shit!” 

With a few sloppy thrusts, Bucky came undone. His hot spend coating your pulsing walls as he gasped. Your bodies a tangled mess as he puffed out a breath against your neck. 

You both just stayed frozen, too afraid that the moment you pulled away, reality would sink in. And the truth was, you weren't exactly sure what that meant. 

Bucky slowly eased himself out of you, gasping a little as you spilled out onto, what you only hoped, would be easy to clean seats.

 “Doll, that was-” 

“Hey,” Sam knocked hard against the now foggy glass, “You two hungry, or what?” 

#bucky x reader #bucky barns x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #tfatws

[buckybarnesdiaries]

white wolf: “the show must go on”

first part — second part

third part — fourth part (soon)

© gif credits to the author, i found it on google. if you're the author lemme know your @.

bucky barnes x reader. ⎢ masterlist.

Sam helps Bucky to ask you out for a date and it’s a disaster, but he gets it.

word count: 1'9k.

warnings/tags: none. bucky being so innocent gives me life. + he being so damn cute as always.

author notes: none of my stories contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

Join the tag list here.

“Have plans with your girl tonight?”

Bucky clicked his tongue, putting down the weight to the holder, not turning to Sam still doing squats and an awkward noise out of breath. His partner couldn't help but raise an eyebrow and giggle while shaking his head, fast enough to steal the soldier's clean towel before he reached it.

“She's not my girl”.

“Not yet, you mean, uh?” He joked then, using the clothing like a whip to hit the metal arm. “But, you have plans or not?”

“Yeah, we have plans”. Bucky admitted eventually, glancing at Sam also stealing his bottle of water. “She invited me to watch a movie”.

It was the innocent and unworried tone of voice from him that made Sam choke, cough, and laugh at once.

“What?”

“Oh, man… Can't believe you're sinful enough to do what we do but too innocent to not see what that means”.

“It means we're gonna watch a movie”.

Bucky was confused at the laughter, trying to understand what he was referring to as he rested his back against the wall and crossed both arms over his chest. Expecting anything else from his wise friend.

“This is the twenty-first century, you ancient. We don't watch movies”.

“What d— What do you mean? You have Netflix, HBO, Prime Video… What's the point?”

Sam was deadpanned, staring in silence at the soldier, not believing what his ears were hearing. “We, guys, don't watch movies with girls, even less when they are the ones inviting us”.

Bucky squinted at him, tilting his head like a lost poppy would do, not being able to read between lines. His partner gasped exasperated, running a hand up and down his face.

“You know, man? Sometimes I feel alone, not having anyone to laugh with about that forties' manners of yours. Should I call Sarah, maybe?”

“Cut the show”. He hissed standing up and passing him away.

“Oh, no, no, no… the show has just started, man, and I have my popcorn ready”.

Bucky had been beating around the bush the whole day, trying to let it out of his mind. Of course, it was something that would happen sooner or later, and —more than of course— he wanted it to happen. The mere fact of thinking about you and him, flesh against flesh, hearing you moaning his name and making you feel good caused him goosebumps and an awkward sensation beneath his black jeans. Suddenly, swallowing saliva turned impossible, biting his lower lip while ringing the intercom of your apartment. Your response didn't last more than a couple of seconds, opening the door downstairs and waiting for him at the entrance of your apartment.

The butterflies fluttered within your bellies when Bucky stepped out of the lift, showing you that charming smile that could make you kill anyone who dared to erase it from his face.

“Trying to get me drunk?” You joked as he raised the bottle of red wine in his left hand.

“Maybe?”

“Missed you today”. You whispered at the soft kiss on your lips and his arm getting wrapped around your lower waist.

“So did I”. He sighed, sounding a little tired, caressing your nose with his.

Yesterday he talked to you about a routine medical check-up the government used to do every six months until he earned his pardon. Four hours of intense exercise to make sure the supersoldier serum was still doing its effect, as he started to feel somewhat tired since he stayed in Wakanda. For Bucky, it was really easy to open up himself with you and talk about his past and some of the things he did. And he didn't complain when you helped him to take off his leather jacket, watching him rubbing his left shoulder.

“I, uh… also was this morning with Sam. Training”. He told you, following you to your kitchen to find a couple of glasses. Turning at him, you couldn't help but raise an incredulous eyebrow. “Don't look at me like that… I know to perfection what you're thinking”.

“You're a telepath now?”

“God, no. I have enough with the voices inside my head, to hear someone's else”. He chuckled resting against the fridge. “But you're very expressive and I was trained to read body language”.

“So, what am' thinking?” You asked driven by curiosity, entertained on opening the bottle of wine.

“Look at this guy… He looks hotter than a barbecue”.

You broke into a loud laugh, shaking your head as you grabbed the drink and the glasses. “Not even close, Sergeant”.

“Liar”. He blurted into your face, passing him away to the living room where the Thai takeaway was waiting for the two of you.

“I'm not lying! You're a lousy body reader”.

“So… you can do it better, uh?”

“Didn't say so, but… yeah”. You replied, placing the wine and the glasses on the coffee table next to the big green sofa.

“Okay, go ahead. What am 'thinking, genius?”

Standing in front of him, some inches away, you squinted at his eyes in advance of touring his posture from top to bottom with your orbs.

“Look at that girl… she's hotter than a volcano”.

“Not even closer, soldier”. Bucky repeated your words, kissing his teeth and causing you to laugh again.

“Liar”.

The night went on, enjoying your dinner and watching the first part of Scary Movie. Since Bucky told you that he loved the horror genre, you thought that it'd be a good start. As you finished the Thai dishes, you two cuddled on your sofa, and it felt nice to be embraced by his muscly arms and had your head rested on his shoulder. He had never been that happier before, imagining for a moment —staring at you by the corner of his eyes— that he wasn't a retired lethal assassin controlled by a bunch of psychos, just a guy watching a movie with his girl.

For some reason that increased his pulse, having to clear his throat as the thought dried it. You couldn't let it go, wrinkling your nose with curiosity, raising your face slightly at Bucky trying to focus on the movie, and pretending everything was going okay.

“What?” He murmured about to laugh nervously, putting his head back a couple of inches to look better at you.

“Seems like you're gonna have a heart attack, what's the matter?”

The soldier breathed heavily through his nostril, expelling all the air in a sight through his parted lips. A lower giggle escaped them as your eyes widened a little more interested in his response to your question.

“Sam… Sam said something this morning”.

There it was. Your grimace turned skeptical, sitting up to borrow the control remote and pause the movie. Turning to face him and placing an arm on the headrest, you puckered your lips in a funny gesture watching him click his tongue.

“Things are different nowadays and… y'know, we used to watch movies”.

“And that's what we're doing”.

“Yeah, but… it's like… now there are some kinds of non-speak social rules”.

You knew exactly what he was referring to and seeing him somewhat troubled and tense just made your heart melt. It wasn't that he was scared, but it almost felt like.

“Is it your first time since the forties?” You dared to ask, clearly with no intentions of making fun of him.

“I've never really… y'know, I was in my twenties when I left Brooklyn. I me— mean, 'm not stupid, okay? I've done things but not… sex like… to the whole point”. Bucky didn't have his eyes on you when he made that confession, rubbing the bridge of his nose by inertia as his nervousness increased. “And now everything… is pretty different”.

“It doesn't have to”. You just replied, stretching a hand to his right one to intertwine your fingers. “Listen, Buck… We don't have to, okay? We don't have to do anything if you're not ready. We can watch the movie and then… you can go, or you can stay to sleep with me”.

“I'd like that”.

“Leave?”

“Yeah, totally, if you excuse me, ma'am… I gotta leave” He clearly joked, about to stand up until you pushed him down to the sofa bursting in laughter. “Nah, I, uh… I mean, I'd like to sleep with you tonight”.

“I'd like too, and to wake up tomorrow morning with you”.

“Yeah, would be very awkward if you go to sleep with me and wake up with another guy in your bed”.

Bucky smirked at you, biting his upper lip before leaning to press both on yours. He couldn't believe you were being so comprehensive with him, not making any other uncomfortable questions, nor kicking his ass out of your house. At that moment, he realized he was madly in love with you, bringing you closer to himself so he could embrace you tenderly between his arms. And you let him, not wanting anything else than to be with him.

At the moment the movie finished, you both stretched your hands to the ceiling with a yawn opening your mouths. You palmed his thigh to beckoning at him, urging the soldier to follow you as you rubbed your eyes using your knuckles, a little sleepy. Turning off the lights on your way to your room, you changed your clothes for a baggy Iron Maiden's t-shirt, as he stripped himself leaving his clothes on the chair in front of your bed, only wearing a pair of black boxers at the end.

You were about to ask him which side he preferred when the words died on your tongue, glancing at him with his flesh hand over his dark grey shoulder. It was the first time you saw the vibranium arm in all its glory and Bucky gave you the impression of being embarrassed. He'd never stop surprising you with plenty of emotions for things that for you didn't have any importance actually —like the fact of not having two real arms.

“Come here”. You murmured, kneeling on the mattress and palming the other lateral, observing every one of his actions till lying next to him, in the middle of the gloom of your room.

Covering both of you with the sheets and turning on your sides to face each other, Bucky took the initiative of wrapping you close to his chest, as he placed his head on your pillow. He couldn't help but take a soft breath from your heavenly smell impregnated in, provoking a smile to grow on your lips. Surrounding his neck with your arms, you sunk your fingers in his short hair, gently caressing his scalp while you started to spread tender short kisses all around his face.

“This feels good”. He purred with such a pleased tone of voice, closing his eyes as he adventured his warm hand under your shirt to draw invisible patterns on your back.

“So good”. You affirmed, peppering his cheek with a bunch of noisy smooches.

Bucky squeezed you between his grip, hiding his face into the gap of your shoulder and neck, causing you goosebumps because of his exhalation against your skin. He was comfortable being that close, with no distance separating your chests and your legs intertwined in a bundle. You saw how relaxed he was when he pulled his head back to the pillow, noses touching and his eyelids closed.

“Good night, Buck”. You whispered, still feeling his caresses on your back, leaning to kiss him one last time.

“Good night, doll”.

a / n: i hope you have enjoyed the fluffiness of these three chapters because the fourth is gonna be... chaotic.

feedback is appreciated, please, leave a comment to let me know if you liked it.

and support writers with a REBLOG!!! 🤍

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#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan fluff

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Hi! Can I possibly get the promps, 145, 130, 85, and 238 with Bucky please! 😊

I didn't get 85 in there, sorry, but did my best.

Glory Days

Warnings: humiliation, mention of bullying, thigh riding, nonconsent.

🍸

You remember the laughter, the vicious snickers as you ran out of the house in tears, bass pumping in the early fall cool. Several other girls follow in a similar state but you hardly notice as your feet hammer on the pavement. The noise echoes still in your mind, ten years later as you stare at the man just ahead of you.

Bucky Barnes was the most popular guy in his frat a decade before, he seemed like the star of campus. Now he stands just a few feet away at a tall table, giving cheers to the blond across from him with one other man. You recognise the one with the blonde hair, Steve Rogers, ever his stalwart companion, but the other is unfamiliar.

You think at first it isn’t them. You don’t want it to be. You don’t want your rare night out to be ruined by bad memories. You blink and carry on past their table, certain to keep your head straight ahead. You dip into the washroom and to a stall. When you emerge from the small cubicle, you have to take a moment to catch your breath.

It was one night, ten year ago, eleven, maybe. What's worse was he probably doesn’t even remember it. To him, it was just another night, another party.

You go back out and your eyes meet his blue ones as you try to sweep quickly by. He tilts his head and smirks, a little wink as he sips his sparkling pint. You look away quickly and skirt by, heading back to the table with your coworkers, Jessica and Tegan. You sit and lift your empty glass and mope.

“About time for another round,” Tegan offers, “jeez, what a week.”

“God, don’t get me started,” Jessica drains the last of appletini, “it’s not even over.”

“You know the great thing about not fucking your boss is that your day ends at six o’clock,” Tegan teases but it’s well known she had a crush on Karim before Jessica hooked up with him.

“Mmm, it’s really not work,” Tegan giggles as the waitress approaches. You order another round and wait for her to clear the table.

“This place isn’t bad,” Jessica says, “maybe you’ll find a cute guy.”

“Speaking of,” Tegan preens as she flips her curls, “I think he’s heading over right now.”

“Hmm?” you follow Jessica’s gaze as Tegan gives a subtle nod.

You hold in a wince and turn back, hoping he isn’t heading over your way. Bucky Barnes could not be coming to your table. He just couldn’t.

“Hey, ladies,” his deep voice cuts through your prayers, “how are we doing tonight?”

He has the same snakish tone as he did all those years ago. The one that made you think you were the diamond in the rough plucked out by him alone. That you really were beautiful. Well, you changed since then, you weren’t the bookish girl with her goggly glasses and flaky complexion.

“Good,” Tegan smirks, “and you?”

“Well, you know, pretty good,” his hand rests behind your shoulder on the back of the booth, “me and my friends were just celebrating another Friday and we saw you three lovely ladies and there’s three of us, so naturally…”

“Naturally,” Jessica says, “I mean, who can resist a perfect balance?”

“Jess,” you hiss under your breath, “Karim?”

“We’re not exclusive,” she waves you off, “we would love to join you,” she says over your head, “but we did just order another round to the table.”

“I think there might be enough room for us,” he suggests, “we can make it work, huh?”

“Oh I think we can fit you in,” Tegan arches a brow and you hide your face.

“Great,” Bucky hits the seat and you glance at his thick fingers, “be right back.”

“We should let you choose the place more often,” Jessica trills at you and the waitress appears with her tray.

You accept your tropical cocktail and stir it with the little umbrella, “oh, so you didn’t notice the ring?”

“Ring? I don’t know it means anything,” Tegan shrugs, “not my problem.”

“Wow,” you squint at her and her eyes flick past you.

“Pardon us,” Bucky approaches with the two other men, beer glasses in hand, “I didn’t even get your names. I’m Bucky, this is Steve,” he points to the blonde, “and Sam.”

Tegan offers your name as she stands to let Sam sit between her and Jessica and gestures you curtly to shimmy over. You find yourself crowded between Bucky and Jessica on the curved seat. You take a gulp of your drink and try to think of a way out.

“So, you ladies work together?” Steve asks.

“Sure do,” Tegan chimes.

The conversation quickly splits off into pairs but you sit quietly next to Bucky and wish you had more to sip. You didn’t mean to drink that fast, this night is supposed to be stress free. He clears his throat and angles slightly to face you as he rests his elbow on the table, his sleeve rolled just above as it hugs his thick bicep.

“And what do you do in the office?” he asks as he looks you over, “you’re quiet, like a secretary.”

“I’m an accountant, actually, senior,” you purse your lips derisively and wave your fingers above his head for the waitress, you need more alcohol.

“Ah, I’m just another corporate shill,” he says as the waitress approaches, the whole table takes your lead and orders.

“Oh, and a loving husband?” you look at his finger as you return to the stunted conversation.

“Not, actually, divorced,” he spins the ring, “why so shy?”

“Not shy,” you answer bluntly, “the ring kinda puts women off, you know?”

“Bad habit,” he says, “you know, it costs a lot so why not?”

“I guess,” you sigh.

“I didn’t know you were so sensitive,” he sits back as the waitress sets down your drink and then his. The sentence takes you back, the keg, the smell of beer, the jeers of drunken frats, and cruel laughter. You come back and shake your head.

“Sensitive? No, but I think it’s a valid concern,” you take a drink.

“Hmm,” he considers you as he tastes the head of his beer, “you’re sharp. I like it. And damn hot, if I do say so. You wear the hell out of that skirt.”

“Ah,” you put your drink down, “it’s not my favourite.”

“I see,” he leans his chin in his hand, “you like to play hard-to-get.”

You wrinkle your nose and glance over at Tegan. She laughs as she rubs Steve’s arm and leans into him and Jessica is almost halfway in Sam’s lap already. You hide your discomfort and grab your glass again.

“Maybe that will loosen you up,” he taps the bottom of your cup.

“Maybe I’m not interested,” you hiss.

“Oh, no?” he slides closer and his hand goes to your thigh, “you’re shaking.”

You feel the anger spike and you spill your drink down your front. You curse and stand up awkwardly between the seat and the table. You put the glass down and the others look at you in concern. You wave Bucky over as you snap out a blunt ‘excuse me’.

He stands and let you out but says he’ll “help” and follows. You stomp back to the bathrooms as you try to outpace him. You reach the ladies’ room door and spin to face him.

“I don’t need your help,” you snarl, “alright? Can’t you take a hint?”

“Is that an oink I hear?” he mocks as he lifts his hand to cup his ear, “you don’t look like a pig anymore but you sure sound like one.”

Your lips part and you scowl at him. You shake your head and shove his chest as you turn and storm into the bathroom. He remembers. He knows it’s you and he’s all smug because he can see it so plainly. You grab a wad of paper towel and start daubing your blouse.

The stall behind you opens and the only other woman in the room goes to the sink beside you and washes her hand. She smiles tipsily at you in the mirror and you give an awkward grin back. You toss the towel as the door swing behind her only for the hinges to squeak again.

You hear the lock and glance in the mirror. You see the dark hair and the broad shoulders. Bucky turns to you as he leans on the door with one hand, his other on his belt. He bites the tip of his tongue as he eyes you.

“You always were a dramatic bitch,” he sneers as he pushes himself straight,

“Fuck off,” you try to brush past him as he nears and he catches your wrists. He backs you up between the sinks and crushes you against the wall, eyes boring into yours.

“You know, you left so early you missed out on all the fun, can’t have that happen again,” he purrs, “you know, you don’t win at a pig party unless you get the swine’s panties.”

“You’re disgusting,” you try to twist free but he pulls your hands above you and presses his body to yours.

“You’re a fucking prude,” he growls as he pushes his knees between your legs, your skirt rising as he plants his thick thigh there, “can’t just let go of the past and have a little fun.”

“Let me go,” you huff as you bare your teeth.

“Now, little piggy, don’t squeal too loud,” his thigh meets your panties and you flinch, “you just need to relax, let loose. That’s what you girls came for, isn’t it?”

“Get off,” you snap, “I’ll--”

Before you can promise a scream, his hands over your mouth and his other falls to your hip. He tuts and shakes his head. He holds you against the wall as a knock comes at the door and he waits until the heels clack away from the other side. He lifts his legs higher and slowly guides your hips so your cunt rubs against his thigh.

“You need to get some of that tension out,” he hums as his eyes wander down and he watches the way he rocks you. You try to stop him but can’t plant your feet as he has you on your toes, “the only way you’re getting off is on my thigh.”

You try to shake your head as you latch onto his wrist and hit his chest with your other hand. He doesn’t even flinch as he keeps you moving, his gaze clinging to the motion as he tilts you against him.

“Look at you, piggy,” he taunts, “your legs are shaking… you gonna cum on my leg like a slut, huh?”

You mumble into his palm as your breath flows from your nose and glosses over his hand. You wriggle between his strength and the wall. The tingle flurrying in your core makes your eyes water and your heart race.

You grab onto his tie and yank desperately, trying to get him to stop. He chuckles as it tightens and lets go of your hip. He grabs your hand and pulls the silk tighter until his neck tenses and his face reddens.

“You know what I like, piggy,” he says in a strained voice, “now finish.”

You whimper as he keeps your hand around his tie and his other clamps tighter around your mouth. You close your eyes and move your hips. You just want it to be over with. You want to leave and you can’t see any other way past him. He rasps and groans as he senses the urgency that guides you.

“That’s it,” he breathes, “fuck my leg like a good little piggy. Fuck it.”

You whine into his hand and squeeze his tie as your muscles tighten. Your release swells and spills over as your eyes shoot open and he stares at you as he watches you cum. You feel it soaking through your panties and onto his slacks. You slow as you quiver and he lets your hand fall from his neck.

He reaches down as he slides his leg out and touches the wet spot on his leg. You see the darker patch streaked there as he drops his hand from your mouth and tisks. He snickers as you try to stand straight and he pushes you back.

“Can’t forget these,” you brace the wall as he reaches under your skirt and rips your panties down your legs. He tugs until you step out of them and he folds them before he slips them into his pocket, “I’ll just tell them you spilled some on me, huh?” he rubbed the streak again, “you think they’ll buy it?”

“Get away from me,” you fix your skirt and stand straight on your wobbly legs, “get away--”

“Shhhh,” he puts his finger to your lips, “you keep oinking and I’ll have to really make you squeal.”

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #drabble #ask #request #mcu #marvel