#and having his limit break double the effectiveness of his rolls

[unexpectedbrickattack]

Based off of this: please understand my vision....

#pizza tower #arts #imagine.... #fakey is rounded bc hes putty/molding clay in the shape of a die heehee #i think pman is going to be more of a heavy hitter #bc i am liking the idea of peppino having access to weakness and low rolls #and having his limit break double the effectiveness of his rolls #like #instead of max 3 on equipment; theyre now min 3 #and i think ph would have the juggler set bc it fits so much #but maybe he gets a boss or minion of ur choosing as his limit break #i dunno ! #i just think its silly n cute :) #also if u have not played dd please watch a quick playthrough of it. its so cute #if ur into deckbuilding roguelites then this is a very fun and surprisingly challenging game to play. i recommend it 100% #its got some cute jams #and delightful enemies ^^ #the cowboy is my fave and is actually the deck i would give vigilante heehee

[standfucker]

White Out

Characters: Marco, Ace, Thatch, Izo

Reader: AFAB, GN pronouns (they/them)

Word Count: 10,427 (I'm sorry.)

CW: Explicit N.SFW content, PWP, gangbang, double penetration, knifeplay (light), oral, anal, deepthroating, breast fucking, degradation, praise, roleplay, CNC, bondage, BDSM, short reader (mentioned briefly, not size kink though)

Summary: I have nothing to say for myself.

Actual Summary: You and your four favorite people try your hands at a little roleplay.

AO3 Link

The safety discussion had been summarized one last time, preferences and limits clearly defined so there was no confusion.

You’re still not sure how it happened–sure, you could name the sequence of events that led up to it, the friends-with-benefits relationships with each of them, the drunken admittance of your deepest fantasies that one night–but it still didn’t seem real.

But there you were, perched on the edge of Marco’s bed before all of them:

Marco. Ace. Thatch. Izo.

As the first mate, Marco had the luxury of his own quarters, and offered them as a setting for your scene. The room seemed smaller with the five of you in it, but that was fine. Should things go as planned, you wouldn’t be needing extra space.

Thatch cradled your face in one giant hand, tilting your head up so you looked him in the eye. “Ready?”

You swallowed and nodded.

“Are you sure? You look nervous.”

“I am,” you admitted, “but that’s okay. It… It makes it…” Your cheeks grew even warmer than they already were. 

“Better?” Izo finished for you, smirking despite himself.

“Yeah…” It was so much easier to be honest under the influence of alcohol, but for this, it was important that you were all sober. “I’m ready.”

For a moment, no one spoke, unsure of how to start. You weren’t normally that shy, but the thought that this was really happening, and in front of all of them, had you momentarily frozen. Nervousness twisted up your insides and intertwined with the heat between your legs, making it all the more responsive. Nothing had happened yet, but just the anticipation alone made you wet.

Izo found his voice first, clearing his throat before speaking. “Well, well, well,” he said, pitched low with an eagerness that made your heart pound, “what do we have here?”

As if breaking a seal, Izo’s commencement spurred on the others.

“A Marine,” Ace’s voice dripped with disdain, and he looked down at you, shocking you at how easily he fell into the roll, “sailing all alone…”

“...and ripe for the taking,” Thatch concluded, eyes half-lidded.

A shiver ran through your body, and you wondered if they had talked about this behind your back, because they were working off each other maddeningly well already. You sucked in a shaky breath. “You might as well kill me–I’ll never talk.”

Marco chuckled darkly. “Hear that, guys? They said they’ll never talk, yoi…” He approached the bed, suddenly grabbing your shirt by the collar and yanking you onto your feet. He adjusted his grip, taking a bigger fistful of the fabric, then pulled up, until he was lifting you entirely off of the ground, bringing you face-to-face. “But I bet I can make you sing.”

You knew he was strong, but this–this was showing off, impressing the power difference between you. And it was working, your stomach flipping in place at the thought of how easy it was for him. For any of them. You weren’t weak by any means, but the Division Commanders outclassed you.

“N-Never,” you bit back, despite the obvious effect his manhandling was having on you, “I could never be affected by the likes of your kind, pirate scum!”

“Hm,” Marco leaned his head even closer, lips barely hovering over your own. For a moment, you thought he might kiss you–and then he bit your lower lip, just short of breaking the skin, making your whole body tense and drawing out an involuntary whimper.

“We’ll see.” He dropped you, and you stumbled back, into someone’s chest. You hadn’t even noticed Ace moving behind you with Marco commanding your attention.

Ace ran his hands down your arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps despite the heat of his skin, until he reached your wrists, where he tightened his grip and forced them behind your back. He nosed into your neck, inhaling your scent before dragging his hot tongue up the side and growling, “Izo, pass me the rope.”

You were already trembling from it all, Ace’s iron-like grip, his tongue, the heat radiating off his body that always seemed to intensify whenever you slept together. The scene must have excited him, because he was raising the temperature of the entire room, not to mention the hardness that pressed into your rear.

Izo plucked the length of rope from Marco’s desk and stepped over to you, handing it to Ace with one hand while the other gripped your chin harshly, forcing you to look up at him. “Poor little thing, shaking like a leaf. Are you that scared?”

Of all of them, it was Izo, surprisingly enough, who had the strongest dominant streak. He was entirely in his element as he smirked down at you, not giving you a chance to reply before he continued, “you should be. You got caught by the wrong pirates, my dear.”

Your trembling had nothing to do with fear, of course. The nerves were there, but the knowledge that you could stop at any time was a reassurance that only made everything hotter, in a way. You gave Izo a defiant look, even as Ace worked on tying your wrists together behind your back. “I’m not scared of you.”

Izo’s smirk widened. “No? Maybe I should tell you what we have planned for you, then… See how you feel after that. Do you want to know?” He leaned in closer. “What it is we’re going to do to you?”

Anticipation made your heart pound like a hammer. You weren’t sure if you were meant to respond until Izo’s grip tightened almost painfully on your chin. “Speak,” he ordered, the command sending a jolt between your legs.

“I d-don’t care,” you spat, “It doesn’t matter what you do–I won’t submit.”

“Is that what you think?” Izo purred, “then I think I’ll go ahead and tell you…”

Ace finished tying your wrists, the rope snug but not too tight. You pulled against it, testing the hold, but as an experienced sailor, there was no chance of the expertly-tied knot coming undone. “How’s that?” Ace whispered into your ear, momentarily breaking character.

“Green,” you responded, then tensed when he licked the shell of your ear, resisting the urge to whine.

Izo leaned down further until he was speaking into your other ear, voice husky and dark with promise. “For the next few hours, you belong to us. And we’ll do whatever we want with you. You’re going to be stuffed full–in every hole–until you can’t think about anything but our cocks. We’re going to fuck you so well that for the rest of your life, you’ll have to live with the knowledge that the best orgasms you ever had were at the hands of pirate scum.”

You could physically feel yourself getting wetter with every sentence, breath catching in your throat. He was too good at this, evident in how his words were affecting the others, as well. Thatch was palming at his crotch, breathing less evenly. Marco bit his lip, the fingers of one hand curling and uncurling repeatedly. You had the sudden mental image of a bird of prey’s talons closing around a mouse. The thought was not helping.

Ace’s lips attached to the side of your neck then, and you clamped your mouth shut to muffle the whine that rose in turn, but it was still audible. The men reacted like dogs to a whistle, eyes locked onto you at the sound. Ace didn’t let up, sucking and nibbling until your legs were shaking, one hand holding the rope around your wrists and the other clasped onto your hip.

Among your partners, you normally only let Marco leave bruises, as he could heal them after a session, leaving nothing for your crewmates to potentially tease you about. For this scene, it was allowed for the same reason. As a result, this was the first time Ace got to indulge, and you suspected he had a kink. He was clearly into it, grinding his hard-on into you shamelessly as he started on another mark a little higher up your neck.

Izo let go as he stood back to his full height, appraising your reaction, desire simmering in his dark eyes. “Look at you. We’ve barely started, and you can hardly stand.”

It was getting harder to think with Ace chewing up your neck while Izo talked down to you, but you managed to play the role despite it. “S-Shut up. The others will–mm!–will come looking for me.”

“Oh? When will that be, exactly? You aren’t scheduled to arrive at your destination for days, pretty thing. And we’ve taken your transponder snail.”

Ace broke away from your neck to growl into your ear, “No one is coming to save you.” And then his tongue was on your neck again, licking his way to a new spot to bruise.

You almost lost composure at that, briefly considering just stopping the scene and begging them to take you on the spot. Sheer force of will held you together at that point. You wanted to see it through to the end, though, certain that if you just held on, the reward would be well worth it.

Izo reached into his kimono, and your pulse quickened, knowing what was coming next. The sharp edge of the dagger he withdrew glinted in the lamplight.

“I’d try and hold still, pet. Get those legs of yours under control, hm?” Izo said to you, but he glanced at Ace as he spoke. Ace got the message, pausing his ministrations and pulling you tight against him to keep you still. He did not remove his mouth from your neck.

Izo touched the tip of the dagger to the base of your throat with the barest pressure, feather-light and not enough to break the skin, before sliding it up, slowly, all the way to your chin. You were thankful for Ace’s hold on you then, because you were sure your knees would give out. It was almost embarrassing how badly it made your cunt throb.

Izo smirked like he knew.

Lowering the blade to slide flat under your shirt, he pulled it toward him, turning it so the sharp edge of the dagger was against the fabric. In a single, downward motion, he cut through the front. Then he cut through your sleeves, until the shirt was only being held in place by Ace’s body. Izo grabbed the shirt and pulled it from between you two, so you could feel Ace’s bare skin against yours.

“Oh,” you breathed, never quite able to get used to Ace’s change in temperature when he was aroused. His skin against yours was like sinking into a hot bath, contrasting against the cooler air on your chest. In any other situation, it would have been relaxing. But your focus instantly went back to Izo as he cut through both bra straps next, then the center band. He ripped that off, too, exposing your chest. He did not miss the way your nipples had hardened, and you had to bite back a pitiful noise when he touched the tip of the dagger to a nipple.

You shut your eyes, briefly overwhelmed, and the touch moved away. A moment later, you felt him pulling the hem of your pants away from your skin so he could safely slice through those as well. Soon you were only in your underwear, which Izo left alone. Satisfied, he walked over to the desk and set down the dagger, then stepped into place beside Marco and Thatch. “Who wants to go first?”

Ace resumed his steady devouring of your neck, shifting the hand on your hip forward, along the hem of your underwear, and then under it, trailing a blazing path down your mons until his fingers were separating your outer lips. He paused at feeling just how wet you were, and you felt his lips curl into a smirk against your neck.

“Looks like Ace is,” Thatch muttered, not actually sounding all that bothered–he liked the show. “Look at his grin… I bet they’re soaked.”

You had to bite your lip as Ace’s hot fingers delved between your folds, stroking idly and making your knees weak. The very wet, very lewd squelching that arose only confirmed Thatch’s words. The sound had a visible effect on the men, the air in the room seeming to thicken with combined desire.

Ace let go of the rope with his other hand, moving it to your head, and he grabbed a fistful of hair close to the base before harshly forcing you to bend over. “Their mouth is free, Thatch.”

The pulling on your scalp and the roughness with which Ace handled you only fueled your fire. You thought you couldn’t possibly burn any hotter, but then Thatch approached you, unbuckling his belt, and your body was searing. He freed his cock, stroking it with one hand while the other replaced Ace’s in your hair, and leaned his hips forward until the tip pressed against your mouth.

“Go on, then, make yourself useful,” Thatch said, the tremor in his voice betraying his excitement, “you know what will happen if you bite, so why don’t you just take it like a good little prisoner?”

You met Thatch’s eye, but your glare quickly faltered due to Ace suddenly penetrating you with his fingers. Your breath hitched, momentarily unable to respond with the pressure and heat now massaging so expertly inside you. 

“You’re okay. Come on,” Thatch murmured, pupils blown wide at the sight of you buckling under the pleasure, and then his voice dropped low, “open.”

The deep pitch cut through the haze and into your head, the command reaching that part of you that you couldn’t let out anywhere else, the part of you that longed to listen and obey, that wanted nothing more than to cede control. You opened your mouth, tongue sticking out, unable to stop the whine that followed.

“There you go…” Thatch praised, pushing himself into your mouth with a hiss, “fuuuck…”

He was already leaking, pre-cum salty on your tongue. Your noises were quickly muffled as he inched in further, then pulled out a little, only to push back in even deeper, lubricating himself bit by bit with your saliva.

It was difficult with Ace casually fingering you, but as long as he didn’t touch your clit, you were pretty sure you could focus on both things. You relaxed your jaw, letting Thatch reach the back of your throat, and then you sucked.

“Fuck!” Thatch cursed, fingers tightening in your hair in an attempt not to ram himself down your throat, the pain making you moan around his cock. Thatch eased his grip on your hair only slightly, keeping you in place as he started to thrust shallowly into your mouth. “That’s it… Fuck, just like that…”

Ace rested his free hand on your hip, and you felt him press a kiss to your back before licking the skin there. “Heh… They got wetter,” he announced to the others, “you love this, don’t you? Such a cockslut… I bet you let all the other Marines use you like this.”

You normally couldn’t reach orgasm without touching your clit, but with Ace gleefully degrading you, you thought for a moment you just might. It was all you could do to stay on your feet.

“Nng! I’m gonna… Go deeper,” Thatch panted, “one of you, watch for their signal for me… Ace, let up, will ya?”

With your wrists bound and your mouth full, the safety signal was you stamping your foot. You idly wondered if you’d need it–deepthroating wasn’t new, but it was always a challenge, and Thatch–all of them, really–were worked up from the scene, less prone to holding back.

Ace slowed his strokes so you could better focus on the task. Thatch pushed deeper and deeper with each thrust until you were fighting the urge to gag. You willed yourself to relax, focusing on your breathing, and Thatch eased himself into the tight canal of your throat.

“Oh, fuck!” He moaned, shutting his eyes as his grip in your hair tightened again. He opened one eye to take in your expression, making sure you were still okay, before starting up gentle thrusts. “So good. So fucking good, there you go… Taking me so well…”

Spit and pre-cum combined and dribbled down your chin, and your eyes watered reflexively until tears ran down your cheeks. Off to either side, you could see Marco and Izo, standing closer than before, both of their gazes fixed onto you. Marco was desperately rubbing himself over his pants while Izo had already disrobed, both kimono and undergarments forgotten on the floor as he stroked his cock.

Thatch had his eyes shut again at how good it felt, but a muffled moan from you had him look down at you. At the sight of your tears, something must have awakened in him, because his grunts tipped into something guttural, and he went a little faster, cursing weakly. “Fuck, oh, fuck! Not yet-!”

His hips began to stutter in their pace, and then Thatch let go of your hair and pulled out with a gasp, stepping back, his cock visibly throbbing. You coughed and caught your breath, switching back to breathing through your mouth, head hanging down.

“That was close… I almost came,” Thatch panted, crouching down next to you and cupping your cheek. He tilted your head up so you were looking him in the eye, thumb stroking your temple lovingly. “I want to save it… I want to cum in your cunt. Wanna fill you up, deep inside… Wanna see it dripping out of you…”

You could only whimper in response, thighs pressing around Ace’s hand. Now that you didn’t have to focus on deepthroating, he started pumping his fingers faster, and when he curled them just right, you stood up straight as if electrocuted, pressing back into him with a shaky whine.

Thatch walked over to a chair and slumped into it, taking a break so he could come down. He let out a sigh and groaned, “What a mouth…”

You leaned your head back on Ace’s shoulder, closing your eyes and generally trying to keep it together. Ace turned his head to kiss your temple, then whispered into your ear, “Eyes forward, captive. You’re far from done.”

You opened your eyes to see Marco approaching you, Izo following close behind him. Marco rested his hands on your hips, squeezing them before running them up your sides and to your front, where he groped your breasts. You bit your lip as he massaged and fondled them, but gasped when his thumbs started rubbing your nipples, the sensation like a current that ran from your chest straight to your cunt.

“Ah! N-Not there! No!” You cried, the touch igniting your whole self, a full-body sensation that spread out from between your legs.

Marco stopped immediately, going to lower his hands, but Izo caught his wrists, keeping them in place. “It’s fine, Marco. They didn’t use the safeword. You can keep going.”

Marco hesitated, then started rubbing again, and you all but thrashed, body jerking from the onslaught of stimulation but unable to escape it due to Ace’s firm hold on you.

“Oh, god! No, no, it’s–ah! It’s too much!” You pleaded, tearing up again. The attention to your nipples was making you drip, even with Ace’s hand in the way, a few clear drops on the floor beneath you slowly becoming a small puddle. Izo glanced down at it, then at you.

“My, my. So sensitive,” Izo mused, “is that really as much as you can handle? I thought surely a Marine would be tougher than that.”

“I… I…!” You started to say, then cursed, jerking again as Marco bent down to drag his tongue across a nipple. “Fuck!”

Marco licked your nipple over and over, alternating between pressing his tongue flat against it in slow passes, then using the tip to flick and circle the nub, and all you could do was take it. Your legs grew weak once more, and threatened to give out entirely when Marco closed his lips around your nipple and sucked.

Your back arched, and then your legs finally failed as Izo crouched down to suck on your other nipple. Ace held you up easily with one hand, completely unbothered by your weight as he continued to finger you all the while.

The combined sensation was overwhelming, every nerve alight as they messily sucked on your breasts, your whole cunt throbbing and clenching. Through the haze of pleasure, you wondered vaguely if you’d join that small percentage of people who could come from nipple stimulation alone–but it never happened. Instead, you only stayed torturously worked up, almost to the point of edging.

‘I bet you wanna cum, huh, babe?” Ace whispered into your ear. “We won’t leave you like this forever, don’t worry… We’re pirates, not monsters. Here…”

Ace’s thumb found your clit, rubbing in practiced circles, and you jerked again with another strangled cry. With all the prior buildup of the scene, much less the current multiple points of stimulation, it didn’t take long for your body to start its climb and rapidly ascend. Every bit of pleasure seemed to accumulate between your legs and build and build, with only one end in sight.

“I’m–I’m gonna cum, I’m–!” Your words turned into a broken sob as release crashed over you like a tidal wave, drowning you in pure euphoria that radiated out from your clit and spread to every inch of your body. Ace sank his teeth into your shoulder, growling at the feeling of your walls fluttering around his fingers, slowing but not stopping their movement so as to draw out your orgasm. He didn’t stop until you were no longer grinding your cunt against his hand, at which he finally pulled out.

“Marco, Izo. Stop,” Ace directed, although the other two were well aware that you had finished and had already detached themselves from your chest. “Sixty seconds, remember?”

One of the rules you had in place was that after an orgasm, you needed a minimum of one minute to come down before you could be touched again, with one exception–if one of them was close, they could go past the limit, as you could always use your safeword if needed.

You slumped back against Ace, trembling and panting, your clit still pulsing with aftershocks.

“Easy does it,” Ace murmured, thumb rubbing circles on your hip, “we’re not finished, so just take a breather for now.” He brought the hand he fingered you with to his mouth, sucking your fluids from his fingers with a debauched groan, and you felt his body temperature raise another degree.

Izo stepped closer, until his cock pressed against your stomach, and he rutted against you with a pleased sigh, warm pre-cum smearing on your skin. He took your face in both hands, angling you to look at him. “Look at you. You love being our plaything, don’t you?”

Your head was swimming, but you knew he wanted an answer. The only thing adhering you to the scene at that point was the others keeping it up. “I don’t…”

“Hm, still a little fight left in you,” Izo remarked, thumbs brushing away tears, “no problem.”

“We’ll fuck it out of you,” Marco promised. “Thirty seconds left, yoi… Then you’re ours.”

Your eyes widened, because how had thirty seconds already passed? Sighing, you let your head rest in Izo’s hands, soaking in the affection that was admittedly out-of-place for the scene, though contrasted with his animalistic rutting. Gradually, your breath returned, and even though your legs found strength once more, Ace didn’t stop holding you.

“Five,” Marco counted down, sending a shiver of anticipation up your spine, “four… three… two… one.” 

Marco grabbed your underwear and ripped it off your body as easily as if it were made of paper, tossing it aside. He ran a finger through your folds, just to feel for himself how wet you were, sucking his lip between his teeth once he found out.

Ace’s free hand squeezed your ass, then trailed between the cheeks down to your puckered hole. A swell of panic rose within you suddenly, and you called out, “Yellow!”

As if a switch was flipped, everyone stopped instantly, pulling away from your body aside from Ace holding you. His other hand came to your shoulder, turning you so he could see your face, his own written with concern. “Is everything okay? What’s wrong? Do you need to stop?”

“I’m okay,” you assured, “and I definitely don’t want to stop.”

“Change your mind about anal?”

You shook your head. “No, that’s not it. I–I want that, too.” You raised your voice enough for Thatch to hear from his spot in the chair, a few feet away. “I just wanted to remind everyone, before we go any further: Anything that goes in my ass–tongue, fingers or dick–doesn’t go in the front or in my mouth afterward. Okay?” That was a lesson you had to learn the hard way, a triple infection that led to a humiliating visit to Marco. It was he who taught you how to play it safe.

The other four all agreed, verbally confirming that they understood.

Ace thought for a moment. “Unless we use a condom first, right?”

“Right.”

“Okay,” Ace said, “hey, Thatch. Pass me a condom.”

Another shiver ran down your spine at that. Thatch stood up, and Ace added, “And a glove, and the lube, please.” 

The requested items were wordlessly grabbed off the desk and brought to Ace, Thatch pausing to trace your lips with his index finger before he returned to his seat.

Ace turned you to face Marco and Izo again, so you could not see, but only hear the noises of him setting up: the snap of the latex glove on his hand, the squirt of the lube bottle, the wet smear of it between his fingers. You started to tremble again, and the men in front of you noticed, Marco petting your head while Izo’s smirk returned.

Ace’s fingers, now slick with lube, found your asshole once more. You expected the lube to be cold, but Ace had quickly warmed it to a comfortable temperature. He traced the ring of muscle teasingly, enjoying the way you tried to stifle your noise as a result, before penetrating you slowly with one finger.

You tensed, not meaning to make it difficult, but it felt so good you couldn’t help it. “Oh…”

“Relax,” Ace said softly, “just let me in… There, just like that, good…”

You bucked your hips back into his hand slightly, whimpering through a closed mouth and straining helplessly against the ropes binding your wrists. Ace probed deeper, until he reached the knuckle, then pulled back out, squeezing more lube onto his finger before pressing back in.

“You really like that, huh?” Marco commented, glancing below you, “dripping again, all over my floor.”

“Such a slut,” Izo’s grin was wicked, “getting off on being used by the enemy. You needed this so badly, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” you moaned, both in response to Izo and to the fact that Ace inserted a second finger.

“Tell me how much you love it, and maybe I’ll touch that needy little clit of yours, yoi,” Marco said, voice low in a way that was unlike him. It seemed the scene was teaching everyone something new about themselves.

Like you needed any more prompting. “I love it,” you moaned shamelessly, “please. I love it so much, please touch me, sir…”

“Sir, huh?” Marco’s lip curled in satisfaction before he reached between your legs, finding your clit on the first try. He rubbed slowly and gently, adding to the sensation of Ace fingering your ass rather than distracting from it. It was almost unfair how well they worked together. “That’s Commander to you, Marine. That goes for all four of us.”

Ace kept applying lube intermittently, more than he really needed for just his fingers, and you realized his intent when the characteristic sound of a foil wrapper tearing hit your ears. You could hear his breathing get heavier with excitement as he unrolled the condom onto himself, then added a generous coating of lube.

“Gimme a hand,” Ace spoke over your shoulder, at the other two. Even as the shortest one among them, he was still tall enough compared to you that he needed to pick you up to bring his hips level with yours.

Marco abandoned your clit in order to grab your hips, lifting you effortlessly. Ace placed one hand below Marco’s on your hip, the other lining himself up. The blunt head of his cock pressed against and then slowly penetrated your asshole. Ace threw his head back with a curse as Marco helped ease you down, lower and lower until Ace bottomed out.

Ace’s other hand came to your other side, and when his bare fingers dug into your hips, you realized he had discarded the glove at some point. “I–” Ace had to pause, briefly overwhelmed. “...I got ‘em, Marco, th-thanks.”

“Sure.” Marco released his hold, letting Ace support you, and you were certain he’d leave bruises with the strength of his grip. Not that you minded–the pain enhanced the pleasure the same way sweet and savory food complemented each other. A little bit of one (or even a lot, depending on your mood) went a long way in increasing the other.

Ace pulled back his hips just slightly before snapping them forward, like he didn’t want to be outside of you for a second, gasping as he did. “Tight! Oh, god, that’s tight. Fuck…”

The action drew a small moan out of you, a second following shortly after as Ace started up an easy pace. With his strength, he was able to hold you steady as he went, your body only moving forward a little when he bucked into you. You wondered why he didn’t just bounce you on him, until you realized he was attempting to make it easier for the other two to touch you.

Marco must have realized it, as well, because he went back to rubbing your clit a second later, making you twitch and keen under the dual sensations. Ace was splitting you open so nicely, the lube ensuring he slid in with little resistance. The slick, wet noises of his cock pistoning in and out seemed to amplify the feeling of being filled, your sensitive passage contracting around him without rhythm. His grunts and groans in your ear only made it better, voice raspy with the enticing sound of his unraveling.

“Beautiful,” Izo crooned, jerking himself off to the sight. His free hand grabbed your jaw, and then he was kissing you, firm and demanding. You moaned into his mouth and he licked at your tongue, tasting you for a breathless moment before biting your lip. He moved the hand on your jaw to the base of your throat, making room for him to kiss along your jaw and work his way down to the side of your neck Ace had left untouched, eager to sow his own field bruises.

The third point of stimulation was enough to start working your body up again, a slow but sure swelling that smoldered with the promise of ecstasy.

“Izo!” You cried as his teeth dug into the delicate flesh of your neck, “Ace… M-Marco!”

Izo bit down a little harder, as if in admonishment, at the same time that Marco growled, “Commander,” in a corrective tone that made your clit throb against his fingers.

“Commander!” You gasped, voice quivering, “please!”

You did not know what you were asking for. Whatever it was, they did not give it to you. The three of them continued their relentless onslaught on your senses for what felt like hours but could have only been minutes. Behind them, Thatch must have come down enough, because he was now stroking himself with one hand while he bit into the other, absolutely enraptured with the show.

Izo marked his way both down and up your neck, leaving behind a trail of dark marks and red paint until he was back at your lips. His lipstick had smeared, and combined with his messy hair, it was the perfect image of lust indulged, the sight alone pulling a desperate noise from you.

“What, you want more? It’s still not enough for you?” Izo spoke against your lips, the taunt not at all diminished by the heaviness of his breathing.

With Ace fucking your ass and Marco teasing your clit, you couldn’t form the words, only a pitiful, needy moan.

Izo laughed softly. “I know, sweet thing, I know.” He grabbed your thigh, spreading your legs wider for him to fit between them, and lined up his cock with the dribbling entrance to your cunt.

Ace only slowed down, unwilling or unable to stop, as Izo’s cock parted your folds. He slid inside easily, thick girth posing no problem with how ridiculously wet you were, and the both of you cried out at the sensation, a harmony of high and low pitched sounds. Izo stayed still for a moment, savoring the snug, warm fit, before the feeling of Ace’s cock through your thin internal walls made him grit his teeth and rest his forehead against yours with a groan that Ace echoed behind you. 

With Izo and Ace being similar in height, they were lined up perfectly, neither slipping out even as Izo started to thrust. His strokes were deeper than Ace’s, unconcerned about leaving your heat when he was only going to sheath himself again, and again, knowing he could indulge in you at his leisure. Ace had far less impulse control, fucking you with little thought but to his own pleasure at that point, leaving Izo to pace himself so they could take you with some semblance of coordination.

“C–Comman…” You couldn’t even finish saying their title, the words devolving into helpless little moans and whimpers as they ravaged you from both ends.

Marco stepped closer to keep his fingers in contact with your clit, his free hand coming up to flick one of your nipples. It sent a jolt of electricity through the cloud of pleasure that was currently your brain, making you tighten up around the dual cocks in you, Ace and Izo both gasping or moaning in turn. Finding both hands occupied but craving friction at the sight of you getting tag-teamed, Marco was glad for his significant height advantage right then, as he was at the perfect level to press his still-clothed dick against your thigh and rut.

Your body was a brewing storm, made up of hazy clouds of pleasure, bolts of nerves lighting you up brighter and brighter with every thrust and touch inside and around you, more and more intense, building, building, building. The only thought in your head was the goal, the crest over the hill, so close you could cry from how badly you wanted it.

For a wonderful, terrifying moment, you were stuck at the edge, that desperate moment right before the peak, riding the knife’s edge of bliss without truly attaining it. So good, but not enough, a taste of liberation that only made you long for nirvana. You couldn’t hear anything but the rushing blood in your ears, pulsing in time with your heart and your cunt. And then Izo angled just right against your g-spot and Marco rubbed your clit just so and Ace just kept pounding your ass like he’d never get to fuck again in his life, and you tipped over and were gone. It was easily the strongest orgasm you’d ever experienced, momentarily separated from the outside world and all stimuli but the intense throbbing of every part of your cunt–everything, centering from your clit and rippling through your entire pelvic floor. Only the parts of the men inside you or on you existed, everything else fading behind the raw euphoria of the present. You didn’t make a sound–couldn’t, realizing you had been holding your breath throughout the whole thing.

Suddenly aware of the need for air, you gasped, deep breaths coming out shaky and uneven. Vaguely, you could hear the three of them saying something, but you didn’t process the words. You realized they had stilled, holding you in place. Then Ace and Izo pulled out, and the sudden stimulation of the still-tender nerves made you yelp in discomfort.

“Sorry,” Ace apologized, kissing the back of your head. “That was a strong one, huh? The way you gripped me back there…” Ace set you down on your feet carefully, helping you stay upright with one arm.

“Breathe slowly, Y/n, you’re okay,” Izo instructed, taking one of your hands in his and rubbing the back soothingly. “Do you need longer than a minute?”

“Yes,” you said gratefully between pants, “yeah, just… Wait…”

Marco used his sleeve to dab away the sweat on your brow, then ran a hand over your head affectionately. “We can stop here, if you want.”

If you hadn’t just had your world rocked, you might have embarrassed yourself with how quickly you rejected the notion, but you were still reeling, so what would have been a passionate denial came out as a calmer, breathy “No, I’m okay.”

“Color?” Marco asked, just for a formal confirmation.

“Green.” You were kind of amazed that this was still continuing, but when you saw Ace peel off his condom, you realized that none of them had cum yet. You pushed away the urge to feel bad–they had the control in this scene, everything was going how they wished.

“I have an idea,” Thatch spoke up from his seat. “What about this…”

You all listened to his proposal, the words bringing a fresh wave of heat through you despite the fact you were still coming down. The four of them discussed positions while you caught your breath, until they came to a decision they were all happy with.

“How much time do you need?” Thatch asked you.

You closed your eyes for a moment, focusing on yourself and listening to your body. There was a muted tingling between your legs, but it was hard to tell if it was oversensitivity or a new thrum of desire. Regardless, you wanted more, not satisfied unless you got to see them finish as well.

“Three more minutes,” you decided. “Starting now.”

“Three minutes, huh?” Marco pet your head again, but this time, he paused mid-way to dig his fingers into your hair, gripping hard and pulling your head back so he could kiss you roughly. His tongue and teeth violated your mouth, probing and nipping until you were moaning weakly into his. He broke away, looking down at you almost coldly, a hungry, mean look in his eyes as he pushed down on the top of your head.

“Get on your knees.”

The look alone sent a pleasant chill through you, much less his tone. It was a bit of a shock–Marco had been the most reluctant about the scene when you all first talked about it, concerned for your well-being. Seeing the wet spot on the tent of his pants, you wondered suddenly if this was why, if he knew he might like it a little too much. It was certainly not a problem.

The rule had been that no one could touch you–specifically between your legs, or your chest–while you were cooling down. You realized you never said anything about touching them during that time. Locking eyes with Marco, you sank to your knees obediently, licking your lips in anticipation, the action making Marco’s fist tighten in your hair for a moment.

“Good, that’s a good little captive. You belong to us now, don’t you? You’re all ours,” Marco growled, “I don’t think we’ll be giving you back to your fellow Marines. I think we’ll keep you, forever, as our personal fuck toy.”

You didn’t think you could really get any wetter, but Marco swiftly proved you wrong, your cunt clenching with need as fluid continued to leak down your thighs. The floor was hard on your knees, but you kind of liked that, the light pain contrasting with the haze of sheer want.

Marco let go of your hair in order to strip from his jacket and unzip his pants, pulling out his straining cock. “Open wide, love. Prove that this is all you’re good for.”

You’d barely opened your mouth before Marco’s hand was back in your hair and he was pushing his cock in, forcing your mouth wider as your cry of surprise was muffled. He had never been this rough with you before, and it was a side of him you hoped you’d get to see again sometime. Having not had any attention during the whole scene up until now, he was needy and eager, practically shoving his way to the back of your throat. You were almost dizzy from the action–Marco, your gentle Marco, fucking your mouth like you were nothing but a whore.

Maybe you were–the way you sucked him was more than a little depraved, unable to hide how much you liked it, messy and ravenous. He hadn’t even gone deep yet and you were already breathing through your nose in anticipation, tongue curling along his length as you went. Marco had a slight tremble in his legs, biting back moans that slipped out as terse grunts. Soon spit was trickling down the corners of your mouth again, and you didn’t bother hiding your moan, knowing it’d be muffled around his dick anyway.

“Fuck, Y/n,” Marco cursed, your only warning before he pulled your head down and pushed himself deeper, penetrating your throat, “fucking take it.”

Tears welled up in the corners of your eyes as he entered your throat, grip in your hair deliciously painful as he pulled until your nose was pressed against the curls of his pubes. He thrusted shallowly, moans pitching higher at the sensation, and you pulled against the ropes binding your wrists, wanting to touch him, to make him feel even better.

If only someone was touching you. The thought surprised you–you normally preferred the opposite, needing to focus while you were deepthroating so you wouldn’t gag. But being used so thoroughly was making you contract around nothing, craving to be filled. Only the thought of what was coming next, and Marco plugging up your throat, kept you from begging for more.

“Five,” Izo counted, “Four…”

“Shut up–I don’t care. Fuck,” Marco groaned, not intending on stopping after three measly minutes. You wondered if he would finish right there, abandon what you had planned next. It certainly seemed that way, his control slipping as he thrusted harder and harder, tears spilling down your cheeks. You weren’t sure how much longer you were there, only that eventually the strength behind his hips was too much, causing you to finally gag. You were about to tap your foot in signal when Marco pulled out, a rope of spit connecting his dick to your lips.

Marco took a step back, a shudder running through him while you gasped and coughed for a moment. You swallowed the spit and pre-cum that had accumulated in your mouth, then tilted your head back to look up at him with nothing short of adoration. Marco was panting, but smiled down at you, wiping the drool from your mouth. “Well done, sweetheart. You ready for the next part?”

“Doesn’t matter if they’re ready,” Izo said, still in character, trying to sound cold but unable to hide his excitement. It had the desired effect anyway, your thighs squeezing together. “They’re going to take us all and they’re going to love it.”

“Please,” your beg was barely a whisper, but they all heard it regardless.

Marco helped you to your feet, and when Thatch approached you, your heart leaped to see him holding the dagger from earlier. Unfortunately, he only meant to cut your bindings, and Ace laughed at your resulting expression.

“Don’t look so disappointed,” he grinned, taking your face in his hands and kissing you. “If you want to play with knives, I’ll indulge you another time, I promise.” He bit your lower lip, drawing a small, needy sound from you, before his voice lowered. “If we include Marco, I could even cut you a little… What do you think?”

“Ace,” you whimpered, your tone telling him exactly how you felt about such a proposition.

Thatch finished cutting through the ropes, and you rubbed at your newly-freed wrists, the skin there a little raw but not too tender. Ace had tied it perfectly.

Anyone who hadn’t disrobed all the way did so, clothes discarded onto the floor or on the chairs, before you all moved to the bed. Marco hopped on first, laying on his back. You climbed on top of him, straddling his hips and facing his legs. Ace passed you the lube, and you took a minute to apply it to Marco, fingers gliding up and down his twitching cock. He couldn’t help bucking into your touch, trying and failing to suppress moans.

You tossed the lube aside, wiping the excess onto your thighs, before lifting up your hips. Marco helped guide you down, one hand on your hip, one around the base of his cock, positioning it against your ass. You sank down onto him with a gratified sigh, Marco gasping as his thick length breached your hole and filled you slowly, the delicate passage lighting up with pleasure.

Now seated in his lap, Marco took a few breaths before placing his hands on your shoulders and easing you back until you were laying on him.

“Still–ah!” He stuttered as you clenched around him just to get a reaction, “–still green?”

“Mhm.”

In retaliation, Marco gently pinched your nipple, but it only made you tighten up again, the both of you moaning in turn.

Thatch mounted the bed next, at the foot of it, crawling between yours and Marco’s legs. There was just enough space for him to sit on folded legs, and he rubbed your thigh fondly before lining himself up with your cunt. He sucked in a breath as he parted you, biting his lip. Halfway in, he paused, pulling back out before pushing in again, this time not stopping until he was fully sheathed inside.

The noise you made was almost embarrassing, a debauched keening that could only come from being filled up so entirely. You were so full, so perfectly stuffed, the feeling of being stretched to your limit nothing short of bliss. You laid your head back on Marco’s shoulder, shivering with satisfied lust as you clenched around them.

Thatch threw his head back, too, groaning. “Shit, I can feel Marco twitching.”

You thought you could, too, though sometimes it was hard to tell if the little pulses were coming from yourself or from them.

“Here we go, love. Just relax and take it,” Marco murmured into your ear.

Thatch started moving first, slow pumps of his hips to ease you into things. But you did not want slow or easy, especially not at this point in the night. He felt so, so good inside, and yet you needed even more.

“Harder, Thatch!” You pleaded.

“No. It’ll be too much–” Thatch started to reply.

“Please!”

Thatch clicked his tongue. “Sheesh, needy little thing. Fine.”

He grabbed your hips and picked up his pace, upping both the speed and force of his thrusts until his hips were smacking loudly against yours. Below you, Marco started to move, too, working his cock in and out in perfect rhythm with Thatch. You gasped at the change, toes curling at the flood of sensation.

You reached to touch your clit, but Marco suddenly grabbed your wrists, pinning them to your sides. The strength in his grip only made you wetter, a jolt of desire making you clench up, your moans rising in volume.

You didn’t even notice Izo taking his place on the bed, perched right above Marco’s shoulder, until he bent over you, filling your vision, in order to kiss you once more.

“Still want to do this?” He asked, checking in one last time.

“Yesss,” you moaned, tearing up again at just how good it felt.

“Thatch will watch for your signal, okay?” Izo tilted your head back, fingers parting your lips, and you sucked on them without prompting, making him smirk. “Alright, here it comes.”

You opened your mouth, and Izo inserted his cock, far more slowly than the others had earlier. He worked his way in gently, gradually making it further and further in, keeping an eye on your body for a sign of a negative reaction. It would have been impossible to tell, though–with Marco and Thatch fucking you so well, you were twitching and arching periodically. The only thing Izo could really count on at that point was your safe signal, but he trusted you to use it if you needed to. With that in mind, he pushed further, deeper, until he was well inside your throat.

It was ambitious–minding your breathing was a challenge when you were being double penetrated so perfectly, but the two prior attempts had relaxed your gag reflex more than usual, and there was little discomfort as Izo started to thrust. Having to concentrate on your breathing only diminished the pleasure by the tiniest fraction, the nerves between your legs ever ablaze. 

With your head back, you couldn’t see anything but Izo’s lower half, but you could feel how he rested a hand on your throat, feeling his dick through the flesh. You felt another hand running down your side–it had to be Ace–and then he mounted the bed, too, throwing a leg over to straddle your waist.

This was it. You could barely contain your excitement, but in your current state, there was no real way to tell. All your noise was currently muffled, anyway.

Ace felt up your chest, groping and squeezing, before he positioned his cock in between your breasts and pressed them together. Already dripping pre-cum, he needed no lube as he started to thrust, his own noises of delight joining that of the other three. His thumbs brushed your nipples as he tit-fucked you, making you buck into Thatch and Marco.

“Look at that! All of us at the same time… You’re incredible, Y/n,” Ace praised between moans. “Even your tits feel amazing… So fucking good. So fucking good.”

You couldn’t respond, of course, but you weren’t sure you could have formed words even if your mouth was free. Spread out between the four of them, every hole filled out and more, you felt as if every nerve in your body was wired to them, to the feel of their skin against and inside yours. Entirely at their whims, nothing more than a means to their satisfaction, they used you completely and thoroughly, and it was perfect.

No one bothered hiding their noises anymore, all sense of shame long since gone, a chorus of moans and grunts and cries reverberating through the room alongside lewd, wet squelches and slaps. They were so deep inside you, your insides molded to the shape of them, and soon the heat started to build somewhere between your legs, even without your clit being touched, a song of lust that started to crescendo.

You had never cum while deepthroating before, the pleasure mostly mental on your end. But then Thatch started rubbing your clit, and you knew there was no chance you wouldn’t, the crescendo spiking rapidly toward its end. Above you, you could hear Izo’s moans stutter and pitch high in a familiar way, and when he came, he was so far down your throat you didn’t even feel it.

A few seconds later, Izo pulled out of your mouth, and you switched your breathing with a gasp. He pressed a grateful kiss to your forehead, then slid to sit on the floor, spent.

“Good, good, now we can hear you,” Ace panted, “though I kind of liked hearing you try and moan with a cock in your throat, too.” His thumbs continued flicking and rubbing your nipples mercilessly, the icing on the proverbial cake that spurred on your desperate moans.

The heat only kept building, shooting higher and higher. They were so big inside, so big and so deep, taking you like they needed it just as badly as you did.

“I’m gonna cum,” Ace whined, and when you opened your mouth in response, that did him in. He shouted as he came, spurting thick, hot ropes mostly over your neck, though some landed in your mouth. It was bitter and you didn’t even slightly care, too fucked-out to do anything but swallow in between moans.

Ace finishing in your mouth was enough to hurdle you to the edge, suddenly close, a wave at its crest ready to break at any moment. You pulled weakly against Marco’s hold on your wrists, but his grip only tightened. Clenching rhythmically around them, overcome with the need to finish, your thoughts focused once more on nothing but the end that was in sight. You barely even felt Ace dismount, nor Marco’s nibbling on the shell of your ear. Ace reached to your breasts again, pinching your nipples with just the right amount of pressure, and your peak all but slammed into you.

For an instant, you saw white. It was, somehow, even stronger than the last one. Once again, nothing existed but you and your shaking orgasm, the sizzling of every pleasure nerve in your body, the pulse of your entire being unmade into nothing but the component elements of sensation. Your cry broke halfway out your mouth, devolving into a choked sob as the other two just kept fucking you through the contractions of your walls, drawing out your climax for what felt like an eternity.

“Coming,” Thatch’s voice was strained, the fluttering around his cock bringing him to the edge. He gripped your hips with both hands, strong enough to bruise, and cursed as his hips stuttered in their pace. “Oh, Y/n!”

You couldn’t feel it, but you knew Thatch had finished once he stilled, catching his breath before pulling out. He stayed where he was, eyes fixed onto your cunt, waiting, as promised earlier, for his cum to dribble out.

You went limp above Marco, still rutting into your ass, the pitch of his moans signaling that he was near his end, as well. He let go of your wrists and grabbed your hips, bouncing you onto his cock like you were a toy. You were too fresh from your orgasm for it to feel all that good, but it didn’t hurt, either, so you just relaxed and let him get there at his pace.

Marco finished with a cry of your name, fingers digging into your hips and head thrown back against the bed. He held you there for another minute before letting go with a heavy and very satisfied sigh. You lifted yourself off of him and collapsed beside him, and for a few minutes, there was only the sound of everyone catching their breath.

“Fuck,” you said, staring at the ceiling in awe.

Ace giggled from his spot in one of the chairs. “You said it.”

Marco rolled onto his side to face you, cupping your face with both hands and kissing you passionately before he pulled away, looking into your eyes. “You’re okay, yoi? Nothing hurts?”

“My throat’s a bit sore,” you admitted. “I’m sure it’ll be worse later. I probably won’t do consecutive deepthroats like that again. Maybe cap it at two times a session.”

“Whatever you need,” Marco said. “That was… You were…”

“You were amazing,” Thatch finished for him. “Shit, I’ve never cum so hard in my life.”

“Me neither,” you laughed. “I think you guys might have ruined me forever. What if I can’t cum from regular sex after this?”

Izo pushed himself off the ground, standing up and stretching. “Just come to any of us, we’ll take care of you.”

“Can you walk?” Marco asked. “Do you need any help getting cleaned up?”

“I dunno. I’ll find out soon enough. I need a minute first, though,” you said, curling up against Marco and resting your forehead on his chest.

“Of course.”

Izo grabbed the stack of washcloths off the desk, taking them to the connected bathroom (another one of Marco’s private luxuries) to dampen them before passing them out. Everyone but Marco cleaned up and got dressed, the latter staying put to cuddle you while you came down.

After a few minutes, you sat up, swinging your legs over the bed and attempting to stand. Your legs were wobbly, and you felt a little like a newborn deer, but at least you could stand. Ace joined you in the bathroom anyway, making sure you stayed upright while you cleaned up. A second outfit was waiting for you on the desk, and Ace helped you change into it.

Clean, dry, and thoroughly spent, you crawled back into Marco’s bed and collapsed. Marco, now dressed, got in beside you, spooning your back and hugging you to him.

The reality of what you just did settled in, and you suddenly laughed at yourself. “God, I’m a slut…”

“If you are, then so are we for participating,” Marco said.

You gave him a look over your shoulder. “You can say that, but you weren’t the ones with three dicks in you.”

“Four, in a way,” Ace said.

“Ace,” Izo snapped. “Not helping.”

“It’s fine, Y/n. It really doesn’t matter,” Marco assured.

“He’s right,” Thatch said. “It’s normal for pirates to sleep around, anyway. Don’t worry about it so much.”

“Alright…” You conceded.

Izo, Thatch, and Ace came to sit on the edges of the bed, the latter deciding that wasn’t enough and crawling in to lay next to your other side, though barely fitting. Caring little that his ass was practically hanging off the bed, Ace stroked your cheek affectionately before pressing a kiss to your lips. “Hey, Y/n… Thanks.”

“I should be the one saying thanks,” you mumbled. “It was my fantasy.”

“But we all really, really enjoyed it,” Ace insisted, beaming.

You smiled and buried your face into the pillow in an embarrassment that was frankly ridiculous to be feeling after all of that. You had already been exposed inside and out, in every sense of the word. Something that could only be pulled off because of your deep trust in your partners–trust that they’d listen, trust that they would never hurt you, trust that they had your best interests in mind.

An overwhelming surge of love rose in your chest at the realization of just how far you trusted them, how well they took care of you, and how much it had paid off. You were surprised to feel tears welling up, immediately biting your lip in an attempt to stop them. But then you blinked and they rolled down your cheeks, making Ace frown. “Y/n?”

“I’m good, I’m–” you covered your mouth to suppress the sob that threatened to spill out. The tears were running down your cheeks now, and you had no idea why, only that you couldn’t seem to keep it in.

The others were all attuned to you now, wearing equal looks of concern.

“Tell me what’s wrong, babe,” Ace murmured, pulling your hand away from your mouth.

“I’m sorry,” you sniffed, trembling, “I don’t know why I’m crying. It was perfect.”

“It was intense,” Marco said softly, hugging you a little tighter. “This is a normal reaction. Don’t feel bad about it.”

“O-Okay…”

Izo rubbed your arm, giving your shoulder a squeeze. “It’s okay, Y/n. You’ll feel better if you let it out.”

“There’s no judgment here,” Thatch added, petting your head. “You’re safe.”

Reassured, you stopped trying to hold it in and let yourself just cry. Marco and Ace held you all the while, Thatch and Izo’s hands never leaving you either. Eventually the cry ran its course, and you were left with the occasional sniffle.

Thatch brought you tissues while Izo brought you a glass of water. You sat up to partake in both, blowing your nose before draining the water in seconds.

“More?” Izo asked, and you nodded.

Marco rubbed your back while Izo refilled the glass, and when he returned, you downed it just as quickly.

The four of them whispered reassurances and affirmations: You’re not useless. You’re not a toy. You’re one of us. We respect you. We love you so much.

You leaned against Marco, feeling significantly better even though you had never really felt bad at all. “I love you guys, too. More than anything.”

They each took a turn kissing and embracing you, making you smile.

“So, uh,” you started, smile turning sheepish, “Next time our schedules line up… You know, when we’re all off at the same time–”

“Then we can get off at the same time?” Ace offered, and you giggled.

“Absolutely,” Thatch said.

“I’m up for a repeat,” Izo agreed. “How could I not be after that?”

“We’ll discuss it when the time comes,” Marco said, “make sure it goes as smoothly as it did this time.”

“I’m sure it will,” you sighed, exhaustion settling deep into your bones, “there’s no one else I trust more.”

“Alright!” Thatch clapped his hands together. “I’m going to go cook something nice just for the five of us. I dunno about you guys, but I’m famished.”

Your eyelids were already growing heavy. “That sounds good, but I think I’m gonna pass out here in a sec.”

“Go ahead, Y/n,” Marco said, “We’ll wake you when it’s ready.”

You nodded, letting yourself flop back into the bed. “Thanks…”

Marco and Ace laid on either side of you, arms finding their way around your waist and shoulders, and you relaxed into their embrace. You could feel Izo petting your head, and you smiled to yourself.

There really was no one else you trusted quite like those four:

Marco. Ace. Thatch. Izo.

I worked really hard on this! Reblogs and comments mean everything to me! Thank you so much for reading!

#one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece x y/n #one piece smut #marco x reader #thatch x reader #izo x reader #ace x reader #izou x reader #marco one piece #thatch one piece #ace one piece #izo one piece #izou one piece #one piece imagines #zen writes

[onestepbackwards]

I’m going feral over here. Beloved please.😩

Yandere self aware Emmet is everything I need and want and more.

He is determined to find a way out of this Arceus forsaken ds and show you just how much he loves you and just how much your words effect him!

He can’t handle hearing you coo so sweetly at him, thinking he can’t hear you, only to turn around and talk about how much you’d love to fuck him.

Emmet can only take so much. And once he is out he’s not letting up, he won’t stop until you two out. You’re his darling, his love, his sweetheart, his soulmate, and he will be damned if he doesn’t claim you as such.

No screen alive will ever be able to stop him from getting to you.

And once he’s out and you’re hugging him all excitedly, and he can finally hold you and take in your scent.

The subway boss wants to leave so many bite marks on you, so you’ll know just who fucked you so good.

He’s going to see just what cute faces you make when you fucks you, he wants to see how long you can last, can you keep up with him? He wants to see you drooling and eyes rolled back, he wants to hear just how loud you can be.

Don’t be shy, darling.

Just don’t panic, he is Emmet, he is your lover. So what if he just crawled out of your screen?

- Jes

Jes my beloved ♪(´▽｀) Okay but I'm just imagining you like, leave your room to get a glass of water, and you come back and just see a whole ass arm trying to pull itself from your tiny screen ANYWAY JDFKSJFKSDJF

Yandere self aware Emmet going insane. Not only is he going mad after learning his friends and brother aren't even real, just numbers, but learns of you. You follow the rules, sure, but you someone are able to follow your own withing this electric prison. You must be the player, who uses this world as a toy. At first, he doesn't like you. He doesn't hate you either. He's curious. Were you some god that made this world for funsies? Or where you just an observer? Did you want chaos? Or were you kind? As he watches, he notes how you just seem to be like any other trainer starting their journey. Except... You seem very aware of how these things worked. You built your team, and started implementing strats he hadn't even seen before. You seemed eager to battle, and loved battling that pesky Team Plasma. He was curious, so he began to follow you. He was intrigued. The battles you had... They looked like fun, he wouldn't lie. He felt himself beginning to grow attached to you. He wanted to follow you around more, interact with you more, but then he realizes the code... It's holding him back. Almost like robes around his limbs. So he makes an impulsive decision. He decides to mess with the code. The same code that bound him to this world, made him follow it's rules. He wanted to meet you and talk with you. But he couldn't. Not until you reached Nimbasa. That's fine, he tells himself. He has some time until you reach his city. When you finally reach his home, he takes a small break from tinkering with the data. Despite his initial feelings about you, he can barely contain his excitement. You walk up, and talk to him first. He almost cries from excitement. However, something happens, and he nearly jumps out of his skin. "Oh Emmet and Ingo!! Ugh, they are so cute. I'm glad I finally made it to Nimbasa." He nearly stutters in place when he hears it. Hears you. Was that your voice? Was that you? He needed to hear your voice again. He needed it. When you battle him and his brother with the other player character for the first time, he feels his heart hammer in his chest. He hated the code made him hold back, but he was having so much fun! Even with the limitations! After that, he nearly despaired when he had to leave for Gear Station. Taking a chance, he stops before he enters. "Please! Win 20 battles, then face me on the double line. I would love to fight you!" He said, surprised he broke the code, even just barely. He then turned into the station, a blush on his cheeks. He did it! He spoke to you! Albeit... Not like he wanted. He needed to see you again. After that, you were quick to challenge the battle subway every so often. Every time you did, you made the Subway Boss's day. Then he heard you again. You would say something every time you saw him. "Oh Emmet, you're so cute. I wish I could see more of you than a sprite." "I just want to kiss him. I bet he's passionate." "Ohhh I bet he gives amazing hugs. I wish you were real." Emmet's world basically flips when he hears you. He decided to make it his goal to find you. To get to you. To touch you. His interest in you going from morbid curiosity to love, to something darker. He was obsessed with you.

He decided to figure out any way to see you. He would find a way. He wastes no time messing with the code. Nothing will stop him from breaking out of his prison. You two were practically made for one another. You were his everything, his soulmate. You loved him! You had even admitted it a few times!

How could he not love you back? You two had to be made for each other. Why else would he have gained sentience, other than to be with you? He craved you, and everything about you. He needed you. He sees you again on his line a few days later. You nearly kill him with the things you say. "GOD I want to suck his dick so bad. I hate it here." "I would cockwarm him for hours, bet." "UGH I bet he would fill me with cum. I'm down bad." You can't hear it, but he is screaming. You wanted him, and you were taunting him!!! You didn't even know! Emmet felt almost all resolve snap. You were going to be his. You obviously wanted him, and he wanted you. He was getting out of this prison. ...As soon as he took care of a small problem. - You sighed, and rubbed your eyes. You had been playing Pokemon Black 2 for hours now, and needed a break. As much as you loved building your team, and going to the battle subway, you needed food. Setting your DS to the side on your bed, you stretched, and left your room. As you closed the door behind you, you failed to notice a bright white light beginning to shine from your console. You took your time, making some tea, and making a small sandwich. When you happily finished your meal, you returned to your room, and nearly gasped in shock. A man stood next to your bed, clearly taking in your room. When he turned around, his eyes landed on you, and you saw that familiar grin. You tried not to scream. Why the fuck was there an Emmet cosplayer in your room. Before you could say anything, he practically ran at you, and tackled you into a hug. "My Darling! I am Emmet! I am finally here!" He said, and rubbed his face against yours. You were frozen. "Uh..." The cosplayer pulled back, his hands on your shoulders. "Darling! I did it! I made it into your world. Now we can finally be together!" You blinked. "What." Was this guy serious? Did you have some sort of stalker who knew you loved Emmet? How did they even get into your house... Though you wouldn't lie, the outfit looked amazing. The man in front of you hummed, and you tried to keep your panic at bay. "I am Emmet. I have been aware of you for a while now. You battled my line 12 times today!" You stared at him slack jawed. "What, how did-" He gripped your shoulders tighter, and leaned in closer. "You told me you wanted to kiss me, you thought I'd be passionate. You wanted me to hug you and spin you around. You said you wished you saw more than just a sprite, so here I am!" You nearly choked on your own spit. Yeah, you had said those things. But how...? Was this guy seriously implying he was the Emmet from your game?? You felt the questions fizzle out at your throat, unsure how to respond. The man leaned in close to your ear, and you felt your hair stand on end. "You said you wanted to suck my dick. Cockwarm me for hours. You want me to fill you with my cum." His breath brushed against the shell of your ear, and you felt your face grow hot. His hands gently gripped your shoulders, before rubbing up and down your arms. He giggled in your ear at your stunned silence. This was Emmet. Somehow, this was Emmet. You had only said that on his lines in the subway. Oh god a game character heard your horny thoughts. Said game character somehow is in your room. You felt your heart pounding in your chest. "How...?" You whispered. Emmet hummed, swaying slightly as he touched your arms, almost as if he was making sure you were just as real as him. You didn't stop him. "The code, of course. I had been messing with it for weeks." He then grabbed your hands, and squeezed them. His face was still next to your head. He dipped it into your neck, breathing in your scent. "Finally, I had a breakthrough. A door. A window. I climbed through, and here I am!" He said. You felt his lips against your skin as he spoke, and you shuddered. His lips felt like electricity against your neck. "I am yours, my Darling. I need you. I want you. I have wanted you since I first heard your voice." He murmured.

His lips ran up and down your neck, before finally latching on. He gently bit down, and began to suck. You gasped. Almost immediately, it was as if the tension in the room snapped. Emmet reached up, and grabbed your face, and let go of your neck. His eyes glowed with all sorts of emotions, and you felt your knees go weak. He then leaned in, and began to kiss you. At first, you didn't respond, too shocked, until Emmet bit your bottom lip. The slight pain snapped you out of your stupor, and you wrapped your arms around the man's neck. He moaned into the kiss, pleased with your actions. Was this really happening? Was this some sort of erotic dream? Sure, you have had dreams with both twins fucking you, but this... This felt real. Emmet's hands began to wander, going from your shoulders, to your hips. He had to feel everything he could get his hands on. You moaned at the touch, and you felt him smile into your kiss. His hands fiddled with the waistband of your pants, his thumbs rubbing circles into the skin just under your shirt and above your pants. He separated from you, pressing his forehead against yours. "My love, please... Let me have you. I love you so much, let me prove it to you." He whispered. You felt your mouth go dry. You didn't think this was a dream... But what would be the harm? You should be scared, sure. A man really was here claiming to be a video game character, and saying he was in love with you. It sounded like crazy talk. But... You've had a crush on the silly train men as long as you could remember, said crush coming back full swing as of late. If you really had the real deal here, and he wanted to please you... You rubbed your thighs together. "Yes. Please, Emmet..." You whined back. Your hands reached up, and grabbed his coat, and you pulled him into another kiss. He moaned, and gripped your waist, before lifting you up, and pressing you against the wall. You wrapped your legs around his waist, and moaned when you felt his erection from his pants.

Emmet was so happy. He was finally here! All his dreams were coming true! He had to claim you. You said yes, so he was going to make you his, in every way he could think of. But first, he needed to feel you. This was real. He need your body pressed against his own. He pressed you against the wall with his body, and began grinding against you, the delicious friction nearly enough to turn him into putty. You made such beautiful noises he had only been able to dream of. The way his cock rubbed against your pussy, even if you both were still clothed, felt amazing. He needed it. Needed more. He picked up his pace, the pressure on his cock building as he humped into you. He broke away from you for a moment. "Darrrling~! You feel so amazing!" he gasped out, and his hands gripped your ass, groping and squeezing. He then latched back onto your neck, and bit down. He was going to mark you as much as possible. You moaned into his ear, and rubbed your hands against his shirt, attempting to unbutton it as he ruthlessly rutted into you. It was so much. The friction of your clothes and his cock against your clit, it drove you mad. You needed to feel skin. Finally, you popped his last button loose, and ran your hands across his chest. Judging by the purr he was giving you, he enjoyed your touch. Running your hands along his skin, you found his nipples, and began to lightly tug and pinch. He responded by thrusting against you even harder. You bit your lip, and began to play with his nipples in earnest, hoping to get more of the same reaction. When you gave a nipple a particularly hard pinch, he bit down into your neck, hard enough you were sure to draw blood. You hissed from the pain, and Emmet let go, and began to lick the bruising flesh. "Sorry, Darling... I couldn't help myself..." He murmured an apology, though you couldn't help but feel that bite was on purpose. It was kinda hot.

"Emmet..." You breathed, and wrapped your arms around his torso, feeling his skin. You were getting hot. Emmet hummed, though it sounded like a growl. The sound sent shivers down your spine, pooling into your gut. "My dear... Will you cum for me?" he asked, giving your hips longer, rougher thrusts. He needed to cum, but wanted you to first. He needed to see your face. He then reached down, and began to rub your cunt outside your clothes. He would give you everything you ever needed. He just needed to see your face as you cum.

You didn't disappoint. The extra pressure from his fingers was enough to pull you over the edge, and you came. Your eyes crossed, and your jaw fell open with a smile, gripping onto his coat like a lifeline. The sight was enough to pull him into his own orgasm, and he felt his cock twitch, before he felt his cum ruin his pants. He'd worry about that later. He held you for a few moments, and rested his face in your neck, breathing in you scent as he finished cumming. You smelled even better than he imagined. After a few moments, he gripped you tight, and shakily carried you towards your bed. Gently laying you down, he began to pepper your face with kisses. "My lovely darling... We're not finished yet." You were suddenly glad you had eaten earlier. You had a feeling it was going to be a looong night. He still had to claim you, after all.

#pokemon #submas #subway boss emmet #emmet x reader #pokemon x reader #self aware pokemon #self aware emmet #self aware submas #spicy stuff🔥 #nsft #smut #emmet smut #pokemon smut #zed.talks #zed.writes #Jes #ask #i got carried away with this oops

[fanficwritingcentral]

The quartermaster who relaxed me

Chapter 1

(^ link to ao3)

The lights were off in the room, with only minimal light coming from the large candles placed next to the bed on both bedsides, creating a relaxing atmosphere for the two shirtless men on the bed, the younger one sitting on the older man's butt, slightly hunched over to massage his shoulders.

"How does that feel James?" asked Q who was loving the feeling of his partner's smooth muscular skin beneath his palms.

A deep breath and a hum was James's only reply, his arms tucked under the pillow his head was resting on, looking completely content.

Q laughed softly "I'm glad" he said and continued to rub James's shoulders, slowly going down his back, periodically getting more massaging oil as he went.

Once Q reached James's mid back, he took a break and straightened himself, letting his hands trail back with him as he did, his nails lightly going over James's flanks, where James all of a sudden tensed and inhaled sharply.

Q left his hands where they were on his back and narrowed his eyes at the back of James's head, "Bond, what's the matter?"

James cleared his throat, "Nothing Q."

"You sure of that Bond?"

"Yes Q," and Q could almost hear James rolling his eyes, "Nothing's wrong."

"Alright then." Q said, but instead of stretching his arms and back, he lightly ran his nails over James's flanks again, this time getting a flinch and a whispered fuck. Q grinned.

"Want to try that again Bond?" Q asked, his grin highly audible in his voice.

With a quick ruffle of movement James had Q beneath him on the bed, Q's glasses now slightly crooked on his face, and had pinned his wrists next to his head. James looked down at Q with an odd face, like he was trying to stop himself from smiling and Q raised an eyebrow in return, taking note that James's ears seemed to look red with the limited light they had.

"Bond, this doesn't seem to be the correct response for something you said was nothing."

James stared down at him, "right," he said, releasing his wrists and leaned back to sit himself on Q's legs, looking away from him. Q fixed his glasses and followed him up, leaned back on his elbows and stared at the side of James's head, still with a raised eyebrow.

"Bond." He called.

"Bond." He repeated after a moment when James still didn't look at him.

Q rolled his eyes, "James look at me," he said, and finally James turned his head back to Q. Q noted with some internal amusement that it seemed the redness on James's ears had now travelled lightly to his cheeks.

"It's embarrassing" James said, eyes flicking away from Q's face and pouted, a look that shouldn't look so adorable on him as it did, especially given how old he is.

"What? Being MI6's greatest double-oh spy yet still being as ticklish as you seem to be?" Q replied with a small smile.

James closed his eyes and groaned, letting himself fall forward and crash his head into Q, who let out an oof and fell back onto the bed with James's face smooshed into his chest. Q embraced James, with a hand in his short greying blond hair and the other across his back.

"I've seen and heard you be with so many people during missions. How haven't I known any hint of this yet?" Q wondered, leaning up to kiss the top of his head while his hand lazily stroked the back.

"I can control it during missions." Came James's muffled reply as his head was still smooshed into Q's chest, "I was just, so relaxed here, with you. And didn't think about it."

Q grinned at the ceiling. "That's quite the achievement for me, I made the great James Bond so relaxed he forgot to stop himself from being ticklish."

James groaned again and lifted his face to look at Q, Q's hand falling from his head to the side of his face, "Tell no one about this." He ordered and glared, which didn't quite give the scary super spy effect he might have wanted, given how red his face was.

"No, no James. Don't worry," Q grinned impishly at James and stroked a thumb over his cheek, "this is definitely just for me."

James closed his eyes and huffed, then opened one striking blue eye to look at Q. "So, no chance to forget this Q, darling?"

Q, still grinning impishly at James, brought his hand down from where it was on James' back to his side. "Not a chance James," he said and began to lightly flutter his fingers on the sensitive skin.

"Not a chance."

#james bond #daniel craig james bond #007 #q james bond #00Q #00q fic #fanfiction #tickle fic

[weepingvoidpenguin]

Unfortunately Yours

Summary: When you and Bucky successfully infiltrate a HYDRA auction, you’re told to stay another day due to max capacity on the jet. But how are you going to survive a night alone with this insufferable Super Soldier? Especially considering the miniscule size of the room and the obvious dilemma presented; who gets the bed?

Warning: S M U T , the smuttiest thing I’ve ever written, language, spit kink, daddy kink, ptsd symptoms, slight voyeurism, slight exhibitionism, hate-s e x, rough, more like enemies-to-lovers kind of thing, gagging, m!receiving, f!receiving, lots of receiving lol, 18+, M

Word Count: 10.6K (Whhhyyyyy)

   Your body burned with exhaustion and the sheer weight of your extremities felt enough to drag you to the floor and mirror a coma with the length of your hibernation. You no longer had the minimal strength required to pick up your feet properly which resulted in the sound of shuffling to fill the small, and by small you meant miniscule, room you’d been assigned to. 

   Well, you and Bucky had been assigned to.

   You’d both played your parts well enough over the course of the last few hours. You’d sauntered into the ran-shacked looking bar with Bucky’s arm tossed lazily over your shoulder, his distaste for the assignment evident on his face, but he’d cleared it away the second his foot crossed the threshold. He pulled you in tighter to his body and raised his chin into the air, emitting the energy of a man not to be trifled with. You’d portrayed your role as a damsel just as, if not more, convincing as Barnes’ opposite. Your shoulders hunched over and your steps were small and quivering, the wig on your head a tool used to curtain the hair in your face. 

   You were the lamb to this White Wolf.

   Word had traveled through the dark and twisted grapevine that a certain showing of sorts took place tonight and a high-ranking target was rumored to be amongst its audience. You and Barnes were on the first flight to Germany within minutes.

   Bucky had pulled you through the crowd moving along to the thundering music in the background and halted at the edge of the bar. His grip on your shoulder tightened once he’d caught the man’s attention and you winced, his fingers digging a little too deep for your liking.

   The bartender scanned you over and took in your frame, making you feel smaller than you had already displayed yourself to be. It took him a while to conclude but when he took in Bucky’s domineering gaze, a look as if to say Deny me, I dare you, he nodded once and wrote something down on a napkin, sliding it over to Bucky.

   Scum. All of them. 

   You nearly blew your cover trying to throw Bucky a look but you refrained from the hellfire clawing its way out of you. You had to be perfectly in control, emotions and beliefs aside. You were a damsel and you had to make certain they believed that. You knew they were watching; they always were.

   “Relax,” Bucky hissed, pulling you under his arm and bringing his lips to your ear.

   “When you pretend you’re the one being put up for auction, then you can tell me to relax,” you muttered, never looking up from the ground.

   “I have been.” When you paused your movement, he pulled away to scan the room, “Nothing’s gonna happen to you. I promise.” He led you backstage and turned the corner to a dimly lit hallway, barren of any decoration in sharp contrast to every other section of the building, “Besides, once they realize how insufferable you are, they’ll be begging me to take you back,”

   He opened an iron door and pushed you into the room, sending you tumbling down onto the carpet. He tsked, stepping over you and not looking back after shutting the door behind himself. You counted thirteen pairs of feet and judging by the way some of them were turned towards you, they had to be watching. You observed your hands for a second, counting slowly until you figured you’d stalled long enough and sent your trembling gaze to the exit. Bucky let out a low chuckle and clasped his hand around your upper arm, launching you back onto your feet and twisting your body to face him.

   Oh, darling, German fluently escaped his tongue and you nearly rolled your eyes at the condescending tone settled in his words, You know better than that, don’t you?

   His hold tightened and you winced, holding back the whimper in your throat. If you saw any hint of a bruise forming on your arm, you would give him hell later . . . and possibly even if you didn’t.

   You bit your tongue and let him lead you towards a leather chair before he pulled you swiftly down onto his lap where his hand remained on your thigh, brushing the inside softly. Had you not been so annoyed, you’d have been humiliated at all the stares devouring the scene unfolding before them. 

   Good girl, he drawled and pressed your back flat up against his chest where he could put you on display.

   You knew you should’ve been annoyed, or at least settled so into your role as his temporary whore-for-sale that the sensation coming alive between your thighs shouldn’t have made an appearance. But sometimes, the way Bucky brought his voice down real low and cooed an insult or jest your way just had an affect that your body would not deny. It kept you awake a lot.

   Instead, you swallowed hard and let yourself be splayed against him. You ignored the scent of sandalwood in his cologne.

   Your body trembled from the cold breeze floating around in the room and you shifted in Bucky’s lap to block everyone’s sight from the way your chest reacted to the change in temperature.

   Don’t be shy, he murmured and removed your arms from your breasts, letting the thin, practically see-through fabric show you to the world.

   “Buc-” You started, your panic creeping through the cracks at the cheshire sneers sent your way, but at the first sign of your discomfort, he retracted his hands and twisted you around gently, throwing your legs over the side of the chair and spreading them but forcing your upper half to face him. Effectively, cutting your chest off from their line of sight.

   You trembled out a sigh and he grabbed your face tightly, drawing your eyes to his. He examined you, his hardened gaze shouting words he couldn’t currently say. But you understood. He could be a jerk, but he wasn’t a bad man.

   Your body instinctively leaned into him for warmth as another breeze engulfed you, resulting in a shiver that made its way up your spine. “Are they still looking?” you inquired and he gripped your neck with a ferocity that made you squirm in his lap. Fuck.

   He pulled your ear to his lips and licked the helix. You whimpered. “No,” he whispered, running his thumb along your jawline, “But if you don’t quit fucking squirming you’re gonna have a problem, Doll,”

   You opened your mouth in question when you felt a sudden twitch on your backside and you swallowed. Hard. He never broke eye contact with you, instead choosing to raise a brow in mocking. Your chest heaved up and down and how you could feel his breath grazing on your cheek almost had you rubbing your legs together for some form of desperate friction. No, you had to keep yourself composed, keep the act going. But he’d seen it. All of it.

   You nod your head and slowed your breathing down until he released his grip around your throat and turned his attention towards the dim stage. You leaned back into him and followed suit, making sure to keep your attention downcast and appear disheveled. 

   “There,” Bucky whispered after a few minutes and you lifted your head only to find the man you had come all this way for walking straight towards you.

   Like a moth to a flame.

   “How much?” The older man inquired, his grotesque gaze settled on your spread legs.

   Bucky looked up at the balding man as if this was the first time he’d noticed his presence, “I guess you’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?” 

   The man lifted his brow, or what would’ve been, and smiled wickedly, “I’ll give you double your price if you give her to me now,” he offered, his eyes slithering up to the apex of your thighs and this time you didn’t have to fake the shiver running up your spine. 

   A small smirk formed on Bucky’s face and he waved his hand dismissively at him, “Get in line,”

   The old man sneered but Bucky was right, most everyone had their attention fixated on what was happening currently and it was apparent there was, indeed, a line. 

   Bucky rested his gloved hand on your upper thigh and gripped tight, whether to refrain from hitting the guy or just to touch you, he wasn’t sure but he couldn’t keep you away when the man said, “I’ll give you four times the asking price but I want her now,” 

   Bucky’s grip on your thigh tightened and you squeaked at the pain, jumping slightly in his lap. “How about I give her to you for free for ten minutes and you tell me if you can handle her,”

   You jerked your head towards Bucky and furrowed your brows. Free? Dick. You nearly scoffed.

   The man gripped onto your calf and you shifted to kick his hand away when Bucky’s own shot out and and ripped his off of you, “Don’t touch my stuff,” he spit and the man let out a yell but that only spurred Bucky on and he tightened his fist, “Until terms are agreed upon, she remains mine to do with as I please. Understood?”

   The man nodded hastily and Bucky threw you off his lap when he stood up. “Anyone else?” Bucky shouted to the room, daring others to test his limits when it came to you. After a few moments of silence Bucky scoffed, “I didn’t fucking think so,”

   Bucky’s grip on the man remained and he stared down at the hunched figure, “Now, you,” he addressed and the room remained silent. This was allowed here. 

   Normally, merchandise couldn’t be touched until it was purchased. No buying before the auction, no discussing what you’re offering, no negotiating but most importantly don’t try to steal from anyone. These are criminals and that being said, they handle things amongst themselves. They know the rules and the risks they take breaking them.

   So, when Bucky drags the poor bastard away, you follow right behind him. Not a protest to be heard. Bucky throws open the door we entered through and finds the nearest room before chucking the HYDRA agent inside and locking the door behind you. 

   The room was brightly lit, with all four walls a dull cream color and dark brown couches strewn casually about. There’s no real order to this place. All cement corners and LED bulbs. Pure business. 

   “Let ‘em know,” Bucky orders and you turn around to argue only to find the man pulling a gun out of his jacket pocket.

   You jerk suddenly and kick Bucky square in the stomach, launching him towards one of the couches just as a shot rings out. You blanch at the sound, the noise filling your head and drowning everything else out. You hear yelling but you can’t make out the words, only the panic intermingled within them. Your hand reaches out around you and you grip the small button lined into your thin clothing, pressing it four times how you’d been instructed.

   Everything moved slowly and people began filing into the room. How did they get here so fast? No. It wasn’t possible, they were a quarter mile down the road, there was no way they were your backup. 

   Hands began flying in the air and you were picked up and dropped multiple times, each time landing harder than the last. You tried to blink back the spinning but the blows landing on your face and torso made it all the worse. 

   Instinctively, you threw your hands up to protect your face and fought to find some footing to help. Bucky was good but he wasn’t a God, he would need help. When the first blow met your forearms you reached out to grasp the hand and used your other to drive your fist right into the person’s nose. The bone crunched under your blow.

   You took a hit, then another when you managed to analyze the enemy’s fight pattern and waited until he left himself open before driving your knee into his rib cage. He bent over in pain and you grabbed him by the hair, hearing another crack when you shoved your elbow upwards against his nose. 

   You heard a shout and whipped your head over to see Bucky on his back, a looming figure with a gun aimed straight towards him. You galvanized towards them and threw yourself in the air, using your weight to kick him off of Bucky when another shot rang out. 

   Bucky shot up and crushed the gun with his metal arm. You scoured the room for the familiar HYDRA agent but found him nowhere. You shot out of the room, knocking into an opposing wall as you turned the corner and ducked when the sound of a bullet whizzed past you. 

   This is not going good. You had lost your target and rummaged through room after room until you’d become lost. Fuck. Where the hell did he run off to? You winced after breaking out into a sprint but pressed on, not allowing yourself to slow down. There was no way you were going to fail this mission, especially after coming so close to success.

   Sweat trailed down your face and your muscles screamed at you to halt, their exhaustion beginning to wear you down. Your breathing grew rapid and your vision blurred and just as you went to lean on a wall to rest, your shoulder exploded out in pain and you collapsed with a cry.

   “Dirty whore,” the HYDRA man seethed, a cane raised over his head. He brought it down and you spun to the side, feeling the air breeze past your ear.

   Your hand latched onto the cane and you shoved it into his gut, pushing him away. SHIELD wanted this guy alive, so alive they would receive him. That didn’t mean he had to come in one piece though. 

   You tore the walker out of his hand just as he tumbled onto his ass. You stood up, grunting along the way and hovered over his body, fear sprawled along his features. 

   “You can either stay still or get beat with your own cane, it’s your choice,” you offered, aching to bring the walker down onto his face. “Please test me. Please.” You begged.

   His gaze shifted between you and the weapon and he brought his trembling hands up in defeat. He must’ve been an agent of some Intelligence branch because his fighting abilities were evidently subpar at best.

   You sighed, sad to see the opportunity go but brought the cane down none the less. “That’s unfortunate,”

   You turned your attention to the sound of running coming around the corner and moved to drag and hide your captive in a nearby closet only to roll your eyes when Bucky came ‘round. You tossed the cane back and forth between your hands and smiled proudly towards the agent on the floor.

   “Look who I caught,” you toyed and were met with a grunt.

   “Only because you let him get away,” he retorted, pulling the balding man up to his feet.

   Everything began to slow and the hellfire you’d kept under mounds of ice had finally melted through its freezing cage. “What?”

   He turned his back towards you and trudged the hesitant man behind him towards the exit.

   “I said,” you hollered, not caring how the halls carried your echo, “What?”

   “I heard what you said,” he called back to you, not bothering to turn around.

   And there you were left, frozen and dumbfounded for five solid minutes before you could pull yourself together enough to stomp your way back towards the rendezvous point. You remained hazy for the most part while debriefing. You tried to recount everything but the way your anger engulfed you in its flame obscured your memory so you kept it short. 

   It was quickly brought up that SHIELD captured more HYDRA agents than expected and were gonna be at max capacity so you and Bucky had to stay at a base a few miles down the road. You grumbled in compliance but Bucky didn’t respond, not even a godforsaken grunt.

   What SHIELD had failed to mention though, was that this bunker was clearly meant for one. It barely counted as a room. There was a small bathroom in the corner just big enough for a shower and toilet. No sink. And a small counter with just enough space for a stove, microwave and radio. If you were to lay down vertically or horizontally you’d nearly be touching wall each way. Not to mention the singular bed.

   And that’s how you got to where you were now. Miniscule room. Exhausted body. Drained mind. Patience long gone. 

   You huffed and dropped your bag in front of the entrance before walking to the bathroom and turning to slam the door closed. You turned the faucet on and ripped the wig off, discarding your clothes in a pile before stepping into the shower. The warm water was nice and welcoming but your body already felt aflame so you twisted the knob and held your breath when the cold stream trickled down your body. It was difficult to breathe at first, but your body soon adjusted to the temperature and you began wiping the muck off your skin with the bar of soap supplied. But that’s all the was supplied. Clearly, this place was meant to be a quick pit stop. 

   You sat on the hard floor as the water streamed onto your body. You could nearly fall asleep to its rhythm; It was only when your head hit the wall that you realized you were so you begrudgingly stood up and shut off the water. You grabbed the only towel in the bathroom and pat yourself dry, noticing just then that you left your clothes outside.

   You let out a long sigh and twisted open the doorknob to find Bucky toying with the radio on the counter; not even purposefully, just looking for something to do while he waited. 

   You opened your mouth to ask him to hand you your bag but after what he said to you earlier you’d sooner eat hot coals than ask him to do anything for you. You stepped out of the bathroom, towel wrapped neatly around your chest and you bent over to open your bag. The shuffling on the radio stopped. 

   “You could’ve at least left me some warm water,” he grumbled and you rolled your eyes.

   You searched in your bag for the fresh clothes residing there only to turn around when you found them and have the bathroom door shut in your face. 

   “Are you fucking kidding me?” You shouted, pounding your fist against the door.

   You could hear the water running and you groaned, pounding harder. The door opened for a split second and you were hit in the face with the clothes you’d left inside only for it to instantly be slammed shut again.

   You punched the door with all the frustration built up over the past few hours and felt the wood crack with your force. Why did this man have to be incredibly baffling? You were not nearly paid enough to deal with such an unbearable partner. He would have you bald from stress before you knew it. 

   You spent the next few minutes grumbling to yourself after you changed and scribbled your frustration onto a small notebook you took with you everywhere. It was only when you heard the water shut off did you remember something. You still had the only towel. A villainous smirk tugged at your lips and you placed the folded towel on the edge of the bed, away from the door.

   Then you heard the creak. “I will walk out naked if you don’t give me the towel,” Bucky threatened.

   You shrugged despite him not being able to see you from your position on the bed, “I’ll just laugh at your dick,” 

   “You weren’t laughing earlier,” he shot back.

   Oh. So he did remember. Good. You thought he’d gotten amnesia within the past few hours, maybe he was just too ashamed to mention it.

   “Too disgusted to insult. Plus, I was playing a character,”

   “Fine,” he responded and quickly came into view, haughtily sauntering over to your side and you shouted.

   “Dear God!” You held the towel up to block your sight of his barren body. It was disgusting. He was all wet, hair dripping onto his muscled torso, water gleaming off his taut skin, 5 o’clock shadow drenched and straight out of a wet dream. Jesus.

   “Prude,” he commented, snatching the towel from your grasp and wrapping it around himself. 

   “Respectable,” you corrected, crossing your arms and shoving him away. “You get the floor,”

   He lifted his duffle off the ground and rummaged through it. “Then I get the blanket,”

   “You get fuck all,” you stated, flipping off the lamp beside you and snuggling into the warm cot.

   When the shuffling stopped and the bathroom light was shut off, you shut your eyes and let the wear of the day grab at you, lulling you into the beginning of slumber. That is, until the blanket was hauled from around you, damn near throwing you onto the floor. You shouted out and caught yourself last minute. 

   “Barnes!” You yelled, steadying yourself and reaching over the edge to grab the blanket back. Your hand fisted at the faux fur and you pulled with all your might to no avail. 

   He swatted you away as though you were a pesky fly and reached over to turn the light of the lamp on. You glowered at him and stood, wrapping the blanket around your arm and pulling upwards. Your arm strained to its capacity but the man on the floor didn’t budge. Only turned his back to you and shut his eyes. You reached over yourself and flipped the switch of the lamp, once again immersing yourself in the comforting darkness. 

   Bucky stiffened and opened his eyes then turned and froze you in your spot with his stare. He reached around and lit the lamp, slowly retracting his arm and daring you to turn it off again. So you did.

   He yanked the blanket from your grasp and threw you back onto the bed, bringing light into the room. “Light stays on,” he growled.

   “No! You’ve had your goddamn way since you stepped foot into this room. Light goes off and I get the blanket!” You shouted, not concerned about anyone else hearing considering the room was soundproof.

   “No. You get the bed so I get the blanket. Tell me how that doesn’t make sense,” he countered.

   You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of admitting that it did, in fact, make sense. The floor here was wooden and clearly uncomfortable, plus he hadn’t even argued about the bed situation. 

   You retreated, “Fine, light still goes off,”

   “No,” 

   “Yes,” 

   Silence fell between the two of you but you weren’t budging. Barnes had faced plenty of monsters, he could handle the dark. 

   “I need the noise to fall asleep,” he admitted and it was then you could hear the slight hum the bulb emitted.

   You didn’t speak for a while but reared back and pulled out your phone, “What do you want to listen to?” You scrolled through a few sounds you had stored on your phone, “We’ve got: nature sounds, frequencies, guided meditations, etc. You name it, but I’m not sleeping with this forsaken light on,”

   Bucky studied you, his expression changing a mile a minute but the one of indifference conquered, “Rain,” 

   You nodded once and selected the audio, placing the phone face up on the nightstand and turning the light off for the last time. Hopefully. You hunkered down into the thin mattress and reached down, grasping at the thick blanket. When you pulled, there was some give. He’d let you get just enough needed to cover your body if you laid at the very edge and your hand hovered in the air when you laid your arm over the side.

   Minutes flew by with your eyes shut and the exhaustion slithered over your body but your mind ran wild with the events from earlier. You tried not to get angry or sad or . . . bothered. Your breathing deepened when you began to succumb to your body’s fatigue and you drifted inch by inch into the welcoming void lulling your name.

   You didn’t hear when he shifted, only managed to register the faint tracing of his fingertips on your hand before finally giving out.

   You weren’t sure what time it was when you opened your eyes for the first time that night. This regularly happened. You’d wake up multiple times during the night to shift positions or throw off the sheets, no matter how insignificant the desire, your body always found a way to wake you for it.

   You opened your eyes slowly to a hazy vision and blinked at the sitting figure on the floor, “Bucky?” You croaked, bringing a hand up to wipe at your face, “What time is it?”

   “It’s almost one, go back to sleep,”

   “What are you doing?” You persisted, ignoring his demand and sitting up slowly, “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

   “Couldn’t,” 

   A heartbeat. Then another. And another. He didn’t care to elaborate.

   “Do you want the bed?” You offered, stretching yourself out and already placing yourself down on the floor, “It’s too hot up there, anyway,”

   His attention turned to you for the first time but you’d already began closing your eyes, not really having the energy to argue with him. You could hear shuffling from his spot and the ground disappeared below you, strong hands grasping your body and lifting you up to place you gently back onto the cot.

   “I prefer the floor,” he insisted, wrapping the blanket around you, “Besides, you’re a horrendous liar,”

   You didn’t hold back the singular chuckle, your haze still enveloping you. “Then why aren’t you sleeping?”

   He sat at the foot of the bed, his hand hovering over your leg in hesitation, “It’s complicated.” He dropped his hand to his side.

   “Isn’t the rain helping?” you mumbled, your sight now adjusting to the dark.

   “Yes,”

   “Then what?” 

   “I just . . . don’t want to wake you,”

   “Well, I’m already awake if that makes you feel better,” you jeered, a small smile forming on your lips.

   “It doesn’t,”

   “Nothing does,” you retorted, the inevitable annoyance you always felt when conversing with him already made its way up into your tone.

   He scoffed and stood from the bed, placing himself in the same spot on the floor with his head leaned up against the wall and his arm resting on his perched knee. 

   “Oh, so now you can’t handle a little attitude,” your tone came out incredulous, “You didn’t have any issues earlier when you blamed me for that guy’s escape. Which, he didn’t even get to do, might I add,”

   “I was projecting,” he replied, gaze still focused on the door opposite to him.

   You blinked, “Are you so tired that you’re actually admitting to being a dick?”

   “I know I can be a dick, but you threw yourself straight into the line of fire twice today. So I don’t really give a shit if I was mean to you,”

   “I only did that because you almost got shot twice today. Don’t take your anger out on me for your incompetence. Just say ‘thank you’ and move on already,”

   “Incompetence?” His head jerked in your direction. “What was incompetent was that you couldn’t keep yourself composed,”

   You sat up. “What in the hell are you talking about? My behavior is what got our target to basically give himself up to us! It was me that trapped him, not you!” His composure tensed and you crossed your arms over your chest, “You’re just mad your dick got hard so if anything you’re the one who couldn’t keep their compos-” His hand was wrapped around your throat and you were pinned to the mattress before you could finish your sentence.

   “Shut the fuck up,” he hissed at you, his face mere inches from yours.

   “Why?” You spoke hoarsely around his tightening grip, “Does the Big Bad Wolf not like that he was turned on? Who’s the prude now?”

   “Turned on?” He spat, his free hand resting by your head to cage you in, “You think what you did earlier turned me on?”

   You grasped at the hand around your throat and pried slightly to speak, “Fight me or fuck me, Barnes. But stop lying to yourself, it’s getting old,”

   The room seemed to freeze over and Bucky paused. His hesitation was enough to elicit the fire from earlier and your legs squirmed a little underneath him. God, you hoped he chose the latter.

   Then his lips crashed against yours. 

   You squeaked at the sudden onslaught but threw your arms around his shoulders and pulled him in tighter against you. He dropped when you intertwined your legs, his full weight pressing against you deliciously. You ground up against him, your core aching from the previous hours and the small friction elicited a moan from the both of you. 

   “So impatient,” he scolded, bringing the hand from around your throat down to your hips and pressing you into the bed. “What a whore,”

   His breath danced along your cheek and you mewled at his words. Gods, he was going to be the death of you. Or the beginning. 

   You breathed in deeply, his sandalwood scent intoxicating you in a manner that alcohol never could. When you drank, you were just drunk. But when you took a sip from the tall glass that was Bucky, it brought you to life. Your body sang melodies wherever you were plastered against each other and your skin burned with need.

   Touch me, your body screamed, touch me.

   “Fuck off,” you groaned and Bucky jerked your head to the side, exposing your neck for him to scavenge.

   The goosebumps that danced across your skin when he ran his warm tongue up from the curve of your neck to the bottom of your ear brought an arrogant smirk onto Bucky’s face. You ran your fingers through his hair and tugged when he reached a particularly sensitive spot that had your legs shaking when he kissed it sloppily. 

   Your mouth hung open in silent pleasure and your breaths were short and rapid, your body betraying all forms of control you previously had over yourself. The hand that wasn’t residing in his hair trailed down his muscled arm and you gripped at the brawn this man possessed. His skin reminisced lightly of silk despite the rough texture of his hands. 

  The same hands that now made its way into your hair and tugged at the strands at the base of your neck, jolting your chin higher into the air. Your grip tightened around his biceps and the strength they emitted sent a pool rushing to your core. You continued hunting until you found the hem of his black, cotton shirt and you made your way up his taut abdomen. You let out a sigh and he jumped lightly at the sensation of your cool fingertips across his scorching skin. It was a nice contrast for him. 

   You gripped at the shirt and hastily ripped the cotton upward. Bucky broke away from his descent down to your chest to let you remove the fabric and you’d suddenly wished you’d turned the lights on first. He mimicked your action and tossed your shirt in a deserted corner of the room to potentially be abandoned. You gasped when the cold air of the room grazed upon the perked mounds of your breasts. 

   His lips returned to their spot on the dip of your neck and his tongue slithered down in between your breasts. Your breath hitched when his wet muscle made its way up to the apex of your chest. His right hand mirrored his tongue and swirled around your nipple, his teeth pulling eagerly every so often and you hissed at the delectable pain. Your eyes devoured the scene unfolding on your chest and you reached over to flick the light on, desperate for a clearer image.

   Bucky halted and his metal arm reached over to switch the light back off but you swatted his hand away and he backed up lightly, his irritation evident on his face.

   “I want to watch,” you grumbled and shifted up to bring your lips back up to his. He let you. He pushed back lightly with his own lips and leaned in sync with your movements. He parted his mouth slightly and you followed suit, letting him lead his way into yours with the same muscle he’d just had flicking across your breasts.

   The light went off.

   You pushed him away and shot towards the switch but metal met your wrist firmly enough to keep you in place. “Bucky.” You wrestled against his hold and turned your full attention back to the figure hovering above, “I want to see you,” 

   Despite the darkness, you noticed his mouth twitch but his grip on your wrist remained solid. You sprawled back onto the bed and wrapped your free hand around the back of his neck and pulled him down onto you, pressing his surprisingly soft lips onto yours. You broke apart, his lips a hair’s breadth away from your own. “I want to see you,” 

   He didn’t move, only scanned your face over a few times and you brought him back down into a kiss. This one wasn’t like before. This one was warm, soft, patient. A ballet compared to its previous mosh pit. He danced along with you, an admission hidden somewhere in his tenderness.

   You hadn’t realized you’d been freed of his hold until you were wrapping that arm over his shoulder and the sound of a light humming began.

   “Fucker,” you jeered and the previous gentleness dissipated.

   “Shut up,” he ordered, pinning you back onto the bed and resumed his ministration on your breasts.

   The moan slipped past your lips at the sight and your chest heaved upwards, desperate for more stimulation. You licked your lips at how his mouth encased your nipple, his tongue flicking against the perked skin and you dropped your head back, shutting your eyes. You centered all of your attention anywhere that his bare skin touched your body and rubbed your aching clit against his v-line. 

   Your chest was pressed against the mattress before you could register what happened and the hard smack that met your ass evoked a yelp. Bucky pressed fully against your backside and he ground his dick down into your ass. He groaned at the sensation and you raised your ass onto him. You yelped again when Bucky ripped your leggings down and smacked the exposed skin on your ass.

   “Try something like that again and I’ll gag you around my cock ‘til you’re crying,” he growled, “Understood?”

   You nodded, wide-eyed and a mewling mess from the threatening promise of this God. 

   “Good girl,” he cooed, rubbing at the raw skin. “Now stay still for Daddy,”

  Bucky’s hand lingered on your reddening ass and the mattress dipped when he shifted to your side. He traced gentle circles onto your backside and pressed his lips on your shoulder blade, the butterfly kisses making their way down towards your spine and then lower. Your breathing grew uneven from the sheer amount of restraint you displayed. Your grip on the edge of the bed tightened when his tongue dragged from the point where your thigh and ass met all the way up to the bottom of your spine.

   “Fuck,” You shuddered, white-knuckling the blanket beneath you.

   Your skin blazed when you were met with another harsh slap. You mewled at the sensation, loving the fire that spread across your flesh and relaxed when his metal hand cooled the area. 

   Then his teeth bit into the cooling flesh and you jerked away despite yourself. Bucky tsked lowly and you chuckled at the hint of fear sprouting in your chest; you did not want to see whatever sinister expression resided on his face. 

   A strong hand gripped the roots of your hair and hauled you up. You followed his direction and knelt onto the ground between Bucky’s sprawled out legs, settling in your new position.

   “Oh, Doll,” he chastised, “you were so close,”

   “That shouldn’t count,” you retorted while Bucky pulled the blanket off the bed and lifted you up with his metal arm, shoving the barrier between your knees and the hard ground.

   “But it does.” His hands dove into his underwear and sprung his cock out onto your lips. “Now get to work,”

   Your eyes widened at the sight before you and you had to physically hold back from gulping. You were ashamed to admit your mouth watered in anticipation. You lifted your hands from his sculpted thighs and wrapped them around his length, enveloping just the tip past your parted lips. Bucky sighed and twitched in your mouth.

   You welcomed him in fully, or as much as you could anyway, and got straight to work, not bothering to act abashed at your desire. Your tongue swirled around his tip and you leaned into him until he hit the back of your mouth but you continued on, gagging around him when he’d gotten inside your throat. Bucky groaned when your throat tightened around him and he threw his head back, using his flesh hand to guide you up and down his shaft, showing you what he liked and didn’t. 

   “Fuck, Doll,” he groaned, “Just how I imagined your mouth would feel,”

   You pulled off him to comment when he shoved you all the way down to the hilt and you threw your hands up onto his thighs to hold yourself back. He used his metal arm to hold himself up and thrusted up into your salivating mouth desperately. He continuously hit the back of your throat and thick saliva coated his cock. Just as he promised, tears prickled at the corners of your eyes and he didn’t stop until your cheeks were drenched in the liquid.

   You let your jaw hang open, your tongue no longer swiveling around meticulous spots that you knew would make his legs buckle. No, you let him have the reigns. Let him fuck your mouth ‘til your throat grew bruised and jaw ached with fatigue. You committed his cries of pleasure to memory, the sounds euphoric to your ears. 

   He lifted his head and stared down at you with half-closed eyes. He was in heaven and you knew it. He watched you, how the tears trailed down, how your hands gripped at his thighs, how you stuck out your tongue just as you’d made it to the base of his cock to lick his balls in the most intoxicating way. Fuck. You were the intoxicating one. You brought out this side of him. This carnal desire that became him until he’d had to step out of the room just to compose himself. And he didn’t like being out of control. That’s why he always kept you at an arm’s distance.

   But now, watching as you sat between him with your mouth agape like the good girl that you were for him, he knew he’d never deny himself this pleasure again. Especially since you were so fucking good at it.

   He groaned, pulling you off his cock and grabbed tightly at your cheeks, nearly pinching your mouth together. “Tongue out.” He growled, waiting for your compliance.

   Your jaw ached with exhaustion but you managed to stick out the wet muscle as he pulled you closer into him and watched when he parted his lips above you, letting the saliva trail down from his mouth into yours. 

   “Swallow,” he ordered.

   But it was already done, and you left your mouth hanging open for more.

   “Jesus fucking Christ,” Bucky grumbled, putting his face right up against yours and feeding you once again; this time with a sloppy kiss that coated both your mouths in saliva.

   He brought you up from the floor and tossed you onto the bed before settling between your legs. The excitement in your eyes grew and he indulged in every minute of it. Bucky’s hand trailed down from your lower abdomen right above your pubic bone and pressed his palm into your neglected clit. The cry you let out was the unholiest thing he’d ever heard. 

   He slid his finger under the waistband of your underwear and flitted his gaze back up to your eyes, “Can I?”

   You nodded eagerly, dumbfounded that he would even ask and fought the temptation to grab your phone from the nightstand and record everything that was about to unfold. 

   At the first nod, Bucky slid your underwear down your legs and made a show of bringing the material up to his face. Your own went red hot and you hid behind your hands, poking through every millisecond to shamefully watch. He threw the panties into his open duffel and you squirmed in anticipation.

   “Remember the rules?” Bucky asked, brow lifted and already descending to your inner thigh.

   You nodded again.

   “I need to hear it, Doll,” he mumbled, kissing the inner part of your thigh, each placement closer and closer to where you needed him most.

   “Yes,” you whimpered out, “I remember the rules,”

   Bucky wanted to dive right in, he really did, but the way you sprawled yourself out so vulnerable for him, it incited a new pace that he wanted to follow. So, he did. He looked at you for a few moments, watched how the anticipation danced in your eyes, how your legs shook in wait and how you were already so goddamn wet for him.

   “This all for me?” he teased, mesmerized at your desire for him.

   You dropped a hand down to your side, near where his hands were wrapped around your thighs to keep you in place - and against his face. He cocked his head to the side, waiting for your answer.

   You nodded sheepishly and when he lifted an eyebrow in mock confusion you said, “You. Just you,”

   Like music to his ears. Just him. You weren’t for anyone else. He thought he felt his heart palpitate.

   He lowered himself down to your core and kissed your lip, drawing a desperate plea from you. You couldn’t wait anymore, couldn’t deal with the teasing. You were wet enough, needy enough, ready enough to take him, all of him. You’d been ready damn near the moment you first laid eyes on his arrogant smirk.

   “Buck - please,” you cried, drawling out the final word.

   The first kiss placed upon your soaked cunt erupted a sigh of relief and you laid back on the pillow, your eyes closed and mind gone with the sensation of those sloppy kisses blessing your needs. He flattened his tongue on your lips and licked upwards, stopping when your hips twitched into his mouth.

   “Sorry!” You apologized, fighting the desire to grind into his wet muscle. He’d just gotten started and you certainly didn’t want it to end so soon.

   He lifted his gaze up to you and you bit into your fist at the view, using the extremity to hold back your moans. He flicked his attention down again and repeated his motion, lapping at your fluids ‘til his beard was soaked in it. He shook his head into your cunt and his nose rubbed along your clit. The mewling that left your mouth urged him on and when you felt his muscle prodding at your entrance you threw your head back.

   “Please, Bucky.” You begged, bringing a hand up to tease your nipple.

   He prodded some more, his tongue gliding up from your clit and back down to your entrance, poking through enough to frustrate you. He wanted you to break for him. To lose all composure and control and just let him. He wanted you to submit to him but it wasn’t just that, it was more that he wanted to destroy you for any future experience you may have without him. He wanted you to come back to him, to need him, to beg for him and leave you with the understanding that nothing - no one - could compare to him. He wanted you. To himself. 

   So, when he could no longer refrain and had to use his metal arm to hold your hips down from squirming beneath him, he slipped two thick, rough fingers into your begging cunt. And the sound you emitted caused that carnal instinct to claw at the barriers caging it in.

   Your hand shot down, tangling itself into his hair and pushing him harder against you. He allowed it. Your thighs held him in place, crushing him with your soft skin and he groaned at the warmth you gave off. You pulled your hand away from your mouth and grabbed at his metal one resting on your pubic bone, pulling it up to your chest and wrapping his fingers on the sensitive bud for him to tease. He slowly retracted from your chest and brought it back down onto your hips and you huffed in annoyance. You looked down at Bucky but his eyes were shut, completely engrossed in the feast before him. You bucked when his fingers glazed across that sensitive spot inside your velvety walls.

   “There!” You cried, your fist tightening in his hair when the all-too-familiar wave of ecstasy began to pool together, waiting for its release.

   Bucky complied, dragging the pads of his fingers up against that spot over and over again. Your legs caged him in tighter as his tongue swirled over the hyper-sensitive bundle of nerves and you cried out at the way your body tensed.

   “Fuck,” you cried, your hands desperately grasping onto Bucky’s metal wrist and tugging at the roots of his hair. Bucky’s groan of pleasure was what tipped you over the edge.

   You gasped when the pool building released, your body shaking with euphoria and the flood crashed down onto you. And apparently, onto Bucky as well. He pulled his mouth away but continued rubbing at your clit when warm liquid squirted onto his face and his expression of surprise mirrored your own.

   When Bucky looked up at you, your face burned with embarrassment and you threw your head back, using your hand to cover your countenance. Not to mention the sight of him with your juices all over his mouth was one of the hottest things you’d ever witnessed.

   Bucky chuckled at your sheepish apology and removed your hand from your face, bringing his soaked mouth up to yours and having you taste yourself. You devoured each other, your arms wrapped tightly around the other, pulling so fiercely at the innate desire to become one in shared pleasure. He could feel his pride swell at your hidden confession. You’d never squirted before and he was lucky enough to be the one to give you that experience for the first time. 

   You clawed at him, divulging in the warmth his body radiated and intoxicating yourself in everything that was Bucky. You couldn’t get enough of it, of him. It was nearly too much.

   His hand trailed up to your gaping mouth and he inserted his fingers, “Clean them,” he ordered.

   Your hand gripped his wrist and pulled his fingers deeper into your mouth, never breaking eye contact with him, loving the way he ate up everything he was seeing. You noticed the way he swallowed.

   He retracted his hand and wrapped it gently behind your head so you were resting on him. He brought his full weight down onto your body and a warmth emanated in your chest when he brought his lips up against your forehead, each kiss closer and closer to your lips until they met their destination. When you parted your mouth against his, it wasn’t merely an action of carnal desire, it was like you were exchanging life forces. Merging and meeting in a manner that had your body exploding and crying out for more of the faint familiarity. Like seeing an old friend for the first time in years.

   Bucky looked down between your bodies at where you were about to connect before staring back up at you, taking you in as if he would never have this opportunity again. His thumb brushed your cheek and came to a rest on your bottom lip. “Ready?”

   You chuckled, “Fuck me,”

   He shoved inside in one clean motion and a breath of pleasure slid past both of your lips.

   “Fuck,” he groaned, his hand tightening slightly around your neck and he pulled out slowly then shot back inside and you moaned.

   You were still so sensitive from your previous climax that every brush against your clit sent you into a whirlwind of pleasure, the sensations shooting through every nerve in your body. 

   “Bucky,” you whined when his pace quickened and the sheer force of his thrusts drove you deeper into euphoria.

   He filled you just right, his girth and length impressive and you wondered why you hadn’t tried to screw him earlier. He slid past your tight walls, each thrust causing the room to echo with the sounds of skin slapping and moans of ecstasy. 

   He kept his actions controlled, not wanting to build up to something so intense just for it to fall short and end fast. No. Despite how good you felt wrapped around his aching and swollen cock, despite how warm and welcoming you were, how you spread yourself out for him to consume, he had to leash himself. This was going to be just as good for you as it was for him. 

   He kissed you one last time before gripping the back of your knees and bringing your thighs up to your chest, a shout of praise falling off your lips. He was drunk on the sight of his cock going in and out of your cunt and he threw his head back with a groan.

   “What a fucking pretty pussy,” he breathed out and you whimpered, biting your lip at the welcome profanities.

   At this angle, he was fucking against your g-spot and using his pubic bone to rub against your clit and watching the thin layer of sweat sheen off his skin was all too much to keep yourself put together. His eyebrows scrunched together and you caught him taking in your form, watching how your pleasure displayed itself on your face for him to bear witness to. Only him.

   He growled at the intrusion of thoughts that came to him. He pictured someone else in his position, someone else witnessing you so vulnerable and open to them, someone else fucking you and making you beg for them. It disgusted him. He brought his torso down and latched his teeth to your neck, biting down hard enough to have you tearing up.

   “Mine,” he growled into your ear and lulled his head forward when you tightened around him.

   A sinister smirk came to his face and he licked the shell of your ear, your breathy moans feeding him, “You like that?” He asked, pistoling further into your cunt and you shouted at the increase of pace, “You like when I tell you who you belong to?”

   Your mouth hung agape and the one arm wrapped around his shoulder pulled him closer to you, your desperation for his warmth taking control. “Fuck . . . off,” you hissed between breaths.

   He pulled out and yanked you up by your hair, twisting you around and pressing your torso into the wall but keeping your ass propped up for him to admire. You hissed at the pain when a sharp smack met your ass and your hands gripped at the wall for any way to ground yourself and prevent from becoming putty in his hands.

   Another hard smack met your ass and you lurched forward to get away from the sting. Bucky kept your head pinned to the cement, his hand holding your cheek from scraping the wall but applying a pressure that had your tongue lolling out of your mouth. 

   You moaned at the intrusion in your pussy and he plummeted in and out, a mix of your grunts and groans bouncing around the room. His pace constantly changed. One second it was fast, the next it was slow but filling, going so far as to hit your cervix a few times and leave you a crying mess under his hold. Your shoulder scraped along the wall and you fought to push away only to have your chest slammed harder against the cement.

   You brought a hand out, reaching behind yourself and grasping for Bucky’s hip, pushing him deeper into you when he slowed. Your nails dug into his flesh and the sound of his hiss shot straight to your core. 

   “What a goddamn whore,” he spat, bringing his teeth down onto your neck and you gripped at his hair.

   You laughed at his statement, “You’re the one that can’t get enough of this pussy. Why so desperate to claim it? Afraid I'll fuck someone else?” Bucky pulled you back and slammed you against the wall with vigor, causing you to flinch

   He stopped his thrusts altogether, “My patience only goes so far, Doll,” he threatened, tugging at your hair and you bit back a cry, “Choose your words wisely,”

   You nodded hastily, the rough texture of the wall digging into your cheek and splitting skin. You wriggled up against him to continue moving but he retracted completely and flipped you over so he was laying on the bed and you were straddling him.

   “Move,” he ordered, his hands digging bruises into your waist.

   You leaned over, pressing your chest against his to lift your hips up and down on him but he pushed you back up and held your arms behind your back to keep you in place. You whimpered but the cry quieted when you rubbed your clit against him and your pussy clenched at the friction. You moaned out a breathy fuck and swiveled your hips around his, noting how much deeper he filled you in this position.

   “Buck-” you huffed, eyes glued to the glistening abs beneath you. “I’m gonna cum,”

   “Already?” He jeered, an eyebrow raised in amusement.

   You’d lost all energy to sneer at him, your focus solely on how the sensation grew and began pooling in your cunt. “Cock . . . so good,” you breathed out, barely able to keep yourself from melting into him.

   “What was that, Doll?” He stilled your movements and you groaned in annoyance.

   You wriggled in his hold and you could tell by the furrow of his brow that he was fighting to keep control as well. You leaned over him, your lips hovering over his, “Mine,”

   His grip flew to the back of your neck and he crashed your lips onto his, giving you full reign again. You bounced your hips on his dick, slamming down vigorously and rubbing your clit in effect. It didn’t take long for your climax to build again.

   “’M gonna . . .” you whispered and Bucky placed you back up, gripping your hips and swiveling you around how you were earlier.

   “Cum, Doll,” he allowed, “Cum all over this cock,”

   You cried out, your toes curling as the dam in your core snapped and your climax washed over you. You hadn’t realized your fingers were intertwined with Bucky's until you came back down from your high, your chest heaving for breath.

   He sat up slowly and pressed his lips against your neck. “You’re beautiful,”

   Your body tensed at his words and you pulled away to give him a look of confusion. But he didn’t take his statement back, only slipped his hands around your back and gently placed you onto the bed, hovering over you.

   He moved with caution, like his gentleness might scare you off if he touched you too tenderly or stared too long in admiration. But he couldn’t help it, he did admire you.

   He spread your legs open and nestled between them, pushing into you slowly until your hips met and you both breathed out. His movements weren’t nearly as brutal as they were earlier, these thrusts were slow and deep and full of intention. He brought his torso down onto yours and you wrapped your legs around his waist, bringing him closer to you.

   He ran his hand, the only one he allowed himself to touch you affectionately with, through your hair and stared down at you, waiting. His gaze shifted between your lips to your eyes and he ran his thumb delicately along your mouth.

   You looked at him then, really looked at him with fresh eyes and your heart leapt into your throat at the realization. “Kiss me,” you whispered and he lowered himself onto your lips, setting off an explosion in your chest.

   “I’m yours,” he whispered, not able to bring himself to look at you, “I’ve been yours,”

   You opened your mouth to respond but he silenced you with a deep thrust and a moan erupted instead. He quickened his pace, watching where you connected and pushed deeper and harder, your cries of pleasure driving him. He had to fuck you, he couldn’t love you, he couldn’t make love to you, just fuck. That’s it. He couldn’t allow himself to replay your look of shock at his confession, though the scene would surely be on loop for the next few days until he could get over it. Just fuck. Nothing more. Not with that look of disbelief on your face.

   He held himself up with his forearms but you pressed him against you and wrapped your legs tighter around him. “Harder,” you whispered and he complied.

   He groaned when your tits bounced and brought his mouth to a nipple, the faint taste of sweat lingering on your skin. You brought his metal hand up to your chest and made him grip the flesh there but he pulled it back and placed it beside your head instead.

   “Bucky,” you whimpered and grabbed his hand again, bringing his open palm up to your lips and placing delicate kisses on the metal. “You can feel with it, right?”

   He nodded, hesitance sprawled on his face.

   “Then touch me,” you urged, bringing the hand down between your bodies and pressing the cold metal against your clit, “Feel me,”

   His brows furrowed slightly but the look of your certainty forced him to dismiss his own perceptions of his body; or rather, that arm. And when he began rubbing circles into your bundle of nerves the expression on your face made him hate it a little less. Only a little.

   You stared up at him, his pace growing erratic and sloppy and you knew he was close. “You wanna cum?” 

   He nodded, his hot breath coming out haggard and strained. You placed your hand on his cheek and brought him up to your kiss.

   “Then cum,” 

   He shook his head, “You first,” he swirled his finger around your swollen clit and you gasped at the force of his thrust.

   Your body tensed and you centered all your focus on his ministrations, “A little more pressure,” you directed and he quickly found a pressure that had you wobbling in the knees. “Close,” you murmured, gripping Bucky’s side and bringing your lips up to his neck to pepper the skin there.

   He groaned and judging by the way his dick twitched inside you, you knew he wasn’t far behind. 

   “Bucky,” you whispered, pulling his attention towards you and his gaze brought you closer to the edge, “I’m yours,”

   He blinked and his pace faltered for half a beat. He examined your facial expression, like he didn’t believe the words you’d spoken. Not like he couldn’t believe them, but like you’d said them just to appease him. 

   You placed your forehead against his, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath to center yourself in the haze of this fucking. “Yours,” you repeated, all the emotion residing in your chest poured into the singular word. 

   And then he was back to drilling you into the mattress, a new vigor fueling his thrusts. You cried out and Bucky pressed his sweaty torso flat against your own and it felt like the essence, the being, in your chest intermingled with his own and all the climaxes you’d previously experienced couldn’t hold a match to the flame, the intensity, the rawness of the one that washed over the both of you in that moment.

   Bucky moaned out, his hips bucking into yours and you rode out both of your highs. The sensation consuming and overwhelming and welcome on both ends as it flooded through your bodies, meeting at your point of contact.

   His arms flexed above you with the ferocity of his climax and the display had you writhing beneath him, already desperate for more.

   “Buck,” you whispered when his breathing evened out after he collapsed onto you.

   He didn’t respond, afraid it had all been a dream, a trick, despite still being inside you. He didn’t want to move, didn’t want to shatter the perfection of this moment. What if you’d only said that to get him to finish faster? What if you’d only fed him what he wanted to hear? What if-

   “Buck,” you repeated, pulling him from his daze and he lifted his head only slightly. You gripped his chin lightly and forced him to look you in the eye. “You’re . . . mine?”

   He wanted to shake his head, to tell you that he got caught up in the moment but instead he said, “Yours,” because he knew anything else would be a lie and he was tired of lying.

   You studied him and nodded, “Yours,” you stated, already rolling your eyes from the smirk forming on his face, “Unfortunately,”

   He brought your face to his and planted a tender kiss on your lips. He started shifting his position and grabbed the underwear he’d been wearing earlier before pulling out and using the cloth to clean the mess pooling out of you. But not before taking a mental picture, of course. 

   After a few minutes of laying together, his hand playing with a few strands of hair, you felt the warm welcome of sleep beginning to drag you into its embrace. You opened your eyes groggily and looked up at Bucky who was already looking down at you, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

   “I know about your night terrors,” you whispered and his actions halted momentarily before returning to brush through your hair, “I hear you sometimes. And I understand why you don’t want to go to sleep but,” you sat up slowly and placed the thick blanket down on the floor, dragging the pillow down with you and patting the open space beside you, “you should rest. I’ll be here to calm you or stay up with you. Whichever one you need,”

   He didn’t move at first, his ears drowning out any thought he could have while processing what you’d said. He’d stayed silent so long you’d thought you’d crossed a line.

   “I can always sleep on the bed if you’d prefer, though,”

   Bucky shook himself from his thoughts and edged closer to the floor, slowly descending into the available space and wrapping the blanket around the both of you as much as he could. “No,” he said, “I want you here,”

   You hummed in response and snuggled into his waiting arms, lightly wrapping your own around him, making sure to kiss the part of himself he hated the most before fatigue swept you up into its clutches. Bucky followed soon after. 

#SMUT #bucky #Bucky Barnes #barnes #james #James Buchanan Bucky Barnes #james buchanan barnes #the winter soldier #the white wolf #fluff #enemies to lovers #love #hate #one-shot #one shot #imagine #imagines #x reader #x you #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky imagine #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x imagines #the winter soldier x you #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier #yn #y/n

[hertzwritings]

Yes, professor part 4

A/N: You are all horny goblins and I love it, because so am I. This is not going to be a story with a lot of plot, just… So much smut. Not sorry. This one is both BDSM heavy and SO SO SO SO SO dirty, so please, read with caution! We’ve got suspension, double play, gagging… All of the good (bad?) stuff. Also I’m not going to apologize for the length, y’all are filthy (like me).

Anyway, feedback feeds the soul and requests are always open! Nothing is off limits!

I also have to give the BIGGEST shoutout to @cooldreamlandsandwich who made an edit for me that made me clasp my pearls and inspired a big part of this chapter. HOLY HELL.

MASTERLIST

SERIES MASTERLIST

ASK ME ANYTHING/REQUESTS

Pairing: Cap. Syverson x reader (and surprise guest, August Walker)

Warnings: Smut, MINORS DNI (please), gagging, oral (M and F receiving), fingering, anal, dom/sub, double play, suspension, ropeplay, toys, cream pies, breathplay, BDSM, nippleclamps, language

Wordcount: 5.246 (not sorry)

Yes, baby

You couldn’t help the slight smirk on your lips as you watched Sy walk back and forth in front of the class, his large thighs being the sole focus of your eyes; it should be illegal to look like that when teaching. You felt Annalise bump her knee against yours and you turned to her. “Hm?” “Stop drooling.” She hissed with a knowing grin. “You’re literally slobbering over him.” “Oh, shut up.” You felt your cheeks heat up but couldn’t help yourself as you turned to face him again, biting your lip as his eyes found yours. He raised his eyebrows in a silent warning. “Now, boys and girls, we’re getting’ close to the break, so I’m going to try to avoid givin’ y’all too much shit to do.” He stated, leaning against his desk. You heard the slight exhale of the group of students. “I’m feeling charitable, so all I’m going to ask is that you read up on the cold wars effects on modern war, and we’ll leave it at that.” He checked his watch.

“Let’s call it a day, I’m not in the mood to look at your sad faces anymore.” He said with a smirk. “Enjoy the break, kiddos!” He yelled over the bustle of people packing up. His eyes fell on yours. “Are you going to do stuff over the break?” Annalise looked devious and squinted at you. You rolled your eyes. “Maybe, maybe not.” “You’re a shitty liar, you know. Have fun with the hunk of man, Y/N!” She whispered playfully and grabbed her things, winking at you, before she left hurriedly. You glanced at Sy, who was talking to a girl – Maisy – at his desk. He looked wildly uninterested in her, as she leaned over and pushed her chest out, clearly trying to get something out of him.

“Professor, I just really need some help understanding the full depth…” She tried and he looked up at her with a cold stare. “Darlin’, unless you want me to tell the board what you’re trying to imply, I’d suggest you leave.” She huffed, her face falling. “But…” “No buts. Have a fun break.” You slowly gathered your things, trying to seem inconspicuous as Maisy walked past you with narrowed eyes. “It won’t work, whatever you’re thinking.” She mumbled. “I’m not thinking anything. Just packing.” You answered with a tight smile. She rolled her eyes and left, the door closing with a loud bang behind her. Sy quickly went over to the door and locked it, sighing deeply.

“Goddamn needy kids.” He groaned, locking eyes with you. A smile, one, you hadn’t really gotten used to yet graced his lips. You smiled back and stuffed your things into your bag. “But not you, you’re my needy girl, aren’t you?” he said in a low voice, walking slowly to you. You bit your lip – how the hell could he make you feel like this with a simple sentence? “Yes, sir.” You whispered. He was in front of you, filling the space around you completely, and his giant hand found your chin, nudging your face up. He smirked. “Any plans for the break, baby?” He asked softly, keeping you locked in position in front of him. “Nope.” You popped the P and looked into his eyes. “None whatsoever.” He hummed, his thumb stroking your cheek. “Wanna get plans?” You smiled. “With you?” you asked slowly. “For more than a night?” He nodded, his lips slowly getting closer to yours. “Mhhm. Maybe even the entire week.” You sighed against his lips, as he pressed them gently to yours. “An entire week with you?” You whispered, letting your hands find purpose against his neck. “Yeah, baby.” He kissed you softly. “If you want.” You fell into the kiss and got lost in the feeling of his lips and stubble on you. “When should I be ready?” You mumbled against his lips. He grinned. “I’ll be at your place at seven.”

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

You looked at your bag, considering if you needed to pack more or less – he hadn’t been clear about where you were going, other than it would be somewhere else than his home, so you were contemplating if you should pack more than you already had. You hummed and packed one final thing; a bodysuit that hugged your curves and you felt amazing in it. You zipped the bag and grabbed your shoes, pulling them on and glancing at the clock – ten minutes. He was never late. You quickly put some lipstick on and looked at yourself in the mirror, finding some weird comfort in the way you looked. You turned off the lights in different rooms, grabbed your bag and double checked that everything was turned off, before you left the apartment and locked the door behind you.

You didn’t need to wait for long before his large car pulled up to the curb and you quickly threw your bag onto the backseat before you crawled into the passenger side and buckled yourself in. “Hi.” You breathed and smiled at him as he started the engine and drove away from your apartment. He grinned deviously at you. “Damn.” His hand found your thigh and squeezed harshly, sending lightning straight to your core. “You look fuckin’ amazing.” He said, his eyes darting back to you. “Thank you.” You answered and grabbed his hand, weaving your fingers between his. “Where are we going?” You asked with a smile, as you felt his thumb stroke your thigh. “I’ve got a cabin upstate, we’re pullin’ the plug from the world for a little. You good with that, darling?” You nodded. “I’ve got a question for you.” He said with a soft smirk on his lips. You knew that smile, and it made you squirm. “Oh?” He nodded, turning the car down a small, gravel road. “Yeah. I’ve got a buddy of mine that would love to come over, we, uh…” He sent you another absolutely devious smile. “We go way back and normally we go fishin’ this time of year.” You nodded, feeling like he was hiding something. “Oh…Kay?” You said slowly. “I mean, wouldn’t he mind the fact that a college-girl is taking away from fishing?” He chuckled lowly.

“Oh, sweetheart, absolutely not.”

He pulled into the driveway of a pretty sizable log-cabin, and you glanced at it, as you got out of the car. It was beautiful and very much Sy. A great lake sat behind it, surrounded by huge pines and a dense layer of ferns, a small, wooden boat dock leading out to the water. The cabin itself was pretty – dark woods, a plethora of different wildflowers, ferns and plants overflowing around it. “Come on, baby.” He grabbed you by the waist and led you inside. You smiled at the dark interior – it was way more his style than his home, and you had a feeling that he spent more time here than in his own house. “It’s beautiful.” You said, flinging your bag on the nearest chair, shrugging your coat off. He grinned at you and quickly grabbed two beers from the fridge, handing you one, before settling in the heavy leather couch and popping his own open. “Built it myself when I got back from tour.” He said. You sat down next to him, leaning against him and he folded his arm around you. “Really?” He nodded. “Mhm. I needed to do somethin’ with my hands, and this seemed like a better choice than fightin’ anything with a pulse.” You nodded, looking around. “Well, I knew you were good with your hands…” You grinned at him, and his eyes darkened as a smile crept onto his lips. “Now, did you really?” He whispered, grabbing the bottle of beer from your hand, and put it down with his own on the heavy, wooden table in front of the couch. You nodded. He pulled at you, and you followed his hands until you were seated on his lap. His thick fingers grabbed the beltloops of your jeans and pulled you closer to him. “I better show my girl just how good, huh?” he grinned. You didn’t answer, but rolled your hips lightly, eliciting a groan from the older man under you. “Shit, girl…” His voice was gravely, just the way you liked it, and he bit his lip. “Get up, pants off, baby.” You nodded once and stood, quickly undoing your jeans and slid them down your legs hastily, before you went to straddle his lap again. “Oh, you’re fucking needy today, aren’t you?” he chuckled, his large thumb sliding over the waistband of your panties. You mewled. “yes, sir…” You moaned, rolling your hips again. He growled. “Gotta take care of my girl…” He whispered. You didn’t answer, but grabbed his face and pressed your lips to his, relishing in the feeling of his stubble against your face. His fingers pushed your panties down lightly, and he gently slid a finger over your wet folds with a silent chuckle, that vibrated in his chest. “Fucking hell, woman, already so wet for me, huh?” You moaned. “Yes… Just for you…” His free hand went to your ass and spanked it once, the palm of his hand falling harshly on your exposed cheek. You whimpered and fell against him, and he rutted up, letting you feel just how ready he was for you. “Luke…” You moaned his name and a swift sting from his palm fell on your cheek. “Not my name, baby.” He whispered. “Sir!” You gasped as two of his thick fingers dipped between your folds, coating him in your slick. You mewled at the feeling of his fingers teasing your dripping hole, and your hips bucked on their own as he chuckled. “Down on your back.” He almost pushed you off of him, but you followed orders, laying down on the couch on your back, and he made quick work of your underwear, leaving you in nothing but your sweater. He grinned at you mischievously. “Rule. No underwear while we’re here, got it?” You nodded feverishly, desperate for his fingers again. “Desperate, babygirl?” You mewled. “Yes, sir, please…” Your core was throbbing, and heat was burning you from the inside. He chuckled before moving his lips down to your thighs, kissing and biting hard enough to leave bruises. Fuck, you loved it when he marked you.

His tongue slid against your folds, parting them perfectly for him, and he hummed at the taste of you. He licked at you, his tongue firm against your clit and his fingers teasing at your entrance; you writhed under him, wanting nothing more than his fingers in you. “Shh…” He shushed you with a devilish grin and he let one finger slide in to the first knuckle., You moaned loudly as he blew air on your exposed clit. “Ask nicely, baby.” You huffed and gasped as he curled his finger, his eyes on yours. “Please, please, please…. Sir, please, fuck me…” You moaned wantonly and bucked your hips again. He chuckled and dipped back, his tongue hitting your clit at the same time as he slammed two fingers into you with fervor. You gasped at the intrusion, and he lapped at you as he moved his fingers at a steady pace, curling up and finding that one spot, that made you see stars. You shouted his name as he picked up speed, the sounds of your wet pleasure on his tongue filling the room. You were sweating, the heat building to an almost uncomfortable degree, your legs tight and the coil in your stomach felt moments from snapping.

“Does my good girl want to come?” he whispered against your clit, his teeth catching it and tugged lightly. You screamed in pleasure and pain; your hands clenched around a pillow above you. “Yes, yes, yes, please…” “Come on, then, you fucking slut, soak me.” He spat out, his fingers moving rapidly in and out of you. “Fucking cum.” He whispered harshly before his lips were on you again, lapping every single drop from you. You exploded around him, your legs shaking, and you saw stars as the coil in you snapped into a thousand pieces, you moaned his name and rolled your hips as you felt yourself soak him and the couch under you as you came undone around his fingers and under his tongue. Fuck, it felt good.

As you came down, you tried to grab for him to pull him up so you could get some of his clothes off, but he simply withdrew his fingers and kissed you chastely, an eyebrow cocked. “Love to, darlin’, but we’ve got a visitor.” He nodded to the door and you felt heat pool in your cheeks as you looked at the tall, broad, man in the doorway, who was palming himself slightly over his pants.

“Oh, don’t stop on my account.” His voice was as deep as Sy’s, and he looked like he could split you in two. You scrambled to get your legs together, but Sy kept them open with his body in between them, as he grinned to the man in the door. “August, meet Y/N. Pet, meet August.” You almost moaned at the new nickname but contained yourself as you waved shyly to the man in the door.

He was gorgeous. Normally you weren’t a fan of moustaches, but this one fit – August’s face was clearly built for it. His hair was dark, and he had the most devious smile on his lips, that made you feel even more self-conscious than moments before, as his eyes roamed your body. Sy finally moved, and you quickly stood, pulling your sweater down over your exposed, slick pussy, heat in your cheeks.

“Hi, August.” “Hi, pet.” He answered. He looked at Sy, who sat on the couch with a smirk on his lips and arms crossed. “Beer, brother?” Sy asked, standing – his erection was clear against the fabric of his pants still. August nodded, his eyes still on you. “Thanks.” You tip-toed to the open door leading to the bedroom, grabbing your bag on the way.

“Oh, sweetheart, you won’t need that.” Sy said with a wicked grin, pointing to your bag. “I’ve got something laid out for you.” You nodded once and felt your pussy flutter; whatever he had planned, you wanted in on.

“She’s… A sight.” You heard August say as you closed the door to the bedroom. “A little young, though.” Sy laughed. “Oh, Auggie, you’ve got no fuckin’ idea. Glad you could come.” A clink of bottles sounded. “I’m getting happier by the minute, that I agreed.”

You turned to the bed and saw what could only be described at strings laid out on the bed. Your breath hitched as you looked at it. No fucking way you’d wear this in front of his friend. It was probably supposed to be lingerie of some kind, but to you, it looked like nothing more than BDSM ropes. You heard a soft knock on the door.

“Yeah?” Sy popped his head in and looked at you with a smile. “You like it?” He asked, stepping fully into the room. “Uhm… Yes, for when I’m with you not with company.” He hummed and walked to you, his stance intimidating as he stilled in front of you. “Babygirl, you wanted to be watched, right?” Oh. You closed your eyes at the idea. “Maybe… You’d want something more than being watched?” He whispered, his fingers sliding over your neck before wrapping around your throat. “I think my girl wants to be fucking full.” You mewled as his grip on your throat tightened. “I think you want him to watch you choke on my cock, then you’d want to let the two of us fill you completely.” You couldn’t help but moan at the idea. “That’s what I thought.” He chuckled and let you go, turning you slightly to him and kissed you softly.

“Please wear it. Put a dress over if you need to. I think August likes the chase.” He winked at you before leaving the room, throwing your bag on the bed. Holy fucking shit.

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

All three of you sat around the dining table, the sun had finally set, and you were heated. The two big men filled the otherwise wide space fully, and they kept touching you. Sy had his fingers against your inner thigh, while August had slid his hand under the skirt of your dress. Both of them seemed completely unbothered by the fact that you were squirming and dripping wet – they were talking about good, old days, and you couldn’t focus.

“Pet…” Sy’s voice was smoot as whiskey, and you turned to him with blazing cheeks. “Are you listening?” He asked, danger lacing his words. A silent chuckle came from your left, where August squeezed his hand around your thigh. You gulped. “Sorry, sir.” He tutted and narrowed his eyes. “Baby, that’s rude to our guest…” You swallowed a moan as Sy’s fingers moved higher, almost touching your exposed heat. The fucking lingerie did nothing to hide you away under the dress, and you felt like you were burning up. “I’m sorry, sir.” He chuckled and looked to August.

“Knees.” He whispered. Your pussy throbbed at his demand, and a slight insecurity washed over you at the thought of August watching you. It made you feel several things, actually. Sy sensed your hesitation and searched your eyes. You nodded once, the willingness to satisfy – and see August’s reaction – overtaking any doubt in your mind. He grinned. “Good girl.” You stood up, moving from your seat to the middle of the floor, where you dropped to your knees. August had turned in his chair, looking at you with legs spread wide, bulge prominent in his tight pants. You couldn’t help but look. Sy stood up, and walked behind you, gently grabbing the zipper on the back of your dress, pulling it slowly until your dress fell around you, exposing your lingerie. “Fucking hell, Sy, where did you find this one?” August breathed as his eyes roamed over you. Your nipples poked through the strings, and barely anything was covered by the black strings that made out the lingerie on your body. “In my class, right baby?” Sy asked, circling you like a predator. “Yes, sir.” You answered breathlessly. Sy grinned and stopped in front of you.

“Stay where you are. August, keep her entertained.” He walked to the heavy table in the living room, where he flipped the top up as August walked to you with a fucking illegal smile on his face. His fingers grabbed at your hair. “What’s…” You didn’t finish your sentence, as August’s finger slid into your mouth and you hummed around the digit, sucking it gently. “Fuck…” He groaned at the feeling. You heard Sy chuckle.

“Keep her still.” You saw Sy walk to you with wide strides, his hands full of robe. You felt yourself get wetter at the thought of being tied up with these two men doing whatever they wanted to with you. “Arms on your back.” Sy’s voice was possessive as you followed orders, your mouth preoccupied by August’s finger. He hummed and moved in front of you fully, his free hand opening his pants. “Mind?” He asked Sy casually. “Nah, go right ahead.” Sy’s voice was amused behind you, and you moaned as he tightened the rope slightly. August chuckled and let his pants fall around his ankles – you sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of him. He was just as big as Sy, though slightly wider in girth, and you felt yourself salivate at the sight of him and your pussy throb. He stood in front of you, erection right in your face. “Open up, pet.” His voice was like honey, and you followed orders, opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out as Sy tied the rope around your legs, your arms flush against your body. “Good girl…” August pressed the head of his cock against your tongue, coating himself in your saliva, before pushing inside of your mouth. He groaned as his head hit the back of your throat, and you realized that he wasn’t even halfway in; you moaned around it, and he pushed further, making you gag around him. “Fucking hell…” Sy had stilled his movements behind you, his lips on your neck. You felt his teeth sink into the sensitive skin at the junction between your neck and shoulder and you moaned at the feeling, which August used to his advantage; he pushed all the way in and stilled. You gagged, spit drippling from your chin and tears welled up in your eyes, as he grabbed your head and held you in place as he slowly began to fuck your mouth. You heard Sy growl, his fingers on your lower abdomen. “Shit, your mouth is good, pet…” August moaned, picking up speed. Sy’s fingers found your soaking slit and dipped his fingers inside, not even bothering to start with one, fully coating two fingers in you. “God, you love this, huh, babygirl?” he whispered against your neck, sending shivers down your spine. You tried to moan, but choked on the large cock in your throat, another round of tears spilling from your eyes as August fucked your mouth. He was grunting sinfully, and you almost wanted your arms free to stabilize yourself on his massive thighs, but the ropes held you back and you whimpered against August’s cock. Sy chuckled and picked up his pace too. “Fucking hell, you’re loving getting mouthfucked, aren’t you?” You nodded once, his fingers burying deeply in you as August hammered his cock against your throat.

He pulled away with a roar and smacked your cheek hard, stars flying in front of your eyes as you gulped down air thankfully, while Sy kept his fingers working inside of you. You were so fucking close, your legs shaking. August squatted in front of you and held your chin with hard fingers, holding your face in place. His dominance was something entirely different from Sy’s, almost dangerous, as his eyes found yours. “You’re going to look at me when you cum.” He whispered, his fingers digging into your skin. You whimpered. “Please, Sir, please…” Sy chuckled. “Wanna cum, pet?” You nodded; your eyes trained on August. “Fucking cum.” Sy growled behind you. You exploded around his fingers, soaking him and your thighs as you came, your pussy throbbing and clenching around his fingers.

Without a word, Sy pulled his fingers from you and hoisted you to stand on shaky legs by the ropes, moving you to the middle of the living room – you were gasping, spit still hanging from your chin as he placed you and grabbed the ends of the rope, smiling wickedly. “Codes?” He asked softly. August’s eyes were burning you. “Green, go, yellow, pause, red, stop.” You said in a broken voice. “Smart girl.” Sy took the ends of the rope and flicked them around a thick hook on one of the beams running across the ceiling. Your eyes widened as you realized what he wanted to do; you felt yourself being lifted from the floor by the thick knot in the middle of your back, so your legs and arms weren’t stretched too much – you were hovering with one foot almost off the floor, the other tied against your thigh. You were already a panting, dripping mess. “Now… We’re gonna play, baby.” Sy whispered darkly, stripping himself of his clothes as August did the same. “You’re going to take us. Understood?” His voice was clear and dominant. You nodded and your eyes fell on the table – you moaned at the sight in front of you. Sy had quite the range of toys. August cocked his eyebrow and stood in front of you, his fingers tugging on your nipple. “You got any for this?” August called out and Sy chuckled, throwing a metal chain to August, who smiled wickedly. Fucking hell, clamps. You moaned at the feeling of them tightening on your nipples, the chain hanging loosely between your breasts and August tugged it gently, eliciting a mewl from you. Sy stood behind you and you heard the familiar snap of a cap opening, before you felt cool lube being smeared on your already wet pussy and your hole. You moaned wantonly as he dipped a finger inside, stepping in front of you. “And what do you do, sweetheart?” you moaned as he slapped lightly across your eated core with his palm. “Fuck!” “No, that’s our job.” He grinned as August walked to the table and grabbed a buttplug with a grin. “Ask permission, sir.” “Good girl.” Sy lined himself up with your aching pussy as August went behind you, his fingers coating the plug with lube. You felt anticipation in your core, and Sy grinned at you – his cock slid against your wet folds, and you moaned as the tip slid inside of your hole. August chuckled behind you. “I don’t even think you need this, sweet girl.” He said as he pushed the tip of the plug inside, and you screamed at the feeling of both it and Sy pressing inside of you. Sy groaned as he bottomed out and held you by the ropes, slowly letting you adjust. “No need to be slow about it, asshole.” He grunted at August, who were teasing the tip of the plug inside of you. “Oh?” He sounded fucking dangerous and without warning, he pushed it further. You mewled and tried to move away from the intrusion, but Sy kept you in place and began moving his hips, his thick cock dragging against your walls – you could feel the plug and him slide against each other, only a thin layer of so much sensitive wall between the two. August moaned at the sight of you swallowing the plug and you felt his fingers creep up along your hips until he found your clit. Sy grunted and sped up, his cock filling you perfectly. You were panting, slick dripping down your legs. “Please… Please…” You moaned, trying to buck your hips against Sy, but the ropes held you firmly. “I think she needs more…” Sy groaned at August, who pinched your clit between two fingers, causing you to yell out. “Fuck, yes, please, more… Please, I’m so close…” “You wanna cum with just me in you, baby?” Sy grinned and held your face with his wide hand, forcing you to look at him as he fucked you harder. “That’s. fucking. Rude. To. Our. Guest.” He punctuated every word with a hard thrust and you were so fucking close to exploding. “No! M’sorry, please…” you said, your head lolling as you tried to stave off your orgasm. August chuckled behind you, and you felt him turn and pump the plug in you. “She can come. Once.” You mewled and Sy chuckled, his fingers hard against your face. “Come, you fucking needy

bitch.” You exploded, the coil in your abdomen snapping at the same time as he rutted deeply in you, slick dripping down your legs. You felt the gush of wetness and almost wanted to cry in pleasure as Sy fucked you through your orgasm. If you weren’t tied up, you’d be on the floor.

August slowly and tantalizingly so, pulled the plug from your ass, before coating himself in your slick with a soft chuckle. “Oh, she squirts, huh?” He asked, his hand around your throat and the tip of his cock lined up against your puckered hole. You whimpered as you felt him slowly push against you, tightening the grip on your throat and cut off your air. “Fucking hell…” Sy moaned as he felt August’s thick cock slide inside of you, stretching you to the absolute max. You felt like you were about to split in half, the burn and stretch of the two men were insane and you almost came on the spot as August filled your ass completely. “Fuck…” You said in a broken voice, almost passing out as the two men bottomed out. “One rule, August. I get to cum in her, and only me.” Sy said in a dangerous voice, as he started to move slowly. Your eyes rolled back at the thought of being filled with Sy’s spend and you felt your pussy throb around him. “Your girl, man.” August grunted as he began to move as well.

You were in between the two men as they fucked you into oblivion, their massive cocks stretching every part of you. You didn’t even bother trying to support yourself on the one foot, that reached the ground, simply letting yourself hang in the rope as they fucked you hard. You saw spots as August tightened his grip on your throat and Sy moaned. “Fuck, are you about to cum, pretty pet?” He grunted. You nodded once, mewling as August slammed his thick cock as deeply as he could, inside of you. You couldn’t hold it back, even if you wanted to. “Shit, you’re fucking dirty, aren’t you, pet?” Sy asked with a groan, his cock slamming against your cervix. You nodded again. “Please… Please…” Your voice was broken and barely there as you begged for release. Sy groaned and looked at August behind you. “Whaddya say?” “Let her.” August moaned and his hand disappeared from your throat, letting a flow of air back into your lungs. You gasped as the orgasm toppled you, August’s hands bruising your hips and Sy’s eyes burning holes in you. You came undone with an explosion of fire in your entire being, every single nerve suspended in pleasure – you roared and moaned, gasping for air as you squirted over the two men. “Fucking hell…” August pulled out of you with a roar, and fisted his cock harshly, pumping his length as he watched Sy’s cock disappear in your heat. You were mewling, longing to feel filled by Sy. “Want your cum, please, sir…” You moaned and you felt Sy stutter in his movements, seemingly close as well. “Fuck.” He pulled out and stepped behind you, entering you again from behind and slammed his cock deeply inside of you as August went to your front, his cock pointed to your face. “Be a good girl and take it.” You opened your mouth and let your tongue hang out, hopeful to catch some of his hot seed as August roared and came, thick ropes of cum shooting from him. It was messy, landing on your breasts, chin and tongue and you lapped whatever you could, up. Sy groaned behind you and stilled as well, and you felt his thick cock swell within you, before he painted your needy walls white with his spend as well. You were moaning, panting and gasping as both men came down from their high and Sy slowly began to untangle you from the ropes, August holding your body in place with a surprisingly soft touch.

“Holy fuck…” You moaned as the ropes fell from your arms. August was supporting your entire weight and Sy kissed your sweat-slicked shoulder.

“No kiddin’.” August saw the cum leak from your spent pussy and fire flared behind his eyes. No fucking way he was ready again. “Now what?” You asked breathlessly. August and Sy looked at each other with wicked grins.

“Now we play, my pet.” Sy whispered dangerously.

THIS WAS A LOT HOLY HELL LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK

TAGLIST:

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#henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill smut #henry cavill x y/n #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x female reader #henry cavill x ofc #captain syverson x reader smut #captain syverson x you smut #captain syverson x reader #captain syverson x ofc #captain syverson #syverson x reader #cap syverson #syverson x reader smut #syverson x reader x august walker #august walker x reader smut #august walker x you #august walker x reader #august walker smut #august walker #captain syverson smut #syverson smut #captain sy x reader #henry cavill characters #captain sy fanfiction #august walker x female reader #august walker x ofc

[putseraphinaonthaphone]

High Sex HCs

Bakugou

God help you if this man smokes sativa before y'all fuck

"Stop fucking running and take this fucking dick" is a common theme

Any self respecting pussy having person would try to take a break after the fourth round!

And the fifth, and the sixth

You started on your hands and knees

Then it was just your knees while he fucked you hard enough to make his hips slap against your ass while he pummeled your cervix like the bully many accused him of being

Then you couldn't keep yourself up anymore and he started getting creative in finding ways to make sure you took his deep as possible

"Where do you think you're going? This pussy is mine to fuck full. Again. And Again. Until you're round with my babies, baby. Understood?"

Even when the weed wears off

just seeing you crying and leaking his cum and begging him to let you rest cause it's too much

will have him rolling up another blunt while y'all "rest"

Shinsou

He grows his own strains of indica because most strains for sale in town aren't enough to help him sleep

So when you go over to smoke with him you're knocked out by the first blunt, even though you'd been so sure you could handle his weed

Since he won the bet, he was happy to collect on his prize. The one you two agreed on while you blushed and flirted your heart out; letting him fuck you in you sleep

You're already soaked by the time you fall asleep against his chest, both of you having been cuddling while soft music played and exchanging secrets about your darkest fantasies (because it was the good indica, the kind that made you horribly horny even as you struggled to keep your eyes open)

He fingered you with ease and even though you were probably going to sleep well into the night you were still so responsive, moaning softly and making cute little whining sounds every time he added another finger to stretch you out

Fucking you while you slept and sighed and moaned for him was turning him on a lot more than expected

The weed and the sight of you stuffed full of cock while you dreamed completely unaware combined into a dark pleasure that grabbed him by the balls until he was make a cummy mess of your pussy

Tamaki

You bought the weed from Shinsou, and now Tamaki was relaxed and horny enough to fuck you stupid

"This is what you wanted isn't it?" He pinched your nipples as he fucked you harder and deeper than he usually let himself, finding it was cute the way the weed and his dick had a similar effect on you:

heavy lidded eyes, heavier breathing, and you stopped being able to speak coherently

"Big Tama, so fucking big I'm going to break-"

"That's not what I asked silly," he taunted and from the way you clenched around him you could focus enough to realize how fucked out you sounded and be embarrassed by it, which was good because if he couldn't make your pussy milk him tighter by being mean to you what was the point of degradation?

You could feel him rearranging your guts and you were selfishly pleased no one snapped him up before you two got together, it meant your shy lover and his long girthy cock were all yours- even when he stopped being so shy

Denki

It was ironically perfect, that he could charge every dab pen y'all had (which was quite a few because both of y'all were dedicated stoners) right before a night of cross faded party hopping

By the last party he's too hot from the way you've been dancing on him all night to wait, so you're gasping and trying to keep quiet while he fucked you against the wall of the upstairs hallway

The music downstairs is spilling up the stairs and giving you guys a bit of cover but the way he just pushed you against the wall and pulled your panties aside already has you being too loud

"I don't need to be prepped just fuck me fuck me fuck me-"

"Shut up!" He stuffed his fingers in your mouth and stuffed his cock in your pussy hard and deep and fast, making you moan- once again, too loud even with him muffling you

"If you're this loud when I'm just fucking your pussy then maybe I shouldn't take your ass.."

You whined like he would be robbing you if he didn't take your ass against a wall where anyone could catch you, and that's what made him forgive you for screaming when he blew his load in your tightness while circling your clit with his thumb

Tokoyami

Sativa made Tokoyami hungrier to fuck you again and again until you were twitching and leaking his cum and so overstimmed you could barely speak

"F-fumi--" You were certain you'd passed out at some point, but once again you woke to feeling him fucking you

The combined mess of bodily fluids between your thighs made the most embarrassing squelching sounds as he ground his cock into you, deeper- always deeper

It was after that particularly memorable night of discovering his breeding kink that you had a serious talk with him about why you were on birth control in the first place and that you had to limit the amount of times he came inside you

But every time y'all got high together you ended up getting filled

Indica made Dark Shadow strong enough to convince Tokoyami to double penetrate you with him

You weren't sure how it was possible (Tokoyami refused to go into detail and got incredibly flustered when you tried to question him) but Dark Shadow was able to cum inside you

So it didn't matter who took which hole, you were leaking cum from both your ass and your pussy by the time they were done fucking you senseless

Hybrid strains makes them both in the mood to stuff your pussy together and fill your womb, regardless of the fact that you're not on birth control for once (one of the small windows where you were talking the placebo pills)

You were sure you wouldn't have even considered this if you hadn't smoked just as much as your partner

You were seriously reconsidering as you felt Dark Shadow manifest a shaft just large enough to be painful when pushed inside you alongside Tokoyami's shaft

They were going to just feed off each other as they got more excited and you knew they already hated your reasoning for why you couldn't get pregnant

"G-guys you can't.. cum inside okay?"

They both groaned and pushed into you deeper at your words

"Seriously.. guys!"

Deku

High Deku is a fuckboy don't at me

All of a sudden it's "say less, ma" and his hands are wandering shamelessly

Because not only does weed make him horny, but it makes it easier to hold back so basically-

marathon sex

you're not walking after fam, just accept this

He's just as caring and thoughtful about your pleasure as always, making you fall apart on his fingers and cock again and again, he's just a little more cocky like his Kacchan usually is about it when he's high

"Now just three more on my tongue and then we'll see if I'm ready to cum.. but if you look too cute while I'm eating you out I might need to just keep fucking you after that"

He cums twice in your pussy and when you beg him to let you rest and he keeps trying to fuck one more load into you, you throw out mindlessly "Just fuck my ass instead please! I'm so sore, 'Zuku, please.."

He runs with it

Now you're begging him to cum because your ass can't take as much as your pussy, and even though he's masterfully touching your clit and helping you cum- he feels so much thicker in your ass when you're shivering and shaking from his mouth on your throat and his thumb grinding into your sensitive clit

When he finally fills your ass he gets a little too excited and all you remember is green lightning filling your room before he fucked you unconscious

Shoto

Likes to use his quirk on you when he's high, spanking you with painfully hot palms and fucking you with ice fingers at the same time

His tongue and dick are always addictingly hot though

Cold fingers pinch your nipples once he's inside you, and his hot hand on your hip while he's fucking you makes you feel branded- owned

You weren't sure if you hated it or loved it but weed also got your usually clammed up boyfriend to finally start talking

"I always wonder, are you always a slut like this during sex or is it just with me? Either way I don't think I can let anyone else ever see you like this. You're mine forever now darling."

Your pussy clenched around him in agreement and he groaned, his voice turning accusatory as he fucked you harder making the wet squelching more evident "Your pussy is more honest than you are. She know's who her master is doesn't she?"

"Shoto!"

"Quiet now. I'm trying to ask if she wants me to give her a baby."

You screamed when you came then, and when you could finally focus again Shoto was pressing your thighs to your chest and fucking you in a deep mating press telling you heatedly

"You fucking -hng, squirted all over me baby. That means you want it too right? You want me to fuck a baby into your womb?"

You knew you were on birth control even if his high ass forgot but you couldn't even get that out, arousal took over your brain and all you could do was beg him "Yes, please Sho, give me a baby-"

You were high as fuck too, and it felt too good to pretend he could get you pregnant like you asked

#shoto x reader #deku x reader #izuku x reader #bakugou x reader #tamaki x reader #tokoyami x reader #denki x reader #kaminari x reader #tw dubcon #tw dark content #tw: dubcon #tw: pseudoincest #tw: recreational drug use #tw: degradation #tw: kink

[karlnapity]

i declare war on my body.

chapter 1: it’s sad to know that we are not alone in this.

(tws: nongraphic self-harm)

punz is the first to come back after the egg is destroyed.

it makes sense; after all, he’s the least connected, the least influenced. he only ever existed on the outskirts of the faction, still the most in control of himself of everyone.

it only takes a few days for him to recover, the red receding bit after bit from his eyes. he spends most of those days sleeping, only waking every few hours to stare at the wall. he tells sam his head feels buzzy, like his thoughts are all out of order, and all sam can do is rub his shoulder and encourage him to go back to sleep.

it’s on the fourth or fifth day he starts to regain any sort of energy, tells puffy a little about what it was like to be under the egg’s influence. he’s allergic to any sort of vulnerability, but no one can deny the way his hands shake, and puffy holds them with her own.

the last of the red bleeds through his tears.

>

it takes around two weeks for ant to make any sort of semblance of consciousness. he blinks his cat pupils open on the final day, stares sam in the face, and starts to cry. his eyes are still purple-tinted, but sam can’t care less as he envelopes his friend in a hug. ant is mumbling something that sounds like ‘i’m sorry' over and over and over again, and sam shushes him, runs a hand along the fur on his head in a calming gesture from when they were kids.

they stay there for a long time. whenever sam tries to pull away, ant hooks his claws in sam’s armor and doesn’t let him leave.

sam doesn’t say anything about it, just obliges.

>

it’s a hard and long process, apologizing. punz and ponk speak in quiet, mumbling voices, and no one dares interrupt them. ant begins with puffy, sitting next to her on the beds they set up, and he recounts the story to her.

“i wish i could tell you more,” he says. “but i don’t remember all that much.”

it’s a complete lie, and he has a feeling she knows, but thankfully she doesn’t pry. she just stands, takes his hand, and pulls him to his feet.

his legs are still a bit shaky, but she supports him as she leads them outside.

the vines are gone, and he can’t help but let out a small cry of relief. she grins at him as she leads him to hannah’s house.

the colors are still gone from her house, but as they settle outside he admires the roses that have started to push through the grass once again.

it’s such a wonder to be in control of himself once again. he opens and closes his hands a few times, still relishing in the feeling.

(he’s not sure of the timeline, of how long he wasn’t himself, but he can’t bring himself to ask.)

he looks at puffy, who’s watching him with a complicated expression. he reaches out a paw, and she takes it.

“i missed you,” she murmurs.

he’s been doing a lot of crying in the few short days he’s been awake, but he never seems to run out of tears.

“i missed you too.”

“we were so worried about what would happen to you after it was destroyed. it had such a strong hold on you…”

“i know, i know, but i’m here now, right? everyone’s gonna be ok.”

(it’s a lie. he’s still coasting on adrenaline, on pure unfiltered relief right now, but he knows it can’t last long. he knows they’ll realize they don’t forgive him, and he knows they’ll realize that it was his fault. because it was. he can’t let himself relax for long.)

she doesn’t make eye contact, and he can see her face pinch a bit at that. he feels a bit of a pit growing in his stomach. he almost doesn’t want to ask.

“what is it?”

she purses her lips. “we’re not sure, on bad.”

his stomach drops.

>

he demands to see bad immediately. it’s a long process, on such tired legs, to get down to the area below. they let him and punz recover on the surface, but puffy said they wanted bad as far from any of the egg’s possible influence as the final vines were being destroyed.

he’s sequestered in a room deep below, and as puffy leads ant down the hallway his anxiety grows.

as much as he wants to see his friend, part of him doesn’t.

a lot of him doesn’t. he stills. he can’t bring his legs to move any more. puffy walks a few more strides before she notices he isn’t behind her, and she doubles back.

she notices his expression immediately. “what’s wrong?”

he struggles to get the words out. he’s been struggling with that a lot, lately. he opens and closes his mouth a few times before he can get it out. it’s still surprising to be able to do so.

“i don’t know if i want to see him.” it’s a painful admission, and part of him fears puffy will immediately call him an asshole. hell, he doesn’t fucking want to see his best friend, one of the people he cares most about, his friend who’s comatose. that’s a bit of a dick move.

but she doesn’t. she rests a hand on his shoulder, and he pulls her into a hug as he hiccups. she rubs his back. they sink to the ground, and puffy holds him close.

“why don’t you want to see him?” there’s no judgment in her voice, not like he feared, and something about it unlocks his words.

“i just… part of it… i don’t want to see the effects, because that’ll make it so much more real.” he bites his lip. “and... we... we did such shitty things together- and i don’t want to remember them- i don’t want to remember how we treated each other- and-”

he can’t breathe. she rubs on his back, murmuring reassurances, and little by little the anxiety in his chest dissipates enough for him to think. he pulls back, a bit, gets a clear look at her face. she gives him a small smile, and he returns it.

“you don’t have to, if you don’t want to. we all get it.” she shifts closer, so they’re sitting side by side on the hallway floor. “it’s a hard thing. you deserve to feel comfortable, first of all. you deserve to put yourself and your recovery first.”

he tugs his knees to his chin. he doesn’t deserve to be first, not after what he did to everyone. puffy’s just being nice. they- his victims- they deserve to be first.

(but does bad count as a victim? he can remember, faintly, being horrible to bad. they fought all the time, he knows that, and not just with words.

the egg pit them against each other, had them fight for everything. he remembers more than he cares to.)

old wounds sting, even after they’ve long since healed. he puts a hand on a faint scar on his arm.

bad doesn’t count as a victim. he shivers.

“ant?” puffy asks gently.

“i don’t want to see him,” he murmurs, as horrible as it feels. puffy nods, pulls him into a brief hug, and tells him to go back upstairs, that she’ll be right behind.

he crawls into bed, and he sleeps for a long, long time.

>

“how’s he doing?” puffy asks as she enters the room. sam looks up from the bedside, setting his book on his lap.

“no change,” he says. puffy purses her lips, takes a look.

bad’s been sleeping fitfully ever since the egg was destroyed. he was the first to go down, collapsing the moment the final vine was severed. sam speculates the egg was siphoning the most energy from him, considering he was the leader of their cause.

he looks terrible. he’s hardly been able to sleep consistently for over half an hour, still gasping and wrenching in what seems to be pain, and they can’t figure out how to fix it.

he still has vines curled around his arm and face. they can’t find where it’s coming from, and every time they trim it back it returns within hours.

a few days ago they came in to find it seemingly ripped out. he was bleeding, badly, but when they returned with medical supplies it had already grown back.

(they decided to keep a constant watch, after that.)

she touches a hand to his forehead. none of them are exactly sure what temperature demons are supposed to be, but all the same he seems far too cold. she strokes his cheek, pulls away and adjusts the blankets. it’s a bit tough, with his height, but they make do.

he’s so pale. his skin looks almost gray where it used to be vibrant, and the red accents still haven’t turned from white.

(he looks dead. every time she comes to see him she can’t help but reach for his pulse. can’t help but check.)

she leans back, sighs. “ant didn’t want to see him.”

sam frowns. “punz and ponk didn’t, either.”

“he didn’t say much on it,” she continues, sitting beside him. “but he seemed almost… scared, i’d say. he said they didn’t treat each other too well.”

“it’s not surprising, is it? it must have been torture, it’s not surprising to learn it had them be awful to each other. if they were too close they’d find a way to fight back, and it couldn’t have that.”

she nods, putting her head in her hands. sam rubs her shoulder. she leans into his side, lets herself break just a little.

(only a little.)

“i just wish he’d wake up.”

“i know,” he says quietly. “i miss him. we’ve just got to hope it’s soon.”

>

punz starts out the day with the express need to forget what the fuck happened.

he can’t bear the way they look at him. puffy and sam’s pity makes him sick, and ant’s trying desperately to avoid him at all costs, and ponk still has a hard time looking him in the eye.

it hurts. he wants things to go back to the way they were, but he doesn’t because that was dream. he’s not sure what he wants.

he deserves a fucking break.

he’s not supposed to leave, yet, not without someone to accompany him, but he doesn’t care. the constant care is suffocating, and he just wants to pretend he’s back to normal for five fucking seconds.

so he grabs a bag, a couple loaves of bread, and

his head still hasn’t cleared, and his body is still utterly shot from being stretched to its limits for months, so he can’t run too far, but he doesn’t care.

(the pain is good, means he’s atoning, and when his lungs burn this hard he can’t even focus on memories.)

he coughs, stumbles, and finds himself on the ground. he rolls over, lays flat on his back, and stares at the sky. he wants to scream.

can he not have five seconds?

his brain feels fuzzy again. it’s been hard, lately, to think much of anything beyond a need to escape a mysterious, nonexistent enemy that’s probably just inside his own mind, but he can’t relax, can’t let himself go, can’t concentrate on anything because of sheer fear.

(puffy says it’s hypervigilance, a trauma response, but that doesn’t make sense, because wasn’t he doing the traumatizing?)

none of it makes any fucking sense. he just wants to curl up on the hill he’s found himself on, stay there forever. it’s so hard. he just wants to stay here forever.

he curls onto his side, closes his eyes. everything’s fuzzy.

“punz?”

he jolts, almost screams, but it’s ponk. he can relax around ponk. ponk’s safe. he settles back onto the ground. “you awake, buddy?”

he waves a hand, and ponk grabs it. he feels the other sit beside him.

“you’re not supposed to run, it’s not safe.”

punz grunts, rolls back onto his back. he has to put extra care into making words, now. it’s so much more tiring. he considers just not responding. he does. “yeah.”

ponk sighs. “ok. can you stand?”

it’s a long process to get back to the base.

>

bad wakes up slowly.

the first time, sam barely notices it. he rolls over, raises a hand to rub on his face, which isn’t too uncommon. the keen of pain that follows is still business as usual, much as it makes sam’s heart ache.

then, all of a sudden, he gasps. his hands fly up to pull at the vine on his face. his eyes are still closed, but he’s crying, sobbing, even, and he grasps with what seems to be his full strength. sam stands, trying to figure out what to do, when the vines fly off with a sickening noise that makes sam want to be sick.

they fall to the ground, and he raises a netherite boot to crush them. it makes a horrible squelch, and sam knows he’ll have to burn the boots later to get the stain off, but it doesn’t matter.

what matters is the blinking, too-dim, barely open eyes in front of him.

sam pulls him into a tight hug. bad makes a sort of growl in the back of his throat that makes sam’s hair stand up on end.

bad doesn’t usually speak in his native tongue, anymore, and sam has no idea what he says, but he doesn’t care.

his friend is alive.

>

everything hurts so much. every single nerve in his body feels like it’s on fire, feels like he’s burning up from the inside.

someone- sam, it’s sam, it’s sam it’s samit’ssam- is petting his hair, running his fingers through the knots and working them out gently. he’s saying something, but the rushing in bad’s ears is too much to be able to understand anything at all.

he’s so tired. he wants to fall asleep, wants to sleep forever, but the pain is so much that he can’t do more than collapse against sam, let the other man carry his weight. he wants to bring his arms up to return the hug (it’s the least he can do) but he can’t.

he lets out a whine. everything is too much. the world is too bright, his own breathing is too ragged to his ears, even sam’s touch hurts. sam just continues murmuring words bad doesn’t understand and running his fingers through his hair.

the door opens, or at least he thinks it does. he’s not sure. his weight is passed from sam to another and he cries out. he doesn’t want sam to leave him, but this new person talks in a voice that calms him. he feels a warm washcloth on his face and it’s the only thing that doesn’t burn. the person takes his hands and warms them between their own, and the pain eases just a little.

he relaxes, slowly.

there’s still whispering in his ears and he tries so hard to tune it out.

(it hurts.)

he curls in on himself when it grows too loud.

it gets louder. he doesn’t stay awake for long.

#personal #awesamdude #ponk #captain puffy #antfrost #badboyhalo #punz #eggpire #dream smp #mcyt #dsmp

[the-witty-pen-name]

Wallflower

18+ ONLY 

Ezra (Prospect) x F!Reader

Word Count: 4.2k 

Warnings: fluff, mutual pining, cursing, smut, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), masturbation, dirty dreams, implies age gap (reader is in 20s+/of age, just younger than Ezra)

No use of (y/n) in this one!

A/N: I know this was not one of the things I should be working on, and I procrastinated on my coursework yet again to write fan fic. I’m so in love with Ezra and I have wanted to write something for this character for a while. It’s my first time writing for him and I was so intimidated to write something about him because his manner of speaking is so unique that I’m worried I won’t do him justice! Hopefully you all enjoy! 

Next thing I post will be the final part of Rest! It is currently in progress! 

I will be updating my taglist form soon to include Ezra and other Pedro characters I write for so check out for that if you want to be tagged in future fics! 

This is unedited and if I miss something to tag as a warning please let me know!

Tags and Requests and OPEN

“Ezra, for once can you please shut the fuck up. You’re driving me crazy,” you sigh, pulling off your helmet as you both return to your shared pod. It was a fairly long trek from the mining site back to your makeshift home and Ezra, being himself, talked the whole time- not once missing a beat.

“Not once have I ever had the pleasure of conversing with one as eloquently a sweet talker as yourself,” Ezra winks, making you roll your eyes. You weren’t actually mad at him, you could never, but one of the side effects of Ezra was limited moments of peace and quiet. In many ways, you and Ezra were very similar, and it made you really compatible partners.

But unlike Ezra, you really enjoyed quiet. Ezra, on the other hand, has had more than his fill of quiet for his lifetime and he basked in the ability to vocalize his every passing thought to you. It wasn’t often you felt the need to tell him to stop, but today had been particularly challenging and you couldn’t think of anything else besides the quiet of night and a good rest.

Ezra and you worked well because you were so much alike, but your differences also paired you two nicely. Ezra was without a doubt the biggest and most long-winded talker you had ever met and you were the best listener, opting to be the silent one in the conversation more times than not. You weren’t necessarily shy, just someone of a quieter nature. You mostly kept to yourself, by choice really, while Ezra struggled with solitude, it was one of the strengths of yours that you were able to endure it better than he could.

When you first met Ezra, he had called you wallflower, cause frankly you were one. Settled in the far corner of the pod with your notebook in hand, sketching instead of talking with the rest of the crew, Ezra made the effort to saunter over to you and made it his personal mission since day one to break you out of your shell. Made sure during mealtimes, he sat next to you, talked to you, asked you questions. Frankly, you owe the friendship you have with him now to his openness and talkative nature.

“Flower, I hope my parley on the trek back didn’t offend,” he says as he sheds off his suit.

“Not at all,” you say with a small smile, “Sometimes my meter runs out on my ability to listen. Tires me out.”

“I suppose I can understand,” Ezra replies, “I honestly seem to have the opposite problem, all my years in the Green, I never had the pleasure of someone to listen to besides my lonesome. Now that I have you, I find myself utterly unable to suppress my desire of spoken prose and I’m afraid I do tend to take advantage of your gentle nature.”

You nod, understanding him very well. It was coming up on seven months since you and Ezra had been on your own. The other three members of your crew had parted ways with you both, seeking out a better treasure.

Ezra, knowing what this planet and greed does, insisted on just doing his job and leaving, and you strongly agreed. It had been so long since the three of them went off for the buried riches, and you don’t even know if they will be returning to your pod at your scheduled time of departure in a few months’ time. Ezra told you stories about how he’s witnessed this job change people, and how he’s seen planets swallow up one’s humanity with no forgiveness. He was doubtful that any of them would return, and you were now starting to realize that his prediction since the beginning was correct.

Once your suit was off and put away, you smoothed out your hair as best you could by touch without a mirror, and headed over to the storage cubby where you both had your rations and grabbed you both a bar. You tossed one over to Ezra and he caught it effortlessly. Peeling back the wrapper of yours, you took a bite and collapsed on your cot.

“I never thought I’d miss those meals they served in the mess hall up in the station,” you comment, “I’d take a portion of those watery mashed potatoes and mystery meatloaf in a heartbeat if it meant I never had to touch one of these bars again.”

Your words made Ezra chuckle, his laugh deep and husky. You loved it. Your chest always swelled with pride just a tad when you had the ability to make him laugh or smile. More often, it was always him getting those reactions from you with his words and you liked the feeling when you were able to return the favor.

You closed your eyes, not falling asleep, just letting them rest while you chewed the rubbery ration. Ezra, tore through his always rather quickly, and he noticed that you still tried to savor yours despite your complaints. Like the taste, even though lacking and the texture terrible, was still like a reward for completing another hard day’s work. He admired that about you. You hadn’t been working this job as many years as him, as he was a few (plus a few more) years your senior. The things about this job he’s long since ignored or has gotten used to, still affected you. You still tried to taste your food, instead of scoffing it down like him and other seasoned prospectors.

“I can feel you staring, Ezra,” you say, breaking him out of his thoughts. He felt flushed knowing that he had been caught. It wasn’t intentional, more and more it was hard to keep his mind clear of thoughts of you.

“Sorry, flower,” he mutters, and you smirk, rendering him speechless for the first time all day.

It was undeniable that Ezra’s feelings for you were bubbling up closer and closer to the surface each passing day he spent in your company. You grounded him in ways he hadn’t realized he had needed. He needed someone to reign in his ramblings and tether him back when he lets his mind wander too deep. He needed you. There was this dependency that tied him to you now more than he ever experienced with another partner. It was friendship, sure. But he’s been friendly with partners past, and not once has he felt about them what he feels towards you.

He was a hopeless romantic, his thoughts of love and relationships were as poetic as the words he spoke. Yearning, completely head over heels, his mind constantly cluttered with scenarios of the ways he would court and win your affection if there was no inkling that lingered in his mind that was there to remind him it was a bad idea. You were much more practical than he ever hoped to be, much more wired for logic than he was. However, Ezra was blissfully unaware of how he had begun to rub off on you.

You found yourself daydreaming, caught up in your own little fantasies and escapes from reality, far more often than you had ever in your lifetime. Ezra, always the star at the center of it all. Living a life where you could stay with him somewhere more permanent, different career that didn’t require you both to float from planet to planet, chasing after prizes that weren’t actually yours- you just acted as a vessel, a taxi service for someone else’s riches.

You imagine scenarios where you would have met Ezra at a different time, or a different place. However, you often scolded yourself for allowing your stupid crush to occupy so much of your time. You were here for a job. And then you will leave and move on to your next one like always. It would be too painful to face rejection anyways, you reason. You can imagine the look on his face, thinking about the nicest way possible to reject you. That’s what you want to avoid, the pity. The niceties that will be forced after his inevitable rejection. The first friendship you’ve had the pleasure of having in years are gone just like that.

The pod was more spacious than the pod you would’ve been issued had it just been you and Ezra since the beginning. Two people sharing a pod designed for six felt much more like a livable space. More leg room, more spaces for privacy, it felt a little more like a studio apartment special wise than a glorified tent. You had even pushed a couple of the standard issue cots together and secured them tightly. You had the luxury of an extra pillow, and two of the thin mattress pads- it was like you had a full-size bed, with a beam running down the middle you did your best to cover by overlapping the mattress pads in the center. It was the most comfortable sleeping arrangement you’ve ever had on these expeditions.

Ezra and you strung a line across where both of your makeshift beds were positioned in the pod, and you hung a tarp across the line to make yourselves a privacy curtain. It was like you had your own room and he had his own as well. Ezra’s side was a little cleaner than yours, yours was a little cluttered with little mementos you find and want to bring back with you. Rocks, or small geodes… occasionally you’d bring back small plants that you double checked were nontoxic and you had them set up in makeshift planters- one of the crewmates that left abandoned an extra helmet that was damaged, and now you have an obscure green and purple plant sprouting up proudly from it.

Ezra’s side was much more standard. He had a pile of his old books, all of them weathered, looking like they’d been through hell and back. He had field books, and notebooks that held his years of accumulated knowledge of how he’s survived the Green. He ended up copying your bedding arrangement, and he agreed it was the most comfortable bed he’s had in years. He said it felt like a luxury a prospector like himself didn’t deserve. He also had a small collection of rocks that lined the ledge behind his bed. Little gifts from you, all of them.

“This one reminded me of you,” you’d say, passing him a unique rock while you struggled to keep the handful of the others you collected balanced in your hands. The grin on your face when you’d collect the little things was one of his favorite sights. When the partition that separated the beds was opened, it was a comical sight. Like a bedroom of a married couple on old television shows, where they had different beds and each side was decorated to that person’s tastes. Most of the time though, the partition was closed.

It made changing easier, the bathrooms and showers in pods no matter the occupancy size always had small, cramped bathrooms. However, it created a false sense of privacy because it did absolutely nothing in terms of suppressing noises. Ezra sometimes babbled nonsense in his sleep. The man literally unable to stop talking even when he was rendered unconscious. Most of the times it was completely incomprehensible, not even sounding like real words. Sometimes you’d hear a sentence maybe, but without knowing his dreams it was still alien to you. It was comforting to you hearing him on the other side of the partition, and knowing he was right on the other side made it easier for you to sleep.

Tonight, was no different, curled up in your bed, you were drifting off to sleep while Ezra had long fallen asleep before you. The weight of today’s expedition felt like it melted right off of your body as soon as your head hit the pillow. You were close to falling asleep, just savoring the moments of comfort before letting your mind drift when you heard Ezra say your name on the other side of the makeshift wall.

“What is it, Ezra?” you whisper, grumbling that he interrupted you right before falling asleep. He doesn’t respond, and instead you hear a low snore on the other side. He must’ve fallen back asleep, you figure, closing your eyes. They shoot open a few minutes later when he repeats your name again, but this time it’s a deep moan. His voice was husky and it sent a vibration right up the back of your spine. Your eyes widened at the realization that on the other side of the curtain, Ezra was dreaming about you. You shivered when he let out another involuntary, low groan. If you hadn’t been listening you probably wouldn’t have even heard it.

What do you do? You mind is racing with trying to figure out how to handle this situation. Do you wake him up? You also try your hardest to ignore how every small noise on the other side of the curtain is just going right to your core, making your thighs squeeze together while you keep your own arousal at bay. It was wrong of you to listen in, but you really don’t have much of a choice. You force yourself to take a few unsteady breaths to calm yourself, but it does nothing to ease you in your shocked state. Kevva, the noises he was making were like music. You often wondered what he would sound like. His voice on its own is already so perfect. But in this context? You wanted to hear nothing else.

You don’t even know how long you lay on your bed paralyzed before the temptation becomes too much and you are sliding one hand down the length of your torso and into your sleep shorts. You delicately slide your hand under your dampened underwear and your fingers instinctively find your clit. You bite your lip, trying your best to suppress the whimpers that escape your lips as you think about the man behind the partition. Your months of pining for him you finally let yourself submit to.

It had been a while. There was no privacy on the pod at any moment. When someone was using the shower, from the other room everyone could always hear the rustling around, if they were humming. It was better to just not try at all. The risk of getting caught was always too high. This was the first time you acknowledged and succumbed to your desires this entire mission. It had been so difficult to avoid, but now, you are taking advantage of the opportunity presenting itself to you. You weren’t even thinking twice, just closing your eyes and imaging the fingers inside you belonged to Ezra. You were so caught up in your own pleasure, you hadn’t noticed that Ezra’s side of the room had fallen silent.

Ezra sat up on his bed, His eyes fixated completely on the tarp that was the only thing separating him from you. He felt shameful, waking up from another dream about you. He woke up hard, and he felt immensely guilty. Then he heard your soft moans you were trying so hard to hold back. Now he sat on his bed, completely captivated by the noises on the other side, while he pleaded with himself to either make a move or just try to ignore it and get a few more hours of sleep. He snapped when he heard his name fall off your lips in a small whisper.

“I can feel you staring, Ezra,” he hears you say on the other side of the curtain. He smiles, probably ear to ear like a goddamn dopey teenager. He stands up and pulls the curtain back, and his breath catches in his throat at the sight of you laid out. You had stopped, knowing your statement would cause him to pull the curtain back, but the evidence of what you were doing still lingered- your hair sprawled out messy on the pillow, your sleepshirt haphazardly pushed up exposing the smooth skin and curves to him, the slick on your fingertips and the small wet spot on the front of your shorts. You looked up at him with doe eyes and he thought he might collapse on the floor at the sight of you.

“Flower,” he whispers breathlessly in the dark. The only light coming in was from the moonlight outside from the small window on your side you had opened. He thought you looked ethereal, a sight to behold that he was not worthy of gazing upon. He’s speechless. You can’t quite make out his facial expression in the dark and you mistake his breathless tone for discomfort.

“I’m so sorry,” you say, sitting up slightly. “I just... I heard you dreaming about me; we don’t have to bring this up again. Its just loneliness getting to me…”

He tentatively kneels down in front of your bed and you move to hide your face in the pillow so you don’t have to face him. He gently cups your face in his hand, and guides you back to face him. He actually says your name, and you might die hearing it on his lips.

“If what you say is true, and this is nothing more than a lapse in judgement, fueled by the loneliness of the Green, I swear to you I shall never as I live hold this moment against you, and you and I shall commence in the morning living like it never happened. But, if there is any chance these feelings that I have harbored for you are reciprocated, please grant me this opportunity to show you how much I am completely transfixed by you.”

You are now the one rendered speechless as you try to process the new information and the proposal Ezra has offered you. You are having difficultly allowing yourself to believe any of this or anything he says is true. Part of you was wondering if this was part of a dream and you hadn’t yet realized you were asleep. You had to reach out and touch his face, feeling his stubble under your touch, any sort of evidence to know he was physically right there.

“You’re real,” you mumble to yourself, and he chuckles. He takes the hand which you had rested on his face and he presses a kiss to your wrist.

“The number of times I have thought the same thing about you,” he mutters, moving your hand to press a gentle kiss to the back of it. “Flower, please…”

“This is more than a just a whim,” you admit, exhaling shakily, “Ezra… I love you.”

“Oh, how I’ve longed to hear those gracious words on your lips, flower,” he smiles, his gaze not breaking from your face.

You lean forward, capturing his lips in a kiss, unable to take being separated from him anymore. You move your lips against his and you can feel his smile as he moves to position himself on top of you, not even needing to break the kiss. Your limbs tangle with his, and you run your hands through his tousled curls, wanting to just let your hands touch every part of him that he would let you. He rests on hand on the back of your neck, while he uses the other to keep himself from putting all of his weight on you.

“You’re bewitching,” he says softly, as he pulls away from your lips to leave a trail of kisses and bites down your neck and collar bone. “Your beauty is unmatched by anything these tired eyes have ever witnessed,” he praises, as his hands move to slide nimbly under the fabric of your shirt.

He plans to take his time, to completely worship every part of your body and vocalize in every way how beautiful you are and how much he cares for you. His moments are slow, and sensual, making you feel like complete putty in his hands. He wants to savor absolutely every part of this shared moment. For so long has he dreamed about this, and so far, everything about you- your noises, your soft skin, all so much better than he ever envisioned. His calloused hands savor every inch of you they graze, committing how every part of you feels to his memory.

His moustache and stubble leave goosebumps behind on every part of your skin he kisses. He leaves a trail of marks behind that with time will definitely darken into small bruises, evidence he can gaze upon tomorrow to remind him this all was not just a dream. In his head, he pleads with his maker that if this is a dream may he please never wake up and suspend him in this sleep state forever. A small price to pay to have you entangled in his arms.

“I love you,” he repeats over and over as he kisses down your body, pressing kisses to every inch he can see and touch, just like he’s wanted to for so long in these strenuous months. His movements are gently, and you moan softly at the sensation of his knuckles grazing your skin as he pulls your shorts and underwear down your legs, leaving you know completely bare in front of him.

“I want to spend the rest of my days between these thighs,” he mumbles, pressing kisses to your inner thighs and his hands grab them and pull them apart gently. Like a man starved, his tongue works skillfully, giving you so much attention. Your hands tangle in his hair, and he sucks on your clit, making you cry out in pleasure. He loves the reactions he can elicit from you and he loves the taste of you. You’re as touched starved as he is and he wants nothing more than to stay between your legs for hours as you moan praises, and shudder under his touch. You back arches and you can’t help but squirm at the sensations, but he holds your legs gently, keeping you in place. The first time he brings you to orgasm is by his tongue, and you can taste yourself on his lips when he finally comes up for air.

You can’t even think of anything to say to reciprocate his words, your mind is hazy and you’re overcome with the feeling. He doesn’t seem to mind, and the look on his face almost proves how proud he is to be the one who’s the cause of your current state. He’s just so wrapped up in how your body is responding to his every move, he doesn’t care you’re completely speechless. The feeling of it all was just too much to try to attempt vocalizing coherent thoughts.

When he finally pushes himself inside you, it completely takes your breath away. He makes sure to go slow, taking his time and letting you adjust. He also needs to steady himself, because the feeling of you wrapped around him is incredible. It’s perfect, and he wants to take his time, but your so tight and feel so good, and it’s been so long since he’s experienced such an intimacy.

“You’re perfect,” you moan softly at the feeling of how he stretches you.

The compliments that fall from your lips, go right to his head, inflating his ego. His kisses become more frantic, and passionate. His hands shamelessly wander the length of your body, groping at the flesh, wanting to just worship every part of you, to just touch every part of you. His rhythm is slow at first, not wanting to cause you any discomfort, but you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him in closer and his mind is frenzied at the sensation. His movements become much more sporadic, chasing his relief as you cry out how close you are as your face rests in the crook of his neck, leaving kisses and bites on his neck, leaving your own marks on him like you were returning the favor.

“Cum inside me, Ezra,” you whisper, nibbling his ear and he groans hearing something only in his dreams manifest in the flesh. “It’s safe.”

He bites his lip and you tug gently on the ends of his hair, a moaning mess under him. The way your face contorts when you orgasm for the second time and the sensation of your release is the final sensation that triggers his own. He collapses on top of you, resting his face in the crook of your neck, whispering again how perfect you are before pulling out and rolling over to lay beside you.

You both are breathing heavily, glistening with sweat and feeling euphoric after coming down from the high. Your chests rise and fall as you both work to catch your breath before either of you speak. It’s a comfortable silence, both of you trying to recover. He looks over to you, and you match his gaze. You roll over onto your stomach and rest your head on his chest, taking a few moments before cleaning up. You rest your arm across his torso and he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer.

Here, in the depths of this dangerous planet, you felt safe in his arms. The excruciatingly long days of physical labor, chasing after promises of riches feel fruitless now more than ever, because the best thing you ever found in the Green had been right next to you the entire time.

General Taglist:

@sassy-kassaay​

@letsfly-andbe-free

#prospect #ezra prospect #ezra prospect x reader #ezra prospect x you #ezra prospect x y/n #pedro pascal characters #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x you #ezra x reader #ezra prospect smut #ezra prospect fluff #prospect fanfiction #ezra x reader smut #ezra x reader fluff #x reader #smut #fluff #mutual pining #friends to lovers

[bunnyofnegativeeuphoria]

Prompt Fill: “Cold”

I’m what they like to call not a clown but the entire circus. I’ve managed to delete one of the asks by accident, but rest assured I did see an anonymous prompter wish for “cold” or something to that effect...

Dear reader, it’s 3,3K words, so here we fucking go, lads.

Islanders

Cleaned up and now also on Ao3

“A room and a bath,” Geralt says without even glancing at the barman, attention fully on the precious cargo in his arms.

“Hang on, Witcher, you can’t just–”

“You’ll get your coin,” he grits through his teeth, “but whether your head is still attached to your neck when you do is for you to decide. Room and a bath. Now.”

A key lands on the countertop. 

“Upstairs and second door on the right.”

 The man shouts to someone behind himself. “Ilde! Hot water for the Witcher, sharpish!” 

“Geralt?” 

His senses turn from the foul stench of old ale and unwashed bodies and funnel inwards towards the shape of Jaskier. His bard moans softly and leans an icy forehead against Geralt’s neck. 

“Hmm?” Geralt murmurs against Jaskier’s hair.

“C-cold.”

He reeks of misery, sharp and undeserved. A great shiver runs through Jaskier, and Geralt tightens his hold around him.

“Cold water will do,” he grunts at the barman.

“But–”

“As fast as you can,” Geralt says, grabbing the key and making for the stairwell.

***

Casting igni in the direction of the hearth, Geralt lays Jaskier out on top of a humble straw mattress and begins to undress him. There’s no cloak, and the fool’s doublet is wet through. It refuses to budge, but Geralt has one ear turned towards Jaskier’s heartbeat and doesn’t hesitate to rip apart the fabric to get to skin. It’s paler than it should be and cold to the touch – cold where on any other day it is warmth itself. His bard gravitates towards sources of heat like a stable cat to an opportune sunbeam, and to exist in his orbit is a blessing greater than any coin Geralt has ever earned. 

The ruined doublet hits the floor with a squelch. Geralt moves to grab Jaskier’s breeches, but a shaking hand stops him.

“I-I r-rather lik-ked that ‘n,” Jaskier says, looking if anything even more unhappy than before. 

His pulse spikes, and worry roils in Geralt’s gut. 

“Doublets are replaceable,” he says. He spares a quick squeeze to Jaskier’s fingers before pulling the breeches and boots off in one desperate, inelegant action.

Jaskier is not a small man, but now, sad and shivering on the cusp of blue-tinged infirmity, he hunches and curls, reducing himself. Geralt misses his all-encompassing business. 

“In here,” comes a voice from the hallway, followed by what looks like the barman and his entire family. Two boys roll a tub in and settle it in front of the fireplace, and the others empty several buckets worth of water into it. 

“More, go on,” Ilde says, and the troop leaves as quick as they come, casting wary glances at Geralt’s swords as they go. 

“W-we’ll h’ve t-to p-pay more,” Jaskier says.

Geralt frowns and throws a threadbare blanket on top of him, inadequate and dusty though it is. 

“If they get the rest of the water within the minute, they can have double.”

“Not double. They’ll ch-cheat you. Always d-do.” Jaskier clasps at the blanket. His hands, normally so clever and expressive, jerk with exhaustion and looming danger. “Not-t worth it.”

“Let me account for what value I keep,” Geralt says. “Not hush. You have to conserve energy.”

Geralt sits down and takes a hold of Jaskier’s hands.

“W-what?”

“Shh.”

He wraps his giant paws around Jaskier’s hands, feeling wiry strength and a lifeline beneath the cold. Pressing his lips to the gap between his own thumbs, he blows warm air into the space between them. When he looks up after the third blow, he finds Jaskier looking at him. He smells less scared now. There’s a thought dancing on the tip of the bard’s tongue, but Geralt gives him a quelling look.  

“Right,” Ilde says from the doorway, and buckets follow with the kind of efficiency born of a strong desire to done and elsewhere. In less than a minute they are alone once more, door closing with a firm press. 

A steady stream of controlled fire erupts from Geralt’s hand, and he guides it across the surface of the tub until steam rises like from Roach’s back when she’s been safely put to bed in a warm stall after a day of cold and damp. The water ripples as he tests the temperature.

“G-Geralt?” Jaskier is sitting up, blanket having dropped to the ground. “C-can I?”

“Hmm,” Geralt says. Jaskier’s heartbeat has yet to settle, but his lips have lost their frosty stiffness. Though dry and cracked, they look pinker and plumper than before. “It’s all for you.” 

Gathering Jaskier in his arms once more, he hurries to the tub. He lowers Jaskier as well he can, but when they break the water’s surface–

“Ow,” Jaskier hisses. “Ow, G-Geralt.”

“I’m sorry, but you have to–”

“Hurts,” Jaskier presses, turning his face into Geralt’s neck with the same blind faith as he had when Geralt had come across him only an hour earlier, sodden and lost on the mucky road to the northern realms. His face, however, is not defiant or proud. This is a quiet pain, and Geralt aches in a place he had long thought broken beyond the repair of all charity. 

“I know. Shhh. Hold on to me,” he says. “All in one go.” 

Hands tighten weakly around his arm, and then he sinks Jaskier into the tub.

He doesn’t yell.

He doesn’t yell, but he does whimper – small and vulnerable and a thousand leagues beneath the surface of what he is entitled. 

Geralt pulls his arms away.

“D-don’t g–”

“I’m not.”

Stripping down with stern efficiency, Geralt gets in the tub himself, taking care to not jostle Jaskier. Water spills over the side as he guides Jaskier against his chest, making sure to move his medallion so the sharp angles of the wolf’s head don’t do him harm. It is cramped, and he settles in to cover as much of Jaskier’s surface area with his own body. They sit with their knees bent and peaking out of the water like make-believe islands – an archipelago of muscle and bone.

“How are you feeling?”

Jaskier breaths deeply and leans his face against Geralt’s shoulder. 

“Like I’m b-being poked by a h-hundred n-needles.” 

Geralt draws an arm around Jaskier’s chest, using his other hand to cover one of Jaskier’s knees. 

“Rest.”

“I-I’m so...I shouldn’t h-hav–”

He shakes his head. Jaskier must feel it for he falls silent again.

“Rest.”

***

Jaskier falls asleep in the tub with Geralt wrapped around him like a giant octopus from out of a Skelligan skald. The rhythm of his heart gradually calms to his regular song – almost bird-like by Geralt’s reckoning. Twice he warms the bathwater, content to let his meditation be guided by the measure of Jaskier’s recovery. He wills his own warmth to seep from his skin and through Jaskier’s, and if something else should flow with it, then he reckons he is far too old to be duplicitous now. 

“You needn’t stay on my account.”

Geralt looks down into the wild blue yonder.

“Do you want me to go?” he asks.

The thought sits awkwardly in him, pinching with the discomfort of new shoes. 

“I want you to do what you want to do.”

“Jaskier–”

“Stay,” Jaskier says on the wave of a quiet exhale. Geralt watches the word’s traces whisk across the water and sends a small flicker of flame after it. Steam rises once more, and Jaskier sighs, and it sounds acceptably content.

“How are you feeling?”

“Much better. On the whole, practically divine.”

There’s a snobbish artfulness to Jaskier’s tone now, and Geralt allows himself the press of a smile against Jaskier’s hairline. 

“Better or worse than a weekend with the Countess de Stael?”

“Darling, must you? I’ve quite reached my limit with humiliation for today.” There’s a tightness to his lips as Jaskier speaks, and Geralt frowns.

“Will you tell me why you were on the road, no cloak or lute to be seen?” 

Jaskier looks down, and his scent turns abruptly with embarrassment, smelling faintly like something is burning. 

“I suppose I’ll have to tell you.” He looks up with a tinge of defiance in his eyes, but it’s no hardship for Geralt to keep looking at him. “But you’ll have to earn it first.”

“Oh?”

“Wash my hair?”

There is life in his cornflower blues again, and that is reward enough for any challenge. Without a word, Geralt gets up and out of the tub. Water drips all over the creaky floorboards as he makes for the saddlebags brought up by one of the boys. His nose guides him to a bottle of oil scented with mild lavender, and he picks up a cup on his way back to Jaskier. 

With pink-tinged cheeks, Jaskier watches him climb back in behind him.

“I didn’t mean–”

Geralt huffs. 

“Yes you did. Hush.”

Cup in hand, Geralt guides Jaskier’s head into a tilt and scoops water over his hair, using his other hand to block the water from running into the bard’s eyes.

“You know, telling me to hush really isn’t as charming as your dour self might imagine.”

“Try sitting quietly in the knowledge of being,” Geralt says, feeling his lip twitch with the sort of maddening lack of control that eases into existence whenever Jaskier is around.

“Unbearable. Take that back.”

“Close your eyes.”

Jaskier closes his eyes immediately, and Geralt finds he has to swallow past all his want at the blatant display of trust. He spills some oil into his palms and wonders if Jaskier would let him do this if he knew the true shape of Geralt’s heart. Whole kingdoms believe it to be nonexistent or at the very least shrivelled and decaying. Jaskier thinks different. If he is to be believed, Geralt’s heart is like a honeyed bun – warm and dripping with a sweetness that Geralt knows was exterminated the second he saw Kaer Morhen rise in front of his too-young eyes. Little does Jaskier know that if you were to open Geralt’s chest and break it open past ribs and sinew and hold his heart, you would find it alternatingly smooth like silk chemises and rough with fingertip callouses, beating a rhythm to whatever tune it pleases. 

“Are you alright, darling?”

Jaskier has tilted his head back even further to look at him nearly upside down.

“Sorry,” Geralt mutters, hurrying to start to run his hands through Jaskier’s hair. It is brown and short and soft to the touch. With every turn of his hands, he washes away the smell of Jaskier’s hurt and replaces it with lavender and his own touch.

“Did I say divine before? I must have lost my wits. This is my religion.”

Geralt feels a chuckle rumble up his throat and into the still bedroom air. Eyes closed again, Jaskier seems to settle in on his own terms, and Geralt is more than happy to let him.

“Did you know there was an inventor from the southern continent – further south even than Nilfgaard – who discovered the measurement for density by sitting in a bathtub?”

Jaskier prattles on about mathematics and science and a man running naked down cobbled streets, and Geralt lets the sound of his voice cleanse him of all worries. He finishes washing Jaskier’s hair, and rinses it with the cup. Afterwards, he gathers more oil and settles his hands across Jaskier’s shoulders. There’s a hitch in Jaskier’s throat as Geralt begins to gentle the oil into soft, pale skin.

“G-Geralt?”

Geralt frowns.

“Are you cold again?”

“No.” Jaskier’s voice sounds small.

“May I continue?”

Jaskier’s chest expands with a visible breath.

“Please,” he says, shoulders gaining a healthy dusting of pinkish glow. He starts talking again when Geralt continues to oil his skin, Jaskier moving on to a fevered and slightly panic-tinged monologue about the Cintran sonnet form.

Jaskier’s body is strong beneath him. His skin bears only a few scars from youthful mishaps and a characteristic refusal to be left behind. There is one running length of his back that he earned as a boy slipping down a rocky hill. Another – much smaller – has nicked his ear from when he did not move fast enough away from a drowner’s grasp. Geralt remembers tending to the wound in a furious silence, and he also remembers the apologetic look of abject misery that trailed him for a full week thereafter. It is the longest he has ever heard Jaskier be quiet, and he is grateful the bard has never again felt cause to curb his words in his presence.

I love him, Geralt thinks. 

It’s not the first time he’s thought it, and he knows it will not be the last. He will carry the knowledge with him for however many centuries he may have left, and he will die with its truth glowing in every part of his body – an idea so well lived and nurtured that when his rotting corpse becomes earth once more around him will grow a ring made of dandelions and buttercups.

They have bathed together many times, but though Jaskier washes him after practically every monster fight, Geralt has until now not had the opportunity to return the favour. In the beginning he had no desire to. After that he had no cause to. Now, as he watches Jaskier’s nervous energy dispel at every gentle touch of Geralt’s hand, he thinks that perhaps he’s never needed more cause than that he wishes to. 

Geralt may not have as much experience as Jaskier when it comes to bathing another person, but he finds it comes easy when he thinks of how Jaskier bathes him. He thinks of Jaskier’s hands on him, soothing touches on bruised skin – careful even when minor wounds have long healed. He thinks of clever fingers massaging his neck and back. He thinks of timid motions turning methodical with confidence for every evening spent plucking endrega entrails out of white hair. At Jaskier’s waist, Geralt’s hands still. He thinks of – he thinks of how he himself has only ever given impersonal washes to his brothers, cleaning the necessary wounds and skirting quickly past the groin to everyone’s better happiness. He thinks of two nights ago – on the cusp of their yearly parting – how Jaskier had cleaned his thighs, his hips, the vee of his abdomen… 

He thinks of Jaskier with a washcloth, strong with tender caress between Geralt’s fingers – between Geralt’s toes. 

He thinks of the care and acceptance that saturates every action. 

He thinks Jaskier certainly deserves it. He deserves to have the same love – for love he now realises it is – reflected back at himself with as much willingness and devotion. And for that reason alone he shall have it.

Jaskier’s left knee has a thick scar on it from when he tried to ride Roach without permission and she dumped him in a field.

“Darling? Your face looks very Geralt-y.”

He looks to see Jaskier’s face inches from his own.

“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“Brooding? Plotting? Dreaming? I haven’t the foggiest. What are you thinking about?”

“I think our knees look like islands.”

Silence falls save for the occasional sound of a drop of water hitting the now tepid bath and the comforting crackle of the fireplace. Geralt feels Jaskier’s toe twitch next to his own before he shifts, leaning back against Geralt’s chest, and raises his leg straight up into the air.

“I suppose that makes our leg hairs the islanders,” Jaskier says in such perfect sincerity. 

Geralt swallows.

“Where is your lute?”

He feels rather than hears Jaskier’s sigh as he puts his leg back into the water.

“Hopefully still back at the Squealing Pig.”

For a second, Geralt is stunned.

“Wh–”

“I left it–”

“On purpose?” 

Geralt doesn’t think his eyebrows could rise any higher if he willed them to.

“Of course not! Well, perhaps. Not really, though. It’s hard to explain.”

“Explain.”

“You left.”

As if in agreement, they both pause to let that short truth hang in the air like a brightly coloured flag. 

“I left because it’s winter. We always part for winter.”

“I know.”

“You even hugged me goodbye and waved me off.”

“I know.”

“You–”

“I know.” Jaskier digs his forehead into Geralt’s clavicle so hard it hurts, but Geralt finds he has no intention to ever ask him to move. “I know I did, and then I woke the next day, and you were gone, and I felt like something was missing, and then I forgot my lute and my bag and my cloak, and I set off after you.”

There’s a warmth brewing beneath Geralt’s skin, and it ignites at every touchpoint shared between them. 

“And then it snowed,” he says.

“And then it snowed,” Jaskier says, “and it was too late to go back, but I didn’t have my cloak, and I didn’t have my lute so I could play my way to a room. So I kept walking, but it was so cold, and I got lost, and then…”

I love him, Geralt thinks.

“And then you fell asleep in the woods,” Geralt says.

Jaskier rests his hand over Geralt’s heart.

“And then you found me,” he says.

“And you scared me half to death,” Geralt says. 

“And here we are.”

“Hmmm,” Geralt sounds and does not know what to say. Words leap out of Jaskier like pufflballs in a summer breeze, scattering dandelion seeded meaningfulness all across the northern continent. He doesn’t know what to say, and so he gentles his hand down Jaskier’s side, curls his legs up more, and brings Jaskier even closer to him. Jaskier gasps into his neck as Geralt settles him in his lap, and then – slowly, tentatively, achingly – arms come around Geralt’s shoulders. Geralt turns his head and nudges Jaskier’s nose with his own, their foreheads resting together in a pleasure so perfect that where he to die in the morning he would do so with the knoweldge that he knew the touch of happiness. 

Hands caress through his hair and cup the side of his face, a thumb stroking back and forth over his cheek, and he can feel it’s well pruned from the water. Jaskier gasps again, almost as if on a sob, but no tears come.

“Geralt, I–” he croaks, faltering as he draws the knuckles of his right hand up and down Geralt’s neck. “Geralt, I think you’re the most magnificent…” 

He tightens his arms around Jaskier and feels his every breath dance across his lips. 

“I think you’re the most magnificent person I’ve ever met. You’re–” Jaskier laughs and shakes his head so their foreheads rub together. “Geralt, I don’t even have the words, I–”

“I do,” Geralt says.

Jaskier blinks.

“Y–you do?”

I love him, Geralt thinks.

“I love you,” Geralt says, not for a second looking away from Jaskier’s face so that he may see the hope, the surprise, and the happiness write themselves across him like an open book. And here they come, and there they go, and here love is to stay. 

Jaskier makes a noise – relief and desperation all in one – and then cracked lips are on his own, and Geralt kisses back. He kisses soft, he kisses gentle, and he kisses joy. 

“You really did know what to say,” Jaskier laughs.

“Mmm,” Geralt says, kissing him again. 

Jaskier cups his face between both hands. 

“Dear heart, I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you,” he says and draws breath as if to continue on forever and ever. 

Geralt kisses him one more time, feeling Jaskier’s lips curve up into a helpless smile.

“Not the most complicated rhyme scheme you’ve ever come up with, my lark,” he murmurs. 

“Darling,” Jaskier laughs, “I’ll write you so many songs.”

Liked it? Prompt me!

#bunnywrites #bunnyhaswritten #bunnywrote #bunnyask #bunnyfic #geraskier #the tub #the witcher #prompt fill #Geralt #jaskier #no roach #but you know she carried these losers on her back on the way to the village #and after this they go back for jaskier's lute #and then they go to kaer morhen or oxenfurt for the season #you know how it is #sorry if there are spelling mistakes #it's 4am and i'm tired

[hardskz]

[ 7:28 pm ] it’s like you’ve ascended to heaven.

there’s no other way around it; not when hyunjin is squeezing your hand reassuringly as you recover from your third orgasm of the evening. “good girl,” he mumbles before pressing a kiss on the tip of your nose.

a weak giggle escapes your lips and your lashes flutter shut when his hair tickles your skin. your heart does cartwheels when you open your eyes again, only to meet his loving gaze. whoever decided to bleach his hair and give him those extensions deserves a raise, you figure, because he definitely looks the part of an angel which further promotes the thought that you landed in heaven.

but then there’s jisung staring down at you smugly, cum glistening his fingertips. nestled between your trembling legs, his eyes never leave your face as sucks your slick off his hands. the butterflies in your stomach have vanished by now, only to be replaced with the terrifying realization that you’re just halfway there before the actual playtime begins. whoever decided to dye his hair black and start his love for rings deserves a promotion, you reckon, because his looks match his personality for the first time.

it’s like you’ve descended to hell.

“you can take another, can’t you? we’re both dying to be inside you.” jisung hums nonchalantly, making sure his cold rings touch your skin as he ghosts his knuckles over your inner thighs. the motion knocks the wind out of your lungs and you feel yourself growing wet again.

“y-yes, sir.” your voice is barely above a whisper, but it’s loud enough to catch both of their ears.

hyunjin doesn’t seem convinced, judging by the way his brows furrow in worry. “you sure you can do it? we can take it down a notch if it’s too much for you.” although you get where he’s coming from and appreciate the concern, you’re quick to shut him down.

“i’m fine, i just wanna... wanna be... good.”

“our good little girl, only obedient for us.” jisung muses before propping himself on his arms, face inches away from your oversensitive heat. “we said we’d only give you cock if you manage to cum four times, each from our mouths and hands, and you still agreed to that even though your limit is three. you’re so good for us, letting us use you however we want. our pretty cockslut.”  

“less talking, more working, jisung. i wanna fuck her already.”

jisung scoffs. “patience, hyunjin. if you took your time eating her out, i’ll take my time too.” it’s the last thing he says before he spreads your swollen folds apart and licks up a long stripe to your clit, causing you to yelp.

but then he flattens his tongue against your bundle of nerves, and you almost black out. at first, you think it’s your senses messing badly with you, but then he does it again and you feel the cold bud pressed against your clit with full force. you try to thrash around to get away from the sensations, but it’s a mission damned to fail when hyunjin’s vice grip is keeping your hands pinned above your head and jisung is firmly keeping your thighs apart.

“oh, did i forget to tell you?” jisung asks in a tone way too innocent to match the vicious glint in his features. you’re about to shoot him a confused look when his tongue darts out, revealing the silver ball that’s the cause of your downfall. “got this only for you, baby.”

it all goes straight to your throbbing core. “thank you, sir.” you cringe at the way your voice cracks midway, but that’s all history when he sends you a wink before returning to his previous position and resuming his sweet torment.

except, he doesn’t take his damn time with you any longer.

nothing could prepare you for the brutal treatment he’s put you on. not even the knowledge of his new piercing could soften the blow; frankly, that just makes it a thousand times worse. after going down on you so many times, jisung knows which areas and angles he has to exploit to make you reach your limit in lightning speed. his tongue works magic on you, flicking your clit and gathering all the slick that’s dribbling out of you. the piercing amplifies the effects by a thousandfold, reducing your ability to speak to loud moans that border cries. he groans obscenely as he sucks on your clit, the vibrations causing your blood to rush. and then in the heat of the moment, when you think you can’t be more overwhelmed, he rams two fingers into you knuckle-deep.

“fucking sadist,” hyunjin mutters under his breath as he watches you sob erratically. he stops sucking lovebites on your chest to move his lips up to your ear. “you close, baby? don’t hold back. cum on jisung’s tongue like the good girl you are.” the subtle growl in his voice doesn’t go unnoticed by you, and you choke out a “yes, master” when he gently takes your earlobe between his teeth.

jisung doubles his efforts to catch every single drop of you when you cum on his tongue with a cry so loud your neighbors are bound to hear. your body spasms, arms twitching although hyunjin is still restricting you. as your orgasm begins to ebb, you whimper in pain while jisung licks you clean, the tongue piercing sending your oversensitive cunt into overdrive.

“you did well, baby. look at you, breaking your record, well done.” finally, hyunjin lets go of your wrists before cupping your face to leave kisses all over. meanwhile, jisung is soothingly rubbing your hips, a lopsided grin etched on his face.

“please,” you sigh eventually, resulting in the two of them to pull away and look at you concernedly. before any of them can ask what’s wrong, you roll onto the side so that you’re lying on your stomach. you pull your knees in so that your lower weight rests on them, then move your hands behind to spread your folds apart, giving them an unfiltered view on your abused pussy.

they both suck in a sharp breath when they realize your intentions, looking like they’re about to pass out anytime soon. it’s batshit crazy, mad even, especially when you’ve never made it past three orgasms before and just barely made it to the fourth without a fail. but they wanted to push you and you agreed. there’s no way in heaven or hell that you’re going back on your words. “please. you promised you’d give me cock.”

hyunjin and jisung don’t need to be told twice.

#this is the end product of all posts on my blog from july 5th 2k2k #stray kids smut #skz smut #hwang hyunjin smut #hyunjin smut #han jisung smut #jisung smut #smut.mine #stray kids dark hours #jijiri.txt #hwang.txt #dom!hyunjin #dom!jisung #sub!reader

[anerdinallherglory]

Approaching Sun (31)

Author’s Note: Surprise readers! I wanted to celebrate the start of Spring Break (a very much needed break) by posting an update sooner than I expected. Also, it’s double the length, too. It’s practically two chapters in one!

Thank you always to my loyal readers. If I do not get back to you, please know that I see every review, every comment, and every mention. I am grateful for all of you!

Also, I have had a few readers tell me of songs they associate with A.S. and I just think that is so cool, because I too, connect music to books and fanfics that I read. I’d like to make a list of all my readers’ songs that they think fit A.S. and share them on my next update as the “soundtrack” for this story. Please let me know yours in the comments or through message.

Pairing: SasuSaku

Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30

.

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Chapter 31: Not Enough

Sakura spun the sword, adjusting it on her left forearm as she pivoted on her heel to bring it around her in another protective arc. The blackness that hovered before her again instantly shielded her enemies from view which could be considered both advantageous and disadvantageous for her.

For the first, Mako and Hisa immediately rushed forward, using the ninjutsu as a cloak. They crisscrossed her, one taking a swipe at her from the front right and the other coming from the left. When Hisa’s blade came from the right, Sakura’s first instinct was to dodge and strike her foe in the side with her fists as she passed. But with her chakra currently restricted, Sakura ducked, pushed up on the handle of her assault weapon with her forearm, and brought her own blade naturally to Hisa’s right flank as she redirected the attack. Sakura hissed in disappointment because the cut was interrupted when she retreated and the result was shallow, not slicing deep enough to incapacitate her. When Hisa took a step back, clutching her flank, Mako suddenly appeared like a breaching shark from the deep only inches before Sakura’s face. He kicked her, quite hard, and Sakura fell into the sand, her weapon tossed aside from the blow. She scrambled for it as Mako grabbed hold of her ankle. She kicked free of his hold, but he was upon he, knees straddling her, and Sakura had no choice but to turn and face him.

He cuffed her hands above her head, saying quietly, “Don’t make this difficult! You will lose your life if you continue to resist. They’ll kill you. Stop struggling!”

Sakura cursed herself for drinking that damn tea, because if she had chakra, she would headbutt his face so far back into his skull that the impact would instantly kill him. Hisa’s face suddenly appeared above Mako’s rights shoulder.

“Killing her is the only option. We don’t have time to hold her hostage,” she chastised Mako with venom in her voice. “We have to get back to base quickly with the news of her death.”

“We could use her. She’s too important to kill immediately.” Came Mako’s response as he sat down hard against her bucking legs.  

“We don’t have time for this! The drug effects won’t last on her all the way back to Tanigakure!”

Perfect, Sakura thought. The confirmation she had been looking for. They were in fact the same party of ninja who had attacked her and Sasuke on their journey to Suna. Sakura still wasn’t entirely sure just how many belonged to their group.

“Reach in my pocket for the second dose. We will knock her back out if we have to!” came Mako’s reply, but it was too late. Sakura had been calling, calling, calling her chakra to her wrists this entire time and used that small amount of sudden strength to overpower Mako’s hold, swinging her arms quickly back down to her sides which caused Mako’s own arms to follow. His head hit the ground to the left of her neck and Sakura immediately rolled him, bestriding him the same way he had just held her.

Hisa didn’t hesitate a second as her weapon came swiping horizontally across Sakura’s back. Sakura predicted this and used Mako’s struggling momentum to once again roll him back on top of her. The blade bit into the flesh of his back and he screamed. In the same moment, Sakura used the last of her strength to wedge her knees between herself and Mako’s chest, shoving him out and back toward a surprised Hisa. They both fell tangled back into the shadowy mist, hitting sand somewhere out of sight.

Within seconds, Sakura scrambled toward the lost weapon and the sword she had dropped was within Sakura’s reach. But when she fisted the pommel, a foot stepped down on the blade. The black mist cleared to reveal the eyeless depths of the shadow demon above her.

“Enough of this,” he hissed. Shadows leaked from his eyes, down his face, and crawled down his chest, legs, and over the length of the weapon, icing Sakura’s fingers when they touched the handle. Sakura immediately recoiled in pain as her fingers turned a sickening black. She screamed, backing away from his advancing figure, hand tucked protectively in the crook between her arm and side.

Rage more than fear boiled beneath Sakura’s skin. What sick ninjutsu was this? It reminded her of a combination between Zabuza’s Hidden Mist technique and Shikamaru’s Shadow Control. But the damage was entirely unexpectedt, as if the shadows inside his body were made of a poisonous substance that bleached out the life of whatever it touched. This phantom before her controlled darkness directly, thickening what already existed in the air around them, and then leaking black chakra directly from his body which destroyed whatever came in contact with it. Like the shadows of death itself, Sakura was certain it had stollen all life from her immovable hand.

Sakura cursed and bolted to the left, seeking out the jagged rocks that she had created earlier. She had to test a theory. Sakura slowed as she clutched her hand, listening, keeping an eye on her feet at all times in fear of creeping black, knowing the phantom would pursue.

When his steps came closer, Sakura turned and faced him. A chakra-manipulated path cleared the darkness between them, allowing the two ninja to see each other in the surrounding haze. This confirmed one thing for Sakura: no one, including the ninja user himself, could see through the darkness he created. That was good to know.

Just one more thing then. She waited and the shade sneered as he approached. When he came withing a few feet away, shadows reached for her like grasping fingers. Just as she had seen Temari do all those years ago during the Chunin exams, Sakura backed away until the shadows stopped and retreated back into the skull of the demon who had projected them. She drew a line in the sand, confirming the distance of ten feet between them.

Ha. She thought to herself. Just like Shikamaru’s justsu then. Similarly, it had a limited reach, although it was much shorter than Shikamaru’s range and didn’t seem to be able to use the shadows in the air around it to lengthen or widen. It explained the purpose of the shadows in the air though; the phantom ninja needed to be in close range where individuals couldn’t see the approaching black tentacles of death.

Sakura scoffed. Apparently, this ninja couldn’t measure up to Shikamaru’s intelligence either, considering the fact that she had just figured out how his ninjutsu worked.

There was only one problem, though. Sakura was a close-combat shinobi as well, and her number one battle technique was her chakra enhanced strength. She needed a plan that would allow her to take a different approach.

She ran and her attacker pursued her, thickening the air before her but leaving the trail behind her completely clear.

Suddenly, Mako’s words from earlier came back to her, which gave Sakura an idea. It was the only thing Sakura could think of. She doubled back to where Mako and Hisa had been disposed. She followed the blood in the sand to the precipice of a jagged chunk of earth. When she came upon Mako, Sakura noted that Hisa was already gone, having abandoned him immediately. Hisa was probably blindly searching for Sakura among the shadow-cloaked mountains of ground and sand.

Sakura didn’t have much time. She placed her hand over Mako’s mouth so he wouldn’t scream and give away their location; not that it would do much good. If the phantom had room for a brain somewhere next to that pit of darkness in his skull, he would follow the blood as she had, or trace her tracks in the sand.

Mako, laying on his bloody back in the sand, shot his eyes open when Sakura’s hand pressed down hard on his mouth with her black hand. It was barely more than a useless appendage at this point, but with the help of her good hand, Sakura shoved her fingers in his mouth to silence him. He tried biting them, tearing into her blackened flesh. But Sakura couldn’t feel them at all, the deadening so complete that Sakura was afraid she would never regain use of it again.

With her free hand, Sakura searched Mako’s person. Her hand fisted triumphantly in his back pocket around something long and cylindrical. She pulled it free, praying frantically that it was what she theorized it to be. Bless you for being thorough and for telling me you had it, she thought to Mako as she surveyed the capped yellow injection tube. Whether it was Ashuwa or a second dose of whatever he had put in her tea, Sakura didn’t know. But whatever it was, Mako had revealed its purpose to Hisa which was to incapacitate her again once the current drug in her system stopped working.

Mako squirmed beneath her and Sakura contemplated killing him right then and there. But she just didn’t have time. Lucky bastard. She sprinted from him, the phantom stepping over the boulder in the same moment she darted from the concealed spot.

Did he see what she grabbed? Sakura wasn’t confident but couldn’t stop to try to interpret the eye-less facial expression the ninja wore. Remaining hopeful, she kept running.

Spotting a smaller set of tracks in the sand leaving the location, Sakura followed them, tracing them all the way to their source. When Sakura came upon Hisa, she almost collided with her directly, the blackened air only revealing her in the last second. Hisa didn’t even have a chance to react before Sakura uncapped the needle and dispensed a third of the dose into her neck, enough for her weight. The woman dropped to the ground and Sakura thanked Mako again for designing the perfect drug. Sakura didn’t estimate that she would remain unconscious for long, though, not having the full dose.

Sakura moved quickly. There was only a matter of minutes before the phantom caught up to her once again. Sakura quickly removed the cloak from Hisa’s shoulders and wrapped Hisa’s face covering around her own. She picked up Hisa’s small rapier from the ground.

She turned and walked toward the approaching footsteps, using the black at her back to her advantage this time, thankful for once that it would conceal Hisa’s body completely.

When she came into his view, the ninja balked, taken aback at her familiar presence. “Hisa?” came the hissing whisper. Sakura kept her head down long enough. Long enough to come parallel with him and turn the blade to relieve him of his head.  

He ducked as Sakura knew he would. Dropping the shortsword, she came back toward his face with the hidden syringe in the same hand. Like with Hisa, she caught him in the neck with the needle neck, and his black sockets widened as she fully pressed in the plunger.

Deathly black shot out of his eye sockets, gripping her remaining hand with blackness as it traveled up her arm. She cried out in both pain and fury as the medicine injected into the demon’s skin. He screamed and she pulled away as he dropped to his knees.

His consciousness remained momentarily, and Sakura turned, arms limp and useless from damage like Orochimaru’s had been. Turning, Sakura found the sword she had dropped. Bending down, she gripped it between her teeth, the taste of metal and sand coating her tongue. It tasted so, so sweet in that second.

Like another mist demon she remembered, Zabuza Momochi, Sakura wielded the blade between her teeth and pivoted to face this monster who was solely responsible for torturing Isao, spreading hatred and pain, and most of all, underestimating her.

Sakura would never be weak enough that anyone without substance, anyone who couldn’t consider themselves subpar to a legendary Sanin, could dispose of her easily. She didn’t need abilities. She didn’t even need chakra to make it out triumphant in these futile attempts on her life.

“You will regret your choices,” the phantom hissed disorientated. “The next generation won’t be able to handle what is coming.”

Sakura began to advance toward him, ready to mimic Zabuza’s killing blows with a fang-wielded blade. When she reached him, she glared down at him, bloodlust in her veins.

“War is a good thing. Anger is a tool to be used. Vengeance is necessary to strengthen.”

Sakura gripped onto her own blood-bent mind, talking to herself as she looked at this man…beast…whatever he was. And as she had done with Satou, Sakura now too, thought of Sasuke. A person so wrapped in darkness that the darkness presented itself in his very nature.

“You, like everyone else, deserve mercy,” Sakura announced after she dropped the sword from her mouth. Sakura had once blamed herself for being too weak to kill Sasuke, but in this moment, Sakura had an enlightening clarification. When someone so vile deserves death and you can find it in yourself to drop your too-ready hand of justice and offer them a second chance—that is real strength. It’s what Naruto would have done. It’s what Sakura chose to do now.

The man slumped forward, eyes level with the blade that stuck up from the sand. “You will see one day that I am right,” he hissed in finality.

“You have us confused with one another,” she announced to the fading darkness that began to disintegrate into light, the final sign signaling his unconsciousness. Sakura could just make out the sunrise in the east and it was beautiful, pale, and rosy. Sakura pretended it was her victory banner. She also believed it was a sign of hope.  

………………………………….

The second chakra pill worked another miracle. Sasuke felt replenished as he practically flew across the sand path in Isao’s memory. He had only run this fast a few times in his life and most recently, it was because of this same scenario. Kido, too, had kidnapped Sakura, and when Sasuke had found out, he had run.

Sasuke cursed himself now for his stupidity. His pride. His mission. He had left in anger and confusion after their kiss, left her alone in Suna despite his promise to never let this sort of thing happen again. Each step he took into the sand was echoed in his mind with an apology. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. He lost count of how many times he said it.

Chakra coursed through his limbs and Sasuke mentally prepared himself for war. Bones enveloped his body, ribs caging around him as he activated an incomplete Susanoo. Purple chakra radiated from him, a threatening beacon to the kidnappers he knew would be nearby.

Sasuke instantly recognized the projections of broken ground that penetrated up from the sand like a golden crown. Unlike in Isao’s shadowy memories, the morning light illuminated each pillar, revealing the sheer length and size of every new peak that Sakura had brought forth with her inhuman strength.  Sasuke didn’t even think of concealing his presence; he didn’t need to. He charged into the center of the fray, looking about him everywhere.

He looked behind a few of the crags, eyes finally landing on an individual. Bloody, but not unconscious, Mako lay with his face projected to the sky. His eyes shot open when Sasuke placed a heavy foot on his chest. He wanted to light him up with his Amaterasu and let the flames devour him alive until the ninja was nothing more than the sand beneath him.

Mako groaned and Sasuke unsheathed his katana, stabbing into this ninja’s shoulder. Although he didn’t need to pin him to the ground, it felt good to watch Mako clutch at the blade near his collar bone. The medic ninja was still alive despite his blood loss, but Sasuke relished in the thought that he wouldn’t be for long. Gaara might be mad at him for this later, but Sasuke didn’t care.

“Where is she?” The Uchiha hissed as he sent electricity down the length of his blade into Mako’s chest muscles. He began to spasm.

“Stop!” Mako screamed in pain.

“It will stop when you answer!” he yelled back, losing control of his own emotions. He twisted the metal for emphasis.

“Sasuke, stop!” came a familiar voice and Sasuke’s dropped the blade in shock as Sakura threw her shoulder into him.

“I don’t have enough chakra to spare to heal any more wounds,” she reprimanded him as if she were talking to a patient.

Sasuke blinked in chastisement at the pink-haired woman standing whole before him. He instantly pulled her into his Susanoo, crushing her to his side as he extended the ribcage of the Susanoo to include her. He looked around warily as if he couldn’t quite believe there was no current threat to Sakura’s person. He finally spoke, both relief and annoyance edging his words. “You’re okay?! Where are the others?!”

“I’m fine!” she announced, face suddenly red in embarrassment at their close proximity. Sasuke didn’t notice it at first as he held her back at arm’s length to check her current state. His stomach dropped when he saw her dangling arms, blackened, charred, and bruised. One of them currently had a small halo of green around it and its color paled in comparison to the other.

“Who did this to you?” he rumbled lowly, flashing a red and purple glare back down at Mako, who whimpered pathetically from his wounds. Sakura pulled from his hand and moved in front of the Uchiha, cutting off his direction of blame.

“Not him,” she excused, and her defense thoroughly pissed Sasuke off. Whatever Mako’s role was in this, Sasuke was certain that he was to blame for all of it.

Sasuke did his best to swallow his murdering thirst, eyes landing back on her like a lifeline to his sanity. “Tell me what happened,” he ordered. It was the only words that he could force past his teeth.

“I will explain everything to you, but I need your help first.” She made to step away from him, but Sasuke prevented it. Careful not to aggravate her injuries by touching her arm, Sasuke grabbed her shirt on reflex instead, pulling her back into the safety of the Susanoo.

“It’s okay. We are safe.” she breathed, smiling at him for the first time since he had left her, which brought Sasuke back some soothing clarity of mind. “They are all incapacitated.”

Sasuke’s eyebrow shot up into his bangs. “All of them?”

“It’s insulting that you are surprised,” she nudged him with her shoulder, turning her shoulders to face Mako. She bent to medically assess his new stab wound.

“I wasn’t expecting,” he admitted, but then fell into silence at her targeted look. “I mean, I thought that you were drugged!”

“I am,” she announced, narrowing her eyes further. “But I don’t know how you know that.”

Sasuke cursed at his slip. He couldn’t tell her just yet about how he practically forced Isao to spill all the information earlier. Instead, he said half-truthfully, “I ran into the kid.”

“Isao?” Sakura’s face lit up. “He’s okay? He made it back?” She slumped into the sand at Mako’s side. She practically deflated as her concern for the boy evaporated. “Bless that child.”

Sasuke had to agree. If it weren’t for him, Sasuke wouldn’t have been able to find his teammate this quickly. Even though Sakura hadn’t really needed his help after all. How strange that felt for Sasuke, to not be needed in the ways that he had once been. It was an unexpected jolt to his mindset toward Sakura. She had proved her strength repeatedly to him and he continued to see her as someone to protect.

Before he could even offer an apology, Sakura motioned toward Mako’s body. “My arms are a little preoccupied at the moment. Do you mind flipping him?”

Sasuke’s thoughts instantly darkened at the mention of both her arms and Mako. “What for?”

“I need to look at his back. See how deep the wound is.”

“He doesn’t deserve your help,” he replied instantly, wishing for the ninja to suffer in the same ways he had made his friend.

“I remember a time when you didn’t either,” Sakura replied with a smiling voice, “but I helped you back then, too. Now flip him.”

Sasuke scoffed at her statement, stooped, and flipped the ninja on his stomach. Mako let out a pained groan and Sakura “tsked” at his blatant carelessness. He kneeled beside her, ready to be her hands despite how much he hated the thought of her trying to help him.

“It’s not as deep as I thought. Hold his flesh together,” she ordered and Sasuke did so as she summoned a small stream of chakra to the gray fingertips of her semi-healed hand. The small amount did not last long, but it was enough. Just enough to stop the bleeding.

“Why are you helping me?” Mako asked faintly into the sand, and Sasuke immediately responded for her.

“You don’t need to know, so just shut your mouth so I don’t have to hear your voice.”

Sakura nudged him for his harsh words. “You sure have a lot to say today.” And Sasuke blinked at her again in surprise. She was right; he was talking a lot…for him. He responded with another scoff.

Sakura answered Mako’s question despite Sasuke’s threat. “You believe in war. I believe in peace. We are stronger united than when we are divided. This is how I create peace.”

Sasuke wasn’t following entirely, but he knew that Sakura was referencing words that had been exchanged between them, and Sasuke recognized them as the poison from a mindset consumed in darkness.

Standing again, Sakura said, “The hard part is going to be getting them all back to Sunagakure.”

“What do you mean?” Sasuke asked.

“They’re drugged. Not all of them are dead. They’ll wake soon,” she clarified for him.

Sasuke didn’t even think before saying, “I can remedy that.”

She ignored him, continuing, “We might have to make a couple trips. How many can you carry?”

Sasuke didn’t even respond to that ridiculous notion. Instead, he activated his Rinnegan once more, feeding it with the chakra from the chakra pill. A spiral appeared before them, revealing the central red-dune dimension. Sakura didn’t even have time to protest before Sasuke was throwing Mako’s limp body inside the hole.

“What are you doing?” Sakura asked, confused and stunned by his actions.

“They can remain in this dimension until we make it back to Suna. They can’t flee inside. They have nowhere to go.”

Sakura nodded in understanding. “Good idea!” she praised him, obviously relieved she wasn’t going to have to try to carry anyone with her arms practically useless.

“I’ll take you to the others.”

A female kunoichi Sakura called Hisa was the second to be transported to Kaguya’s center dimension. Then a different sort of being Sasuke considered warily. He didn’t look to be human. Sakura explained that he had been the most dangerous of them all. Sakura believed him to be the ringleader, though she wasn’t sure how many group members he truly led. It was still a confusing web of connections.

Sakura left out the fact that this ninja must be the one to have damaged her arms, but no good would come from Sasuke demanding that she confirm that for him. The Uchiha made a mental note of it as he tossed the unconscious ninja inside, already contemplating on ways to make him talk.

“Is that all?” he asked.

“One more,” she replied, and she led Sasuke toward a small adobe house that he hadn’t noticed before. It was alone in the desert, one wall completely destroyed, revealing the building’s stark clay interior.

Just before they reached the ruins, Sakura stopped when they approached the body of a large man. Sasuke was surprised to find this man not just unconscious; he was dead.

“He hurt Isao,” she defended automatically, ashamed that death had been necessary.

But Sasuke didn’t need an explanation from her. If she wouldn’t have, Saskue was pretty sure that he would have killed him. “Let the sand have him,” he declared, but Sakura shook her head.

“He belongs with them. They must be able to bury and grieve to find peace. We don’t want to give them cause for any further resentment.”

Sasuke wanted to say “you can’t be serious,” but he didn’t feel like arguing, because no matter what Sasuke could come up with to say next, Sakura would still be right in the end. She had a bigger vision in mind that Sasuke couldn’t quite connect sometimes. He just knew that he would always trust her to do the right thing, even if it wasn’t sensible, or in most cases, not what Sasuke would have done.

“Fine,” he declared, opening the portal once more. His breathing became labored as he pushed the effects of the chakra pill. Like with the others, Sasuke dragged the man’s body into the portal.

Sasuke also stepped through, leaving the gateway open between realms. He directed his attention to Mako, ice already coating his next words.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t wander too far from this spot. The dimension is endless and not of our world. You will only lose yourself and die in this place.”

Mako swallowed deeply in fear as he watched Sasuke’s form from his stomach.

“On second thought,” Sasuke sneered under his breath. “Feel free.” The portal closed behind the Uchiha as he exited. He would deal with all of them later, he thought. He needed to get Sakura back to Sunagakure first.  

………………………………

Sakura couldn’t help but whimper when her left arm wasn’t responding as quickly to her healing chakra. Her right hand—the very same one she had shoved into Mako’s mouth to keep him from screaming—had almost fully recovered as the medicine suppressing her chakra began to wear off and her healing abilities returned to her. Her left hand, however, was at first very numb, which Sakura knew was a very bad sign. But the longer she worked at healing, the more the pain began to intensify. It was almost unbearable, but Sakura was ultimately relieved at the burning sensation that indicated life. Sakura considered the differences between the two hands and all she could conclude was that distance must have had something to do with it since her right hand had a grabbed the blackened sword at his feet and her left had been near his face when she plunged the needle in his neck.

Sasuke supported her as they walked back to the Sand Village, though he suddenly seemed to her like he was the one that needed supporting. He stumbled in the sand and Sakura removed her good arm from his shoulders.

“I’m good. But are you okay?” she asked, noticing his strenuous breathing for the first time.

“Yes,” he fibbed, and Sakura knew it was a lie the minute he clutched his head to support it.

Redirecting her chakra back to her healed hand, Sakura immediately sought out Sasuke’s brow with her fingertips. He moaned with relief as green chakra lighted over it, but he instantly pushed her hand away. “Heal yourself.”

“What happened?” she responded, ignoring his demand. She found his forehead again. “There’s nothing I can do if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”

“I took two chakra pills. I’ll be fine though. I just need rest.” He removed her hand again.

Sakura inhaled sharply at the confession. “Why did you do that?”

“I had already depleted my chakra reserves when I found out you weren’t in the village. I panicked.”

“Overdosing on chakra pills is one thing,” she scolded, “but using them recklessly to overexert your Rinnegan is another. No matter how much chakra you have, you have limits with the Rinnegan.”

“It was my only choice,” he defended sharply, obviously masking his embarrassment with annoyance.

Sakura placed her glowing palm over his eyes, now certain of the source of his discomfort. Sasuke made to move her hand away once more, but she fussed like a mother when he tried. “Let me have my way, or we’ll be here longer.”

Sasuke released a small laugh that sounded like another scoff. Only Team 7 could tell the difference between Sasuke’s derisiveness and his sense of humor.  Sakura couldn’t believe he had the energy to laugh. But then something changed in the air around them and Sasuke grew very serious as he inhaled—the type of inhale someone made before having something important to say.

Sasuke finally managed to grab her fingers and he tugged them away after Sakura was satisfied with his treatment. But he didn’t let go. Instead, he held them for a moment that suggested tenderness. It was different from how their hands had brushed so many times before, like how they rested them against each other as they watched Suna’s desert sunset. This time, it was more like how Sasuke had held her hand between them in the medicine preparation room.

Finally working up the courage, Sasuke looked down at her feet and said, “I’m sorry.”

Sakura stared at the firm hold his fingers had on hers in wonder. And the truly amazing part was that he stillwasn’t letting go. “For what?” she whispered, not knowing what else to say for fear of him moving away.

“For leaving you behind in Suna. For leaving in anger. For not being there and letting this happen.”

Sakura didn’t let him continue. “Sasuke,” she began, catching his guilty eyes with her own. “You don’t have to worry about me anymore. I hope I have proved that to you, today. Please don’t burden yourself with worry for me. I can carry my own burdens and some. You already have the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

Sasuke searched her eyes with his. Sakura knew this was a rare occasion. Not many people would see the Uchiha open, unguarded, with care etched in every feature of his expression.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said suddenly, still holding her fingers tightly, and Sakura felt the whole world suddenly still around them. Even the desert wind seemed to stop. Was this the Sasuke she had always known was inside, no matter how roughly he displayed himself to the world?

“I’m sorry for what happened,” Sakura interrupted, afraid for another impending denial of her feelings. She knew what was coming and she didn’t want this small moment to end. “I won’t do that again.”

He paused and Sakura wondered if he was unsettled by the open acknowledgement of her stollen kiss.

He sighed and Sakura’s stomach dropped. She felt him hesitate, saw it in his face. But he resolved himself, declaring, “I came to a conclusion while I was away, and I have to say this while I have the nerve.”

Sakura nodded, ready for disappointment. She was more afraid of what he would say next than she had ever felt going toe-to-toe with her enemies just moments ago.

“Can it be enough for us to care for one another?” he asked, desperation cloaked with mock annoyance on his breath. “Can it just be enough for us to be friends as long as we are in each other’s lives sometimes? Can it be enough for us to be united in the same goal?”

Sakura’s heart sank and unhappiness hit her like the wave she was expecting. Tears threatened to brim her eyelids, but Sakura swallowed them down. Would he ever not be this thickheaded and stubborn? Would he ever let them be what they could be? Whether or not Sakura was simply high on victory or if she was genuinely losing her meekness in Sasuke’s presence, Sakura wasn’t sure.

She removed her hand from his. “Is it enough for you?” she finally asked, taking a step away from him. But he caught her fingers again, pulling her back gently to face him.

“Is that a no?” he asked emotionlessly, but Sakura saw the struggle in his eyes.

“When the answer becomes ‘yes’ for you, I will accept it as mine as well.” She pulled away, firmly this time. He couldn’t respond. Sakura knew why: he wanted to put this on her; he was always putting it back on her, afraid “because of her,” hesitant “because of her.” These were his excuses, but Sakura wouldn’t give him an out this time. It was his turn to choose.

They both knew that it was far too late for Sasuke to pretend he didn’t love her in the same way that Sakura loved him. But Sakura had learned that people love in many ways and not all people wanted to express that love romantically. Kissing Sasuke had been a mistake. She hated to call it that, but it was the truth of it. She didn’t want to steal from him what he wasn’t ready to give—what he wasn’t at peace with. It was his turn; he now knew where she stood.

………………………………..

When they finally made it back to the Hidden Sand Village, Kankuro was there to intercept them just as Sasuke had expected he would. The puppet-wielding ninja was beside himself with worry at seeing Sakura’s injuries, insisting that Sakura promptly return to the hospital. Sakura had insisted she tend to her own wounds back in their lodgings so she could rest. She immediately requested to see Isao, but Kankuro insisted she get some rest first.

It wasn’t until Sasuke insisted that he have an audience with him and Gaara, that he left Sakura to her own desires. As they parted, Sasuke tried to say something or grab her eyes with his, but she didn’t look at him. Not even once. And Sasuke ran his hand exhaustedly through his hair. He couldn’t think about them right now. A conference with the Kazekage would be the perfect distraction.

Gaara, miraculously, had returned before he and Sakura had, and Sasuke wondered just how fast news could travel. Sasuke privately joked with himself that the desert shared its secrets with the Kazekage. The wind and sand must speak to him if he found out things so quickly. It was a hypothesis that could explain a lot at least.

Sasuke shook his head as he followed Kankuro into the Kazekage’s office. He must be getting delirious from the effects of the chakra pills.

“Sasuke,” came Gaara’s raspy acknowledgement when the Uchiha stepped into the room. Gaara was surprisingly alone, which relieved Sasuke. He thought he would have to face Gaara with the “support” of his council. It would be easier to speak of recent events if only Gaara and Kankuro were present.

Sasuke nodded respectfully despite his feelings of resentment toward the two men at the moment for having let Sakura be kidnapped under their watch. As a ninja that was a part of this unpredictable shinobi world, Sasuke knew his anger was unjustified, but he wanted to be mad at anyone and everyone right now. 99% of his own anger was directed at himself, because Sasuke knew that he was more responsible for what happened than the Kazekage and his brother were. The Kazekage had been trying to be proactive and prevent something like this from happening. It just didn’t turn out that way.

The Kazekage seemed to share Sasuke concern for discreetness, because he cloaked the room in sand as he had done the first day of Sasuke arrival. It filled every crevice, thickening to soundproof the room.

Sasuke opened the portal into Kaguya’s central dimension without further delay. He walked into the vortex, not surprised the group remained exactly where he had left them. The only difference was that they were conscious, a fact that slightly irked the Uchiha.

One by one, he grabbed each ninja, tossing them forward into the Kazekage’s domain. Hisa clutched at her dead counterpart, holding onto the deceased brute. Sasuke found grim satisfaction in Mako’s subdued, yielding persona. Being present before the Kazekage was far more terrifying than being stuck in a desolate dimension.

But the individual that held both Sasuke and the Kazekage’s attention was the wraith-like individual that bled darkness from a small spot on his neck. It was his only injury.

Gaara carefully considered him, crossing his arms and surveying him emotionlessly as he did most enemies that he regarded.

Darkness suddenly began to ooze from the man’s eye sockets and Sasuke’s temper suddenly flared. He looked to Gaara, and the ninja nodded his permission.

“Only demons don’t seem to know when they’re in the presence of other demons. Shall I show you hell?”

Sasuke’s eye suddenly began to bleed as he formed the tiger seal for fire release. “Amaterasu!”

The black flames clung to the phantom, incinerating what Sasuke realized was dark masses of sinewing, vaporized flesh. The phantom hissed. Then screamed, then began to plead for mercy. Hisa began to cry and Mako turned his face away from their leader.

Gaara came up beside Sasuke to speak to the wraith as he writhed. Sasuke released the Amaterasu and the flames receded.

The Kazekage crouched, an arm on his knee. “From one demon to another, I urge you to leave your shadows behind in hell and step out into the light. Only demons desire war. And war breeds more demons.”

Sasuke clutched his eye in silent suffering, and Gaara dismissed him. “I’ll handle the rest. I’ll let you know what we find out.”

Sasuke nodded, not waiting for any further excuses to depart. He had delivered them into the Kazekage’s care. But what those ninja didn’t know was that Sakura’s mercy held Sasuke more confined than it did the Kazekage, a demon just as he had said, whose territory had been breached.

……………………

Sakura was finishing binding her tender left hand in medical bandaging, using up the last of her burn solvent that she had created at Suna’s hospital, when Sasuke walked in.

He opened the door, caught her eyes with his, and tried to hide the bloody track down his face from her with his hand. She was on her feet instantly, pulling him to the bed that he had staked his claim on.

She felt his forehead and it was hot, too hot. He had done it this time. She sighed, summoning the small reserve of chakra behind the diamond mark on her forehead.

She expected Sasuke to scold her for using what little she had left on him, but he didn’t seem to notice in his extreme exhaustion. “Thank you,” he whispered, and Sakura retreated to fetch water for him.

He gulped it greedily and Sakura helped him shrug out of his outer layer of clothing. Sand fell from his hair and clothes in the same way hers had earlier. “I’m better now,” he whispered, the first words spoken between them since their disagreement in the desert.

Sakura nodded, making to move away, but he grabbed her hand for the third time that day.

“Don’t be angry,” he begged, his exhaustion making him suddenly careless to conceal his true intentions with fake displeasure and irritation.

“Why do you think I am angry?” she asked emotionlessly.

“I just want what’s best for you. I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered in defeat. This side of Sasuke startled Sakura. He was becoming more undefended, open with emotions in a way she had never seen him before. Was it because he didn’t have anything to hide anymore? Was he past his denials and his pretending?

“I know,” she squeezed his hand back. “But your concerns are groundless.”

“Tell me how,” he pleaded.

She sat beside him on his bed, and he tilted his ear to her, never removing his hand from hers. She took a breath and told him the truth. Told him everything he needed to know. “I do not love you sacrificially, Sasuke. I do not choose you knowing that my life or happiness could be forfeit by doing so. I choose you because I can keep up with you. Because something like your absence wouldn’t be enough to determine my permanent happiness. I will choose to go on, content with only the thought that I know you are out there somewhere loving me if that is all that I have in the moment.”

She took a breath and continued before he could respond. “I am strong enough to handle whatever comes my way as a result of loving you. And I have absolutely no doubts in my feelings, my happiness, and what I am willing to compromise to be with the person I love most.”

Sakura reached tenderly to turn his face to hers and their eyes met. She touched his forehead in the same way he had done to her many times before. “That person is you,” she reassured him, offering him a sincere smile as she removed her hand from his forehead.

Then Sasuke leaned forward. Very close to her, and Sakura bit her lip to keep from reaching for his with her own. “Is all of that true?” he requested again, suddenly breathless. And Sakura knew later that it was just to be sure before what came next.

“Yes,” she breathed. And she didn’t have to reach for him, because he was suddenly reaching for her. His hand found her chin and Sakura waited for his choice. She waited for him to move. And he did.

“Then my answer is no; it’s not enough for me either.” When his lips carefully parted her own, Sakura knew without a doubt that he had decided to find some way possible for them, a path where he could choose her, too.

#approaching sun #sasusaku #sasusakufanfiction #ssfanfiction #sakura hiden #sasuke shinden #naruto fanfiction #sasuke and sakura #Sakura Haruno #sakura uchiha #Sasuke Uchiha

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The music monopolists

Writing in Wired, Institute for Local Self Reliance researcher and anti-monopolist Ron Knox gives a thorough, important account of how music industry monoplization resulted declining revenue for artists, even as the industry itself has reaped greater profits.

https://www.wired.com/story/opinion-big-music-needs-to-be-broken-up-to-save-the-industry/

Importantly, Knox describes how concentration has come to every link in music’s supply chain, from radio to recording, streaming to live performance. The monopolists who dominate these sectors fight fiercely between each other, but no matter who wins, artists lose.

Let’s go segment by segment. Two thirds of all North American music comes from three labels. The labels grew through anticompetitive mergers: giant companies, awash in investor cash, bought out mid-sized, successful labels, turning them into subdivisions of the Big Three.

The more concentrated the labels got, the worse they were for everyone. They spent the nineties and naughties price-gouging record companies, pocketing hundreds of millions from an illegal price-fixing conspiracy. The fines they paid were smaller than the profits they reaped.

But at least they distributed music. Today, the struggling physical record store industry — a network of passionate music sellers who serve the most intense music fans — find themselves getting “record shipments” that turn out to be boxes of random stuff like cough syrup (!).

That happened when the Big Three all piled their distribution into a single company, the monopolist Direct Shot Distributing. As Direct Shot started to fail, its operations descended into chaos, and record stores started to receive boxes of random consumer packaged goods.

It was bad news for the non-monopolized, music-first record stores, but it barely registered for the Big Three labels — today, they buy an average of two new acts every day.

The labels don’t make money from selling records, of course. They get their money from streaming.

Streaming is also massively concentrated, gathered into the hands of just a few companies: Spotify, Apple, Youtube, Amazon — with the notable exception of Spotify, the industry is dominated by companies that also monopolize other sectors.

Monopolies are good to these companies. Spotify’s market-cap doubled during the pandemic — the market values its 150m subs (twice as many as subscribe with Apple) at $50b. The major labels get $1m/hour from streaming. 99% of their artists see $25/year in streaming royalties.

Spotify may be the biggest streaming service, but it’s not the lowest-paying. Youtube — a Google division, whose unsuccessful attempt to launch an in-house video service convinced it that it had to buy someone else’s success — drives the worst bargain.

Spotify uses its industry dominance to extract heavy fees from the labels — creaming 30% of the total revenue generated by a typical track. Big Three monopolists with fat margins can absorb this. Indies? Not so much.

Spotify’s market cap growth is in part due to the new ways it’s come up with to shake down the labels — a variety of tactics that all boil down to one thing: payola. Spotify will sell labels pop-up ads, placement in “radio” algorithms, and access to “Discovery mode.”

Like all forms of payola, Spotify’s rate-card is a way for monopolists to edge out indies, buying their way into your ear-holes. I’m sure that the Big Three would rather keep the bribes they pay to Spotiify, but the consolation prize is pretty sweet.

If the Big Three are the only ones who can afford to buy access to Spotify’s audience, then creators are driven to sign with them, and have less bargaining leverage when they negotiate their deals.

Spotify, meanwhile, can consolidate its gains by driving up those fees, pitting labels against each other in a bidding war for access to listeners. This effectively drives down the royalty rate Spotify pays, because every new track will have to buy in to get any reach.

Spotify talks a good game about how it uses big data and machine learning to pick the songs you hear, but increasingly, the algorithm is getting far less compute-intensive, a simple sort-by-highest-bidder system you could operate from a laptop running Windows 3.1 and Excel.

In theory, streaming losses can be made up with touring. Acts who attain digital popularity can charge access at the door to clubs and other venues. The only problem is that live performance is also a monopoly business.

The 800lb gorilla there is Livenation, a division of the ticket monopolist and notorious arm-breakers Ticketmaster — spun out of Clear Channel, the monopolist that we now know as Iheartradio.

Livenation parlayed its access to the capital markets to buy out $1b worth of venues and promoters, before being acquired by Clear Channel for $4.4b in 2005. Today, it’s a division of Liberty Media, consolidated with Ticketmaster, Pandora, and Siriusxm.

What goes around, comes around: Liberty’s private equity owners are in the process of buying up Iheartradio, re-merging all of Clear Channel’s spinouts into one giga-monopolist.

The conglomerate already coerces artists to book exclusively in its clubs and using its ticketing, starving independent venues. Add 850 terrestrial radio stations to the mix and it will choke off all the oxygen that independent venues, promoters and ticketers rely on.

Liberty didn’t buy all these companies because it’s passionate about music and wanted to ensure artists got a fair shake. By rolling up the entire live music/radio supply-chain, it bought the power to extract vast sums from musicians, and to keep rivals out of the market.

Well, not all competitors. Lollapalooza co-founder Marc Geiger raised tens of millions for “Savelive,” a new would-be monopolist that offered to “rescue” live music venues in exchange for a 51% stake in them.

Savelive illustrates an important point about the nature of monopolies: they beget more monopolies. Consolidation in the labels meant that only the largest streaming companies could negotiate a sustainable rate.

But consolidation in radio drives consolidation in labels — and many of the indie radio stations that survived the first wave of consolidation were picked up cheap by Iheartradio once monopolistic streamers ate their lunch.

This is a pattern across the whole entertainment industry: bookstore mergers and big box retailers drove consolidation in publishing; that was accelerated by consolidation in online ebook and physical book retail.

It’s not limited to the entertainment sector either. As David Dayen describes in his essential book MONOPOLIZED, hospitals didn’t start consolidating until the pharma industry underwent a wave of brutal mergers and started gouging for drugs.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/29/fractal-bullshit/#dayenu

Hospital consolidation led to gouging insurers, leading to a wave of insurance consolidation. Today, nearly every part of the health industry is monopolized, from pharmacy benefit managers to medical labs.

The only parts of the supply chain that doesn’t monopolize — that can’t monopolize — are the ends of the chain: the people who work in the system, and the people who use it.

Monopoly punishes doctors and nurses and other health workers — and it punishes patients.

It punishes writers and publishing workers, and it punishes readers.

It punishes musicians and independent venue owners, and it punishes listeners.

When every part of the supply chain gets so monopolized that it can’t easily be squeezed by any other part of the supply chain, these giants turn on us — the workers and users of the system. We, the atomized and fragmented, cannot resist the squeeze.

But as Knox writes, the tide is turning. After 40 years of waving through anticompetitive mergers in the name of “efficiency,” the DoJ and FTC are under new management, with two-fisted trustbusters like Lina M Khan at the helm.

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/08/party-its-1979-og-antitrust-back-baby

This new cohort of monopoly fighters reject the “consumer welfare” theory of antitrust (the idea that monopolies drive prices down and are therefore good for society), going to war against the hegemonic orthodoxy that began with Ronald Reagan.

https://doctorow.medium.com/epic-v-apple-d3e59893b4f3

The new antitrust is surging, with bills in the House and Senate, executive orders from the White House, regulatory proceedings at the DoJ and FTC, and an interagency-cabinet coordination committee that ties it all together.

This new antitrust promises workers and users of monopolized industries a better alternative than rooting for one giant to beat another in hopes that they will drop a few crumbs for the rest of us to enjoy.

Creative workers don’t have to choose between Big Tech and Big Content based on their assessment of which monopolist will abuse them the least. Instead, we can root for antimonopoly, for giant-slaying, and the right to self-determination.

The most important immediate step towards that future is blocking new anticompetitive mergers, like Sony’s bid for AWAL, or Liberty Media’s use of a $500m SPAC to go on a vertical monopoly shopping spree.

The agencies have the power to stop these. They should. When you find yourself in a hole, stop digging.

But ending anticompetitive mergers won’t get us out of that hole: most industries (from beer to cheerleader uniforms to wresting to eyeglasses) are already monopolized.

The new trustbusters — and the ILSR — want to use antitrust law to break up these conglomerates. I think that’s right: vertical monopolies will always engage in self-dealing to the detriment of independents, workers and customers. Break. Them. Up.

But breaking up is hard to do. When the DoJ tried to break up IBM, the company’s lawyers outspent the entire DoJ antitrust division, every single year, for twelve consecutive years, and in the end, it escaped breakup.

That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try. IBM escaped justice because Reagan was elected and neutered antitrust. And even though it remained intact, it was never the same — for one thing, it decided that it was too risky to make its own PC OS.

IBM knew that antitrust enforcers were very suspicious of tying software to hardware — so it tapped a couple of hacker kids, Bill Gates and Paul Allen, to sell it DOS, from their new company “Micro-Soft.”

Unfortunately for all of us, antitrust enforcement only declined after that, so IBM was able to return to its monopolistic ways, and Microsoft escaped from antitrust scrutiny after a mere seven years in regulatory hell.

Antitrust enforcement can sap monopolists of the will to power, as they become increasingly concerned that their actions will attract aggressive legal reprisals.

Think of how Apple “lost” the Epic lawsuit but still “voluntarily” rescinded its heretofore hard rule against apps providing links to web-pages where you can use third-party payment processors to make purchases.

As monopolists lose their nerve, space opens up for all kinds of pro-worker, pro-user interventions, far beyond those afforded by traditional antitrust.

Next year, Beacon Press will publish THE SHAKEDOWN, a book I co-wrote with Rebecca Giblin about the monopolistic corruption of creative labor markets and how creative workers, regulators and fans can resist it.

The Shakedown catalogs the ways that monopolization of investment, distribution and sale of creative works allows entertainment companies, Big Tech, and major retailers to shift an ever-larger share of the creative industry’s revenues from workers to themselves.

More importantly, we identify tools beyond breakups that we can use to de-monopolize the industry — things we can do right now, without having to wait for the conclusion of an antitrust suit that might run for decades.

Take reversion rights: many copyright systems allow creators to take back their rights after a set period (35 years in the US). This lets artists who signed bad deals — before they were proven successes — to resell their catalog or extract reparations by threatening to.

But reversion is really hard to do, and 35 years is way too long. Only an handful of creators — even those with valuable catalogs that could be renewed through reversion — ever manage it.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/07/06/backsies/#take-backs

Congress (and other legislatures around the world, including Canada, where this is likely to come up in the new Parliament) could fix reversion: make it easier to do, and make it available after a shorter period — say, 14 years.

And what about those bad contracts? The “freedom to contract” has always been subject to limits, where some clauses are deemed unenforceable “as against public policy” or because they are “unconscionable.”

With the entertainment sector consolidated into just a couple of states, state legislatures could act to void the most abusive clauses — for example, clauses that allow labels to claw back royalties indefinitely to recoup (often inflated or fictitious) “expenses.”

Our book explores dozens of these kinds of ideas, from co-operatives to trade unions; better accounting practices and direct arts subsidies; radical interoperability and collective licensing; minimum wages for creative labor and collective bargaining.

None of these are replacement for reducing the size and power of conglomerates throughout the supply chain, but all of them are interventions we can make as the power and nerve of conglomerates declines, changes that will hasten that decline and open more space for breakups.

And all of them are applicable, to a greater or lesser extent, to helping workers and users of all the other consolidated industries, from health care to cheerleading.

For example, expanding California’s ban on noncompete clauses would help fast-food workers nationwide — because today, fast food employers are the most aggressive abusers of noncompetes.

That means that a fried chicken cashier earning the tipped minimum wage can’t quit to work at a burger joint across the street for a $0.25/hour raise. Creative workers aren’t the only ones suffering from monopolization — we’re not even the worst off.

But by definition, creative workers have a platform. We reach people. We have the potential to help form the kind of unstoppable coalition that we’ll need to reverse the generations of oligarchic, post-Reagan consolidation.

You may have heard about how Danish McDonald’s workers earn $22/hour and get six weeks’ paid vacation and sick leave. That didn’t come about because McDonald’s was required by law to pay it.

It was worker solidarity that did it. As Matt Bruenig writes, McDonald’s initially refused to sign the voluntary “hotel and restaurant” collective agreement. So its workers went on strike.

https://mattbruenig.com/2021/09/20/when-mcdonalds-came-to-denmark/

Now, if McD’s workers had struck alone, they’d probably have lost. But Danish law allows for sympathy strikes — that is, it allows workers in other parts of the supply chain to take industrial action to support their sisters and brothers who are striking.

When the McD’s workers walked out in 1989, sixteen other sectoral unions joined them. They didn’t just help picket at leaflet in front of McD’s restaurants!

Dockworkers wouldn’t unload McD’s shipments. Printers wouldn’t print their cups and placemats.

Builders downed tools on McDonald’s construction projects. Typesetters wouldn’t set the McD’s ads in the daily papers. Truckers wouldn’t deliver to McD’s restaurants. Food industry workers wouldn’t produce the drink syrups, fries and other inputs to the McDonald’s kitchens.

McD’s caved.

Now, as Bruenig points out, these kinds of sympathy strikes are illegal in the US, but it’s a mistake to think that workers don’t have power because sympathy strikes are illegal — rather, sympathy strikes are illegal because workers don’t have power.

Workers across all sectors face the same kinds of monopolistic exploitation. Workers across all sectors have a common enemy (literally, thanks to “common ownership” where companies like Vanguard and Berkshire Hathaway hold significant stakes in almost every major company).

With a shared cause, shared tactics, solidarity and a renewed sense that we can do more than root for the giant we think will mistreat us the least, creative workers and their sisters and brothers in every sector can reverse generations of losses.

That’s why the new antitrust matters — because it is an assault on the consolidation that gives all industries the power to shift money and other forms of value from workers and users to a small elite of investors.

#pluralistic

[justthehiddleswrites]

Follow My Lead | Tom Hiddleston x OFC | Chapter 13 | I gave him a choice, he wanted to wear it

A/N: So this is the last chapter of the main story for Tom and Vivian.  But not the last I am sure we will see of them. Thank you for all the wonderful support for these two!   

MASTERLIST HERE

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Vivian Swann)

Summary: Tom and Vivian have both been unlucky in love, searching for something outside of the bounds of a typical relationship.  When the two of them connect via a dating app, Tom is introduced to the idea of being submissive to Vivian.  Which is the one thing he never knew he needed.  Under the firm hand of Vivian, Tom learns what it means to submit and Vivian learns what it means to be in a loving dominant relationship.  But not everyone seems to understand what they have and the best intentions can destroy the strongest relationship.

This Chapter: With the air cleared, Tom and Vivian continues to move forward in their relationship.  

Warnings for story: Dominant/submissive relationship (sub!Tom), lots of smut including but not limited to: vaginal sex, oral sex (male and female receiving), edging, denial, teasing, use of restraints, spanking, multiple orgasm, anal play, use of toys.

Tag Lists Are Open!  Let me know if you want to be added.  Thank you for reading!

1 Year Later

“Does this get any easier?” Vivian leaned to whisper to Sophie as they made their way to their seats in the audience. 

“No. The press junket is the worst.” Sophie squeezed her arm. “But this one is much more bearable with you here.”

“That goes double for me.” Vivian smiled. 

“Tom, is he…” Sophie raised a knowing eyebrow. 

“I gave him a choice, he wanted to wear it.” Vivian shrugged her shoulders. “Ben, still being a brat?”

Sophie rolled her eyes. “Yes. We can discuss that later. I need punishment ideas.” 

Vivian smirked. Sophie and Ben had been exploring their own relationship dynamics over the last several months. Both of them knew Tom and Ben were trading notes and so they did likewise. “I’ll think about and text you some thoughts. Something Tom wouldn’t have warned him about.” They both giggled. 

The past year had been hectic. The kitchen remodel took twice as long as Vivian hoped, forcing the two of them to eat out more than both wanted to. While the speculation regarding Tom and her relationship status died down significantly after Luke made a statement denying any secret marriage ceremonies, but it never really went away. She grew used to the stares and mutters and closed up her circle of friends and family in response after Ashley spilled that Tom and her met on an online dating site, effectively ending their friendship. Vivian found solace in her new friendship with Sophie, who understood better than anyone her unusual life circumstances. And life with Tom was as exciting as ever, especially with introducing new toys in the bedroom and elsewhere.

The two of them settled into their seats in the front row and waited for the show to start. Vivian beamed as both Tom and Benedict were introduced onto the stage to promote the newest Marvel film. Tom’s hair was longer, and he grew the beard back. He smiled at Vivian as he caught her eye in the audience. She recognized that smirk; he was up to something. And she was certain that something did not include the cage he was sporting under his navy double breasted suit. No one could tell unless they were looking for it. Tom had gotten good at hiding it. 

“Now, Tom,” the interviewer leaned in after he asked several questions about the film to both Tom and Benedict. “your love life has been quite the subject of the papers this past year.”

Tom’s cheeks reddened, and Vivian’s fists clenched. “So it would seem. I try to not pay too much attention, Graham.” 

“Well, I can imagine with such a stunning woman taking up all your attention.” Graham flashed the picture from the day Tom suggested she move in together. “Vivian, right?”

Tom nodded. “Yup.”

“Is it true the two of you met on a dating site?”

Tom blushed at the question. An old one at this point. They both rehearsed an answer for such an occasion. 

“I don’t comment on the specifics of my relationship, Graham.”

“But I do!” Ben interjected. Tom frowned at him. Vivian’s eyes cut to Sophie, whose face was frozen in panic. “And I can say their relationship…” Ben glanced over at the two of you and winked. “… is built on mutual respect and trust.”

Tom sighed in relief and leaned back on the couch.

“Hardly newsworthy, Ben.” Graham groused. 

Tom perked up and leaned in towards the host. “Well she is here in the audience, should we ask her for any juicy details?” 

Graham pumped up the audience, who cheered as Vivian sunk deeper into her chair. Sophie scowled next to her. 

“Darling, can I tell them anything about us?” Tom smiled as he looked over at her.

“No.” she called out. 

Tom’s eyes sparkled again. “Not even our big announcement?” 

Vivian’s brow furrowed in confusion as the audience oohed and cheered. She had no idea what announcement Tom was talking about. Certainly nothing had been cleared with Luke. Or her.

“I think she might need a little convincing, Graham. May I?” Tom gestured towards Vivian. 

Graham nodded. “Why not? It’s not like you are here to talk about a movie or anything.”

Tom chuckled as he stood and moved towards Vivian. He kneeled in front of you. It was only then she noticed his hands shaking. He fiddled with his signet ring. 

“Tom…” she started.

“Darling, this past year has been an adventure. A journey I have gladly taken with you. You have enriched my life in a way I could never imagine. I know that you are it. You are the one. You are mine and I am yours.”

Vivian’s brain swirled, only snapping back to reality when Tom fished a small box out of his jacket pocket and Sophie grabbed her arm. Tom popped open the box to reveal a brilliant cushion cut diamond set in platinum. 

“Will you marry me?” Tom’s voice cracked. 

Vivian sat there silently as a hundred eyes stared at her. But the only ones that mattered were right in front of her. Impossibly blue. And brimming with tears. Pleading, begging and full of love.

“Yes.” Vivian’s voice warbled. She cleared her throat, her own eyes now watering. “Yes, yes!” She repeated.

Tom’s face broke out into the widest, most perfect boyish smile ever as he slipped the ring on Vivian’s finger. She grabbed his face and kissed him, pulling him onto her lap. The audience erupted into wild applause.

“You saw it here first, Tom Hiddleston is now engaged.” Graham announced 

“You are going to pay for this later.” Vivian muttered against Tom’s lips. No one else could hear her.

“I was planning on it.” Tom smirked, kissing her again.

“I was talking about Luke.”

Tom chuckled, kissing her cheek. “I already ran it past him, darling. I have to get back up there.”

“We are talking after.” She pushed him away playfully.

Tom winked at her and headed back onto the stage. Vivian showed off the ring to Sophie. She smiled.

“I know. He asked my opinion about it a month ago.” she confessed. “But he picked it out all by himself.”

Vivian admired the ring. “Am I the last to know about this ring?” 

Sophie giggled. “No, it is probably your mother.” 

“You’re right. She is going to flip.” 

They didn’t get to say much else as the show was coming back from commercial break. 

The rest of the interview went better than perfect. Tom beamed on stage, constantly catching Vivian’s eye. More than once, Ben had to nudge Tom’s knee to bring him back to the interview. Vivian giggled from her seat. Sophie and she slipped backstage to meet Tom and Ben back in the green room. Ben came in first, catching Vivian in a hug.

“Congratulations! Despite my first misgivings, I can’t think of a more perfect match for this ridiculous man.” Ben commented as he kissed Vivian’s cheek.

“Um… thanks… Ben.” She responded. 

“How come I never get a greeting like that?” Sophie groused, smiling the whole time. 

“Sorry, darling.” Ben rushed to dip Sophie and kiss her. 

“And who is the one that gagged when I did the same thing?” Tom commented, sidling next to Vivian, his arm wrapping around her waist. Her hand instantly fell to the small of his back.

“That was before I knew the truth.” Ben commented, righting Sophie, guiding her to the small sofa in the room. 

“You mean I could have had this romantic guy the whole time?” Sophie playfully swatted Ben’s thigh, which he dodged. “You are paying for that.”

“Add it to my list of transgressions.” Ben leaned to kiss Sophie again. 

“Which reminds me,” Vivian piped up. “I will send you ideas first thing in the morning.”

Ben and Tom groaned. Tom called over to his friend. “Stock up on ice and a soothing cream.” He turned to Vivian and kissed her lips softly. “Do you like the ring?”

“I love it. You did so good.” She ruffled his hair. Tom’s cheeks turned a dark pink. 

“Thank you, darling.” He squirmed in place. 

“Would you like a reward tonight?” Vivian’s hand slid down to cup Tom’s ass. 

Tom moved close to whisper in her ear. “What did you have in mind, darling?” 

She whispered right back, sending shocks through Tom’s body. “How about you get to pick which toy I use to peg you with tonight?”

Tom’s eyes grew wide as he stared at Vivian, the blush deepening to cover his entire face and neck. 

“I… I…” he muttered, his cock straining in his cage. 

“I mean it is not every day you get engaged, and you have been the best boy, sunshine.” Vivian cupped his face and kissed his lips. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Vivian.” Tom wrapped his arms around her. 

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston fluff #tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston smut #follow my lead

[grailfinders]

Fate and Phantasms #187

Today on Fate and Phantasms we’re making Yagyu Tajima-no-Kami Munenori, living proof that you can prevent spoilers by spoiling other things. Anyways, he’s an Inquisitive Rogue to defeat his foes with facts and logic, as well as a Samurai Fighter to defeat his foes with a goddamn sword because he’s in the saber class.

Check out his build breakdown below the cut, or his character sheet over here!

Next up: Domo Arigatou, Kaa-san Roboto

Race and Background

Yagyu beef is still a Human, but he’s a Variant Human for the extra skills. This gives him +1 Wisdom and Dexterity, as well as proficiency with Investigation to put that big brain to work. That’s not enough skills though, so grab the Skill Expert feat for another +1 to Dexterity, as well as proficiency with Animal Handling for your riding skill and doubled proficiency with Perception. I know we didn’t get regular proficiency yet, but it’s happening at level one so it’s fine.

Yagyu might have been as rich as a noble, but that doesn’t mean he was one. We’ve been using Mercenary Veterans for swordsmen for a while now, and I see no reason to stop now. This background gives him proficiency with Athletics and Persuasion.

Ability Scores

First up make your Wisdom as high as possible. Yagyu’s a clever boy, and wisdom-based skills are the more applicable part of that equation for you. Secondly, your Dexterity has to be good- Yagyu is a master swordsman, and he’s not exactly swinging a greatsword around. His Intelligence is also pretty solid, but it’s just lower since it’s not quite as directly helpful for the build. Yagyu’s Constitution isn’t half bad, he’s got to be tough to survive feudal Japan. That means his Charisma is pretty low- he’s scary, but not much else. That means we’re dumping Strength. He’s an old man, and we don’t really need it for the build.

Class Levels

Rogue 1: Starting off as a rogue nets us a couple extra skills, more than we’d get from multiclassing in later. Rogues start off with proficiency in Dexterity and Intelligence saves, as well as four rogue skills, like Deception, Insight, Intimidation, and that Perception we mentioned back in the Skill Expert feat. Told you not to worry about that.

They also get Expertise in two skills for double their proficiency bonus. Double down on Insight for more logic and Intimidation to put that logic to good use scaring the crap out of people. You also get a Sneak Attack once per turn, dealing 1d6 extra damage as long as you are using a finesse or ranged weapon and either A) have an ally next to your target or B) have advantage on that attack. It’s complicated, but we’ll make it real simple soon enough.

Oh yeah, you also get Thieves’ Cant. It’s a language.

Fighter 1: Okay, the underhanded stuff is done for a while. Bouncing over to fighter gives you the Dueling, adding 2 to damage rolls with a one-handed weapon, like a short-sword, which you can now wield since you’re proficient with martial weapons. You also get a Second Wind each short rest that will heal you as a bonus action. Taking a break when you need one is smart. You’re smart, so you take breaks when you need one. That’s the transitive property.

Fighter 2: Second level fighters can use all that break-taking to push themselves once per short rest, making an Action Surge to take two actions in a single turn. Fighting your hardest can also be the smart thing to do sometimes.

Fighter 3: Third level fighters get their martial archetype, and as a Samurai you learn to unleash your Fighting Spirit, spending your bonus action to gain some temporary HP as well as advantage on all your attacks for the turn. You can do this three times per long rest.

You also get History proficiency. It’s almost cheating given that you’re a historical figure, but hey, we had to get another proficiency here.

Fighter 4: Use your first Ability Score Improvement to bump up your Dexterity.  Your sword uses dex, your armor uses dex, it’s just a really good ability to improve upon.

Rogue 2: Going back to rogue lets you stuff even more into a single turn thanks to your Cunning Action, letting you dash, disengage, or hide as a bonus action. I’m not saying you’re faster than a monk now, but you could definitely keep up with one for a bit.

Rogue 3: Third level rogues get 2d6 in their sneak attack, and they get their roguish archetype. as an Inquisitive, you gain an Ear for Deceit, so your insight checks to determine lies always get die rolls of at least an 8. You also have an Eye for Detail now, letting you spot hidden creatures with perception or find clues with investigation as a bonus action. You’re really getting a lot out of those things, huh?

Continuing the bonus action train, you can use Insightful Fighting as a bonus action, forcing a contested insight check against a creature’s deception. If you win, you can use sneak attacks against that creature for up to a minute without needing advantage or a nearby ally. Your fighting spirit has limits, but you can use this one as many times as you need- just keep in mind you can only target one creature at a time.

Rogue 4: We’ve got more feats we want, so use this ASI to become a Defensive Duelist. Use your reaction to add your proficiency bonus to your AC for one melee attack, potentially avoiding the attack entirely. You need to be holding a finesse weapon, but somehow I don’t think that’ll be an issue for you.

Fighter 5: Fifth level fighters finally get their Extra Attack, letting you attack twice per action. You can still only use your sneak attack once per turn, but now missing once isn’t the end of the world!

Fighter 6: You get another ASI now, so lets grab Keen Mind to show off how clever you really are. Your Intelligence bumps up by 1, and you’re really good at keeping track of yourself in time and space thanks to knowing which way north is and the number of hours left until sunrise or sunset. Most importantly, you have a photographic memory of the last month.

Fighter 7: Seventh level samurai are Elegant Courtiers, giving you proficiency with Wisdom saves to prevent your emotions from getting the better of you. You can also add your wisdom modifier to persuasion checks now. I’d prefer that to be intimidation, but if you can’t talk your DM into that it’s not the end of the world.

Rogue 5: Fifth level rogues get an Uncanny Dodge, using your reaction to halve damage from one attack. Defensive Duelist would reduce the damage more, but even enemies score natural 20s sometimes. Also, your sneak attack grows to 3d6. It’s been a while, just wanted to make sure you remember that.

Rogue 6: At sixth level you get another round of Expertise; double down on Investigation to be a clever boy and History to prevent your party from repeating it.

Rogue 7: Seventh level rogues can deal more damage with 4d6 sneak attack, and they can avoid consequences of using that damage thanks to Evasion. If you fail a dex save you only take half damage. If you succeed, you take 0.

Rogue 8: Use this ASI to max out your Dexterity, giving you the most accurate and deadly swordplay available to mere mortals. It also makes your AC good as a side effect.

Rogue 9: Ninth level inquisitives gain a Steady Eye, giving you advantage on perception and investigation checks as long as you move at half speed that turn. It’s not quite Reliable Talent, but it’s still pretty useful. This also means your sneak attack grows to its final size, 5d6.

Fighter 8: Use your final ASI to bump up your Wisdom for better Insightful Fighting, Wisdom saves, and perception checks.

Fighter 9: Ninth level fighters are Indomitable, letting you re-roll a failed save once per long rest. Even when you fail a wisdom save you succeed it, that’s how solid your mind is.

Fighter 10: Tenth level samurai get a Tireless Spirit, so if you start a fight without any Fighting Spirit, you get one back for free. Also, your fighting spirit gets a bit better, giving you 10 temporary HP when you pop one.

Fighter 11: Your capstone level is simple, but effective. Another Extra Attack lets you attack thrice per turn, up to six times with action surge.

Pros:

With a maxed out attack stat and plenty of attacks per turn, you can dish out pretty consistent damage, especially if you use your fighting spirit to fish for critical hits. 6d6 per turn without spending any resources is nothing to sniff at.

As befitting any rogue, you’re also very skilled out of combat, lending insight and knowledge to the party.

I know I’ve said this before, but it bears repeating- mixing a fighter’s health pool with a rogue’s damage reduction techniques makes for a very solid combo, especially when you throw Defensive Duelist in as well for an even higher AC and Fighting Spirit for extra health to chew through.

Cons:

You have great AC and some extra health in reserve, but that doesn’t change the fact that your HP is rather low for a front-line fighter. Your damage reduction makes up for it, but it’s something it has to make up for, you get me?

You’re too focused on your sword. It makes you really good with your sword, but not very flexible in combat. If you’re playing to character, you’ll have trouble with flying creatures and those that resist or ignore nonmagical attacks. (Assuming your DM doesn’t give you a magic weapon. Hopefully your DM’s nice enough to notice you’d be hosed without one, but for a guide like this it’s best to assume the DM gives you nothing.)

You need your bonus action to activate your fighting spirit, cunning action, eye for detail, and insightful fighting. Similarly, your reaction is split between opportunity attacks (which are super useful for rogues with their sneak attack), uncanny dodges, and defensive duelist uses. Basically, your main action is too simple, but everything else is really complicated for some reason, and you’ll have to sort all these options out for yourself.

Hey, nobody said being smart was easy.

#fgo #Fate Grand Order #D&D 5e #DND #Yagyu Munenori #fighter #rogue

[geekgirles]

Your Heart

Chapter 5 -- Research

Word Count: 12429

READ ON AO3

“Remind me again why we’re doing this?” Tucker complained for the umpteenth time. 

After realising the only way to end his regular meetings with Lady Arcana once and for all would be finding information on the portals she could use to help him close them, Danny took a very-Jazz-like decision; to immerse himself in countless moldy, old books in search for answers. 

Only he dragged Tucker and his sister along to put an end to the torture sooner. A decision which, whereas Jazz encouraged wholeheartedly, Tucker was none too pleased with. 

“Oh, quit your whining, Tucker.” Jazz admonished from the floor, a few volumes piled up around her. “Every time you complain, it’s precious time we’re wasting. Maybe I don’t mind being holed up here reading with you, but something tells me you’d much rather be tinkering with your PDA than doing this.”

Annoyed by Jazz’s accurate observation, Tucker, who was lying down on his bed, set the book he was reading down on his lap. “I’m just saying, a quick Internet search would give us many more results in a matter of seconds. If you’re worried about wasting time, then I think spending hours scanning for even the smallest piece of witch-related trivia is ten times more time-consuming.”

But Jazz wasn’t going to relent any time soon. “We already tried things your way, Tucker. Remind me again how much useful information we found online?” When her question was met by silence, she smirked, focusing again on the book she had open on the floor in front of her. “Thought so.”

“Okay, so the first few results were all about conspiratorial nutcases claiming the witches are actually aliens from a faraway galaxy and that what we call ‘magic’ is really superior technology our tiny, human minds can’t understand,” he paused to breathe, “but those were just the first few articles! I’m sure if we keep on looking, we’ll find something useful.”

“Do I really have to remind you that the most useful thing we found was a Satanist group’s website? I don’t know about you, but I’m not exactly looking forward to joining them anytime soon.”

Leaning back against his bed’s headboard, the techno geek crossed his arms, feeling defensive. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Will you two just stop?” Danny finally had enough. He slammed the book he’d been reading shut before setting it down on his desk, where his own pile of books lay. Leaning back on his chair, one leg over his knee, he crossed his arms as he sent a stern look at his sister and best friend; the kind of look a father would give when scolding his misbehaving children. 

Even though they had legitimate reasons to be cranky at each other, a selfish part of him thought the only one who could really act out of line was him. Tucker and Jazz tended to forget what really was on the line. True; if they didn’t find a solution to the random ghost portals soon, that could lead to severe repercussions on both dimensions, and dealing with Lady Arcana was both dangerous and nerve-racking in every sense of the word. 

But the real danger came from within. 

Although Danny had tried to limit their use as much as possible, the Witch Queen’s presence demanded he wore the Ring of Wrath and the Crown of Fire in hopes of forcing the sorceress to think twice before double-crossing them. But the mere use of the two mystical items was far more terrifying than anything the entire witch clan could have thrown at him. 

There was something inherently...evil encased in the ring and crown. Danny was sure of it. Damn, he could feel it with every fiber of his being. Even before donning the all-powerful objects for the first time during his coronation, the moment he held them after stripping them off of Pariah Dark’s form, they were already calling out to him. 

And the most horrifying thing was that he wanted to heed their call. The relics promised infinite power to whoever was in possession of them. When, ironically, the dreaded things took possession of their wearer! After a brief moment of doubt where he almost fell into temptation and gave in, Danny understood wearing the ring and crown meant the total enslavement of his soul. 

Ever since then, he lived in fear of succumbing to temptation and letting their sinister energy consume him. Whenever he had no choice but to wear the Ring of Wrath and the Crown of Fire, Danny found himself fighting an uphill battle against the hypnotising pull of power emanating from them. It was more tempting than using his powers to get back at Dash for all the wedgies. It was more inviting than dating Valerie, regardless of the very real possibility of dying by her hand. It was more dangerous than accepting to work with Vlad, who foolishly coveted the very same torture he endured every time he put those two horrid artefacts on. 

Because it was a literal deal with the devil; power in exchange of his soul. 

And to think he had to endure all that every time he met up with the queen of the two-faced creatures responsible for such evil in the first place, just to convince her against doing anything foolish...It was irony at its finest. 

With gentle spins of his chair, Danny kept looking alternatively at Tucker and Jazz, who were blissfully unaware of his inner musings, as he talked to each of them. First was Tucker. “Tuck, I know you’ve considered books a waste of time ever since we plugged you into the Cramtastic Mark 5 to break Ember’s spell, and I’m sorry for dragging you into this, but Jazz’s brought all these books from the library and we need as much information as possible.”

He then turned to his sister, who was laid facing down on the floor. “Jazz, same thing goes for you. Except the ‘book-hating' part,” he hastily added, “you know as well as I do that if there’s someone who can find anything on the Internet, it's Tucker. Just, give him time.”

His two teammates exchanged glances before giving up with an eye roll. “Whatever,” they said in unison before getting back to reading. 

Danny wasn’t quite finished, though. “There’s also the fact that I’m not even sure we’ll find anything useful in the first place. I mean, what Lady Arcana needs is either an explanation on what’s causing the portals to manifest, or a spell that can counter it. And I highly doubt we’ll find that sort of information in books from the public library.”

“Maybe if they were from Hogwarts…” Tucker snickered at his own joke. When he noticed the twin glare the siblings were sending him, he sobered up. “Sorry.”

Jazz rolled her eyes as she changed her position from lying down to sitting up, cross-legged. “That doesn’t mean we won’t find anything useful, Danny. If anything, just learning more about the witches should be of help when dealing with them, right?”

The halfa sighed. “In theory. But Tucker’s right; we’ve been reading for hours and we haven’t found anything useful, or even that we didn’t already know of.”

“Thank you!” Tucker deadpanned as he clapped his hands sarcastically.

Danny ignored him in favour of continuing. “I mean, what’s to learn about them? Their background is completely irrelevant to the issue at hand. Knowing of the Salem trials isn’t going to help me prevent disaster from happening!”

“And don’t forget we don’t even know how to tell true facts apart from naysay.”  Tucker pointed out, a finger raised in the air as if that’d give more credibility to his point.

But Jazz insisted. “All the more reason to find out more about them! For instance, Danny, what did you know about witches before meeting this Lady Arcana?”

Her brother gave a noncommittal shrug. “Only what Frostbite told me and what I read in the pages I found from Sojourn’s missing journalーand no, I’m not going to let you read them, Jazz; it’s too dangerous. Besides, I don’t even have them anymore,” he was quick to add, recognising the inquisitive look on his sister’s face all too well.

Annoyed at how well her brother knew her, and at Tucker’s ill-concealed snickers, the aspiring psychologist turned her head away in a huff. “Fine, keep your sister away from fascinating topics. It’s not like I’ve been keeping your secret for years; even from you.” She punctuated with a meaningful look.

If the look on Danny’s face was any indication, they’d had that same conversation too many times before. “Jazz, careful; you know emotionally blackmailing me will get you nowhere. It’ll make me want to keep more things away from you.”

The redhead stood up and got closer to him. With her arms crossed, she used her brother’s seated position to tower over him for once, since she had long lost the ability to look over his shoulder once Danny finally hit his growth spurt. “And you know trying to play hero and keep me away is going to solve nothing. If anything, it’s only going to make me want to help you even more.”

Watching the siblings from the comfortable distance his bed provided him, Tucker knew things would only get nasty if he let the tension escalate from there. He let out a wolf whistle, effectively capturing the Fenton kids' attention. “Wow. You know you two spend too much time together when you start using the other’s methods to get what you want.”

Danny and Jazz furrowed their brow in confusion. “What do you mean?” They asked in unison. 

Changing his position so his back was resting against his wall rather than his bed, which also allowed him to easily look them both in the eye, their friend just shrugged nonchalantly. He wasn’t going to say anything else; their attention was no longer directed at each other and that was enough. “Nothing. Hey, how about a break?”

“A break?” Danny echoed, incredulous. “Didn’t we just argue about wasting time? Tuck, we can’t take a break now!”

Seeing where Tucker was getting at, and that he had a very good point, Jazz sighed. Turning to Danny, she put a hand on his shoulder to get his attention. “Tucker is right. We’ve been at it for a few hours now. We’d better take a breather and continue later, when our minds are sharper.”

Danny was about to protest when he noticed their matching expressions. They were both tired after doing nothing but searching for clues for hours and bickering with each other. If anyone deserved a break, it was them. And as his own exhaustion finally kicked in, he realised, so did he. 

Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, you’re right. Let’s stop for a while.”

Satisfied, Jazz gave her little brother some space as she flopped down on his bed. “So, Tuck.” When his head snapped at the sound of her voice calling his name, she continued. “How’s your latest lady friend doing?”

It took the African American young man a moment to understand who she was talking about. “You mean Camille?”

“If that’s her name, then yes.”

“Oh, we don’t hang out anymore.”

“What?” Jazz gasped. “Why?”

Tucker looked at her uneasily. Danny, on his part, remained quiet, just listening to their conversation. “Uh, no offence, Jazz but...I don’t feel comfortable talking about this with my best friend’s sister; close as we may be.”

That made her frown. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It’s just...there’s things you don’t talk about with just anyone. And what happens between you and the people you choose to fool around with is one of them. I mean, how would you feel if my mum tried meddling into your love life?”

She just made a derisive sound at the back of her throat. “Excuse me? That is completely different!”

“It is not!”

“Oh, really?” Jazz put her hands on her hips, an eyebrow raised. “Please. Tucker, I’m Danny’s older sister, not our mother! Moreso, I’m the eldest by two years,” she put two fingers up to stress her point, “it’s not like I babysat you or cleaned your diapers. It can’t be that embarrassing!”

Refusing to say any more, Tucker just fell backwards on his bed, arms crossed. From his chair, Danny could only roll his eyes good-naturedly at their banter. 

After a beat of silence, Jazz tried again. “Was it your issues with commitment? Did she want more but you got scared?”

Exasperated, he pinched the bridge of his nose. Then, he turned to his best friend. “You can intervene whenever you like, you know?”

Danny just leaned back on his chair, his arms folded behind his head and an easy grin on his face. “Nah, I’m good.”

Abruptly getting up from his bed, unamused, Tucker walked over to his desk and turned his computer on. His back turned to the Fenton siblings, he started fidgeting with a program he’d just opened. He had no idea what to do with it, but he figured it’d be better than Jazz butting in on his love life. 

“So...is that it?” she ventured hopefully. 

Groaning loudly, he rubbed his eyes before fully facing the current thorn in his side. “Has it ever crossed your mind that the reason why I don’t feel comfortable talking about this with you is because you’re going to try and psychoanalyse me?” Seeing as there was no reply, Tucker took it as a sign that she’d finally let it go, so he turned to face the screen. 

...only to hear her whisper to Danny. “How much on them having trouble in bed?”

His face burning hot in embarrassment, Tucker slammed his head against the desk, startling the two other people in the room. At least Danny would never betray him, would he? No, he wouldn’t. It totally went against, like, fifty rules in the Bro Code. 

Unfortunately, Danny was having far too much fun seeing Tucker squirm under Jazz’s scrutinising, psychological curiosity. “Well, from what I’ve heard…”

Oh, no! No way in Hell was that traitor selling him out like that! If Danny wanted war, he’d give him war, Bro Code be damned! Getting up with startling speed, Tucker yelled loud enough to drown Danny’s voice out. “Danny’s met a girl!”

Both siblings blinked slowly at him before simultaneously screeching, “What!?” Although it was impossible to tell which of the two was more bewildered by the revelation.

In an instant, Jazz was on her brother like a vulpture on an animal carcass. “Danny, is that true? You have a girlfriend?” Suddenly, she looked much more offended than dumbfounded. “And you didn’t tell me?!”

“No!” he quickly denied, before all but flying from his chair and going over to his so-called best friend to smack him on the arm. Hard. “Tucker, what the fuck?!”

“Language!” Jazz admonished. 

“Where did you get the idea that I got a girlfriend? What, you’ve listened to me talking about how I fear for my life whenever I’m in the same room as the short-tempered, curse-inducing, infuriating Queen of the Witches of Amity Park and you obviously thought, Oh, man. That’s true love right there and then?!”

“Well, that definitely didn’t stop you from crushing on Valerie back in high school…” Jazz pointed out meekly. 

Seeing Danny’s eyes glow green for a fraction of a second was enough to make Tucker sweat bullets. “Jazz, you’re not helping!” He squeaked. “And, dude, you’re freaking me out a little with the way you’re burning holes in my skull. At this point, I really wouldn’t put it past you to have suddenly developed heat-vision or something…”

Forcing himself to take a deep breath, Danny finally got out of his best friend’s personal space. He was still pissed, though. “Talk.”

Straightening his clothes, Tucker rolled his eyes. “My, aren’t you sensitive today.”

“Well, duh! You just said I have a girlfriend! Could you be so kind as to tell me who so I don’t forget our anniversary or, I don’t know, her face!?”

The techno geek made a ‘pfft’ sound with his mouth, shrugging the notion off with a motion of his hand. “I never said you had a girlfriend. My exact words were ‘Danny’s met a girl.’ If you two are too obsessed with your love life to pay close attention to what other people say, that’s not my problem.”

“Okay, so who’s this girl?” Jazz asked, still curious.

“Yes, please, enlighten us, oh, King Tuck.” Danny quipped sarcastically. 

Tucker frowned, not appreciating the quip at his past mistake, but he spoke nonetheless. “Dude, it 's Sam.”

There was a beat of silence where brother and sister just stared at him before Danny whispered, shell-shocked, “Sam?”

Jazz, on her part, was both shocked and confused. “Wait, who’s Sam?”

He would’ve smacked him right then and there if it weren’t for his best friend having ghost powers he could blast him with. “Well, duh! Dude, have you or have you not met a girl named Sam recently? Because, I’m warning you, if you thought she was a guy, I’m telling on you. I don’t care if she beats your ass; you’d deserve it.”

“Ooh! A girl capable of kicking my baby brother's butt? Now I gotta know who she is! Also, Tucker, language.” The aqua-eyed girl half-heartedly scolded him, before her expression turned into a pensive one as she redirected her gaze to Danny “...are you sure you don’t have a type, though?”

“Sam and Valerie are nothing alike!” Danny exclaimed, throwing his arms up at his sides. Then he turned to Tucker, his hands now curled into fists out of sheer annoyance. “And of course I know she’s a girl. I just don’t understand how on Earth you’d come to the conclusion that I’m into her or something.”

Not for the first time, Tucker rolled his eyes before getting up from his chair and draping his arm around Danny’s shoulders. “And, again, I never said you were. I just said you’d met a girl…” Danny didn’t like that mischievous glint in his eyes one bit. “It just so happens I know you two enough to know you’d immediately assume I was talking about a lady friend, which would then make you forget all about moi.” Tucker explained with a cheeky grin. “And, lo and behold, it worked!”

Danny narrowed his eyes on him. He hated it when Tucker used their everlasting friendship to play him like a violin. Jazz, on the other hand, hated having her queries ignored. Taking a deep breath, she raised her voice to deafening levels. “Hello? Can anyone tell me who this ‘Sam’ is?”

“Agh!” Both halfa and techno geek exclaimed, taken aback. Nursing his ear, the youngest Fenton glared at his sister. “You're louder than my Ghostly Wail, you know that?”

“I can attest to that.” Tucker muttered, equally annoyed. 

Both sighed in defeat when Jazz limited herself to arching an eyebrow at them with her hands, curled into fists at her sides, stubborn as ever to get her answers. “Jazz, it’s no big deal. Sam is just a friend of Tucker’s who knows an awful lot about the occult and such. He thinks she might be able to help me with you-know-who.” He explained as he sat down on his bed next to her, Tucker following suit.

“Wait, Tucker is friends with a girl that’s not me?”

The aforementioned boy took offence at that. “Is it really that weird to see me hanging out with a girl because we’re friends and nothing more?”

The Fenton kids just stared at him blankly. “Dude, you literally hit on anything with a skirt. Remember the drag queen?”

The techno geek spluttered at that, while Jazz couldn’t help but chortle. “Dude, you promised to never bring that up again!”

Danny only chuckled at his best friend’s flushed face. “I don’t think you’re in any position to complain, Tuck. After all, you did break that poor queen’s heart...”

“Why, you!” Face burning hot in embarrassment, Tucker threw himself at Danny, ready to strangle him, ability to blast him to smithereens be damned! His own body reacting instinctively, Danny lay down on his back as he grabbed his best friend’s wrists. The two would’ve started roughhousing hadn’t it been for Jazz getting caught in between. 

“Hey! Stop it you two!” With a superhuman strength that could only be attributed to an older sibling separating her little brothers, Jazz shoved Tucker off of Danny, while she kept the latter down with a hand on his chest. A few minutes passed before the two calmed down. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she turned to Tucker, trying to keep the original conversation going. “So this Sam could be of help?”

Willing his own breath to steady, Tucker nodded. “Yeah. Sam’s a Goth, so she’s very interested in all that. In fact, she’s been of help before.”

Danny’s interest perked at that. “What do you mean?”

“Remember when I’d come up with a solution to defeat certain ghosts this past year? Like Medusa, or that giant Hydra, and such? That was all Sam!”

“Now that you mention it, it did take me by surprise that you’d suddenly know what a hydra even is…”

“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence…” he quipped, before shaking his head to keep himself focused. “Anyway, whenever those ghosts appeared, I’d remember Sam talking about her latest mythology-related acquisition she bought from her favourite bookstore. So I just called her up, used the very convenient ghost in case to ask about its weakness and, ta-da! You’d have your way to beat them!” He exclaimed, proudly puffing up his chest. After a moment, he deflated, another thought in his mind. “The only creature she never told me about are unicorns, though. I don’t know why.”

“Maybe it throws off her entire dark, cynical persona.” Jazz guessed. Becoming Goth was a common coping mechanism for when people lost someone dear. For all she knew, this Sam could’ve lost a loved one and abandoned all things traditionally cute and girly as a way to put up a strong, undaunted façade, constantly exposing herself to the darker side of life in an attempt to grow desensitised to such things. 

“Maybe,” the bespectacled young man shrugged, “but if you ever meet her, don’t go around saying things like that. Somehow, I doubt she’d appreciate having her entire identity picked out and analysed.”

As Tucker and Jazz kept on bantering with each other, Danny’s thoughts were elsewhere. If what Tucker was saying was true and Sam had indeed marked the difference between victory and defeat during those ghost attacks, then it really would be better to have her by his side. 

Despite his years fighting ghosts and what he’d learned from Frostbite, his knowledge was limited to the Ghost Zone, which was why the presence of mythological or legendary ghosts tended to demand more of him than, say, facing off against Technus, or Johnny 13. Magical artefacts and abilities fell under that category, as well.

Aside from the lack of portal-creating and visits to the Ghost Zone, the witches, on the contrary, seemed to be knowledgeable of ghosts. And that put him at a clear disadvantage he couldn’t afford. But if Sam also happened to know about witches, maybe even partake in rituals for the sake of it, then having her near would be for the best. He would only have to make sure to keep a close eye on her in case the witches found out and went after her in retaliation. 

And also, deep down, he was sort of looking forward to meeting her again. 

...............

The seemingly never ending corridors were doing nothing to alleviate her already suffering nerves. Despite the velvet-carpeted floor that would other times muffle her heavy steps, she now felt as if every step she took resonated throughout the manor like the screeching tiles of a wooden floor. From the rich, maroon walls were hanging the portraits of every astounding witch their clan had ever witnessed; from queens and Council members, to especially adept sorceresses or even heroines who had saved their sisters one way or another. All those women she usually looked up to for guidance in difficult times now seemed to be silently judging her with their cold, unforgiving eyes. 

She walked in complete silence, afraid to disturb the peace if she were to utter a word. After discovering the grimoire she used to travel to the Ghost Zone wouldn’t be of any help in her mission, Sam was blindly following the beginning of a hunch; the spark of an idea whose outcome she still knew nothing of. But, even if she wasn’t sure what she was looking for, it was all she had. 

Sam had no choice but to follow that inkling. 

Hurriedly trying to keep up with her, Star and Paulina were close behind. Once again, their position within their Queen’s inner circle allowed them to understand Sam’s thought process better than most. Only they knew the true reason behind the Queen’s unprompted visit to their clan’s archives. 

“Your Majesty, what do you expect to find inside thー?” Before Star could so much as finish her question, Sam interrupted her.

“Indeed, Star. I would appreciate a warm bubble bath with deadly nightshade leaves.” The queen said, not even stopping to look back at her ladies-in-waiting.

To any other person, that cryptic message would have meant nothing but the typical request one would expect a queen to ask her personal maids of. But Paulina and Star knew better. Asking for deadly nightshade was Sam’s way of telling them to keep whatever she was up to a secret. By asking Star for a deadly nightshade bubble bath, she was instructing them that absolutely no one should find out about the true reason behind her visit to the archives. 

Exchanging knowing glances with Paulina, the blonde lowered her head slightly, fully aware that her Queen was watching her from the corner of her eye. “Yes, your Majesty.”

And with that everything that had to be said was shared between them. 

Time was of the essence.

Aside from the evident danger she faced every time she travelled to the Infinite Realms, there was the added possibility of being spotted by humans, regardless of how far away from civilization their meeting spot was. If anyone ever took notice of the three mysterious figures fraternising with ghosts, Amity Park’s greatest known threat, questions would soon arise. 

And whenever humans had questions, they turned to the so-called experts on the matter for help. While Sam wasn’t sure those incompetent Guys In White even suspected their existence, she still wouldn’t put it past them to investigate for the sake of burning tax money in some new toys. Those greedy, government puppets… Worst of all, if they took a genuine interest in her kind, they might as well be done for, and not necessarily because the GIW were good at their job…

If word got out that witches were real and living among them, the citizens could get scared. And whenever humans got scared, especially if it was of things they couldn’t quite explain or understand, that fear turned into aggression. If they kept wasting any more time, one day she’d open her door to find herself face to face with an angry mob. 

And to think it’d all be because of a group of incompentent ghost hunters who couldn’t even drive away the very same treacherous creatures responsible for her people’s need for secrecy in the first place...it was irony at its finest. 

However, despite the spike of anxiety in her chest, Sam couldn’t help but go back to her last visit to the Ghost Zone. Phantom’s attempts at dissipating the tension had been, as much as she hated to admit it, a welcomed thing. And yet, it was a little unnerving to learn the Ghost King shared her views on formality and the power of intimacy, because it made him look more human than she would ever be comfortable with. 

In all fairness, it was difficult to imagine Phantom talking like anything but his usual, cocky self in the first place. From what little exchanges the news broadcasts had been able to catch on camera during the years, the white-haired spirit tended to get overly familiar with his opponents, getting under their skin with puns or witty comebacks thrown at their expense. Still, as unusual as it was, Sam couldn’t help but feel that, perhaps, it would’ve been better to keep on using their respective honorifics. Because Phantom addressing her like he would any other misbehaving ghost, like she’d seen him do dozens of times over the years, somehow made it all the more...real. She truly was talking to the infamous Ghost King on her own volition. 

That thought alone scared her more than she’d ever be willing to admit. 

Before Sam could dwell on the matter any longer, a grating, shrill voice snapped her out of her thoughts. A voice she knew all too well and would do just about anything to never hear again unless it was absolutely necessary. 

“Sammy-kins!”

Stopping in her tracks, eye twitching in annoyance, the lavender-eyed girl forced a smile to materialise on her face as she slowly turned around to face the mother of all monsters. Her own. “Hello, Mother.” She forced out.

Pamela Manson was an average witch; the only thing stellar about her was her ability to distract humans with her lavish parties and over-the-top socialite persona. A woman obsessed with social status and appearances, Sam’s mother constantly got on her case due to her own disregard for the very things Pamela lived for. 

Mother and daughter were opposites in almost every aspect. 

Whereas Sam prided herself in her individuality and ability to go unnoticed unless she truly wished to make her presence known, Pamela was obsessed with blending in a way that would always draw all eyes to her.

Sam believed in standing up for a change, without fear of taking big steps as long as they led her to a better world. Pamela considered things to be fine as they were, and that the only changes that should be implemented were small, insignificant ones; such as her daughter’s fashion sense.

While Sam was a rather cynical individual who still cared about everyone deep down, her mother was preppy and optimistic, but her aspirations were limited to what could benefit her and her family.

But what truly set them apart was Sam’s insistence on being inconspicuous to the human eye; her coven’s anonymity her top priority. As opposed to Pamela who, had she been queen, would’ve accidentally exposed their secrets in her first week after being crowned; tops. 

In all fairness, it wasn’t that Pamela didn’t care for their clan; it was just that she couldn’t resist flaunting what, she believed, made her better than everyone else. 

And, right now, she believed her daughter’s manners could be much better. “What’s with the cold greeting, Sammy-kins? We haven’t seen much of each other in over a week and that’s how you treat me?”

On second thought, Sam much preferred her chances against an angry mob over spending five minutes in the same room as her mother. “Sorry, Mother, but you caught me in the middle of something important and…”

“What could possibly be more important than what I’m about to tell you?” Pamela questioned, her hands on her hips. 

“Perhaps finding a way to save two dimensions or, at the very least, our people, but you’re right, Mum, what was it that you wanted to tell me?”, was what the raven-haired witch wished she could’ve said, but instead she opted for, “And what is it that you have to tell me?”

Instead of answering her daughter, however, Pamela directed an expectant look at her two ladies-in-waiting who, upon noticing her steely glare on them, immediately straightened up before lowering their heads in submission. “Greetings, your Ladyship.” Paulina and Star droned, their heads low.

Although Pamela was never queen herself, as mother of the current leader of the clan she was to be regarded with respect. A fact the woman would constantly revel in and fully take advantage of. Smiling in contentment, she sighed. “Ah, much better. Now, Sammy-kins, I was thinking we could take some time away from your schedule to have a little chat on your wardrobe choices?”

Ugh, not that again. Ignoring her mother’s offended gasp, Sam turned on her heel to make her way, once again, to her original destination. Star and Paulina hurrying up to leave ‘her Ladyship’ behind and keep up with their queen after flashing her mother a pair of matching sheepish smiles

Unfortunately, the one thing Sam seemed to have inherited from her mother was her stubbornness. Quickening her own pace, the clicking of her high heels behind her haunting Sam even in her dreams, Pamela caught up with them in a surprisingly short amount of time. Having no choice but to breathlessly talk to her daughter at the same time as she tried keeping up with her would not be enough to get her to give up on her pursuit. 

“Seeing as we have much more important matters to discuss, I shall gracefully ignore your previous insolence.” Luckily for Sam, her mother missed the way she rolled her eyes at her. “I know this...Gore style of yoursー.”

“It’s ‘Goth’, Mother…” Sam corrected her, but her efforts fell on deaf ears. 

“ーis just your way of rebelling against the world because things don’t go your way, but don’t you think enough is enough? You’ve been dressing like a mortician since you were twelve!”

“If you’re done patronising me and the way I choose to present myself to the worldーwhich, not only have you insulted in every possible way but, allow me to remind you, is not just a phaseー, I really do have more important matters to attend to.” 

And with that, she sped up past her mother. It should’ve been the end of that conversation, but Pamela always had to have the last word. “But what about the clan? Don’t you think it’s selfish to compromise us like that?”

That stopped the Witch Queen dead in her tracks, the unexpected stop causing Paulina and Star to tumble back a few steps. Once they registered what Pamela had said, their blood ran cold; the stiffness in Sam’s posture only confirmed their unspoken fears:

Sam’s mother had just crossed a line. 

Fists clenched so tightly at her sides she could’ve drawn blood, her teeth gritting in aggravation, Sam hissed, not even turning around to face her mother. “What did you just say?”

Brushing her daughter’s anger off as just another tantrum, Pamela calmly walked over to where she stood, looking over her handmaidens’ shoulders. Resting a palm on Sam’s shoulder, a hand that, although meant as comforting, came out as condescending, mocking; the older witch spoke up. “I’m just saying, you’re always advocating for our anonymity, yet you seem to ignore that people will immediately associate your obvious, stereotypically witchy outfits with real-life witchcraft. All that black and those dark colours, the ripped fabric, the metal ornaments… Sammy, don’t you see? That’s like wearing a sign saying ‘I’m a witch! Come and lynch me!’”

Taking advantage of her turned face, Sam narrowed her eyes on her mother. She dressed like a WASP housewife from the 50’s when she was a Jewish woman living in the 21st centuryーshe was in absolutely no position to criticise her looks! 

How dare she? How dare she?! Using her duty to protect her people against her just to get her to wear some frilly abomination because she couldn’t fathom the idea that her daughter would want to be her own person?

It was moments like these that Sam missed Grandma Ida the most. Her grandma would’ve guided her in her darkest hours, giving her useful advice to approach the situation, but never making decisions for her, letting her live and learn instead! Grandma Ida would’ve never tried to use her to push some personal agenda on the clan. 

But Grandma Ida was gone, and Pamela was there to stay.

As insulted and, although she’d never let it show, hurt as Sam was, going to the archives took priority. Stowing her conversation with her mother for another time as she resumed her march down the hallsーpreferably when she’d be alone in her roomーSam shrugged her off the best way she knew; through biting sarcasm. “Oh, please. If I were nearly as ‘obvious’ or ‘stereotypically witchy’ as you say, Mother, I’d decorate this place after the Sedlec Ossuary.”

Pamela furrowed her brow in confusion as she, too, resumed her walk. “What does that even mean?” 

“She’s talking about a Czech chapel fully decorated with bones and skulls.” Star helpfully supplied. 

Paulina, on the contrary, shuddered in disgust. “Ugh, I’d rather not. I’d feel like I’m always being watched…”

Star tilted her head to the side. “How? Skulls don’t have eyes.”

Ignoring the handmaidens, Pamela opened up her mouth to speak when a raised hand from her daughter, who had abruptly halted, stopped her from even getting a word in. “As lovely as catching up with you has been, Mother,” Sam started, voice laced with sarcasm, “I’m afraid I must go. I have important matters to attend to, as I already told you, that I must take care of, in private.” She stressed before turning the doorknob of the large door before her and walking inside, swiftly letting her bewildered mother out after she all but slammed the door shut in her face. 

Leaning  her back against the door, Sam let out the breath she didn’t know she was holding. No matter how much time passed, her mother would always be a she-demon worse than any ghost. God forbid Phantom ever met her; if he were to take a page out of her book, Sam would personally burn herself at the stake.

“Is Pamela too much for you?” A sultry voice coaxed her out of her thoughts.

Opening up her eyes, Sam could feel the relieved smile forming on her face at the sight of the witch she most wanted to see at the moment. “Delilah.” She breathed out as she separated herself from the door, walking over to her friend to grab her hands in hers. “You have no idea.” Sighing dramatically, she let her head fall on the crook of the shapeshifter’s shoulder, eliciting a chuckle from her. 

“Oh, I don’t need to.” She said, gently patting her queen’s head. “Just by looking at you I can tell; you look like you’ve suddenly lost ten years of your life!”

“Make that twenty,” Sam grumbled. 

Separating herself from her leader, their hands still holding each other, the turquoise-eyed sorceress got to the point. “Well, what brings you here? As much as I love your visits, I thought you’d be busy with your little escapes to the Ghost Zone?”

Sam averted her gaze, the wooden floor suddenly much more interesting than a few seconds ago. “It’s precisely because of that that I’m here.”

“Oh?” Delilah tilted her head, slightly. “Okay...So, what are you here for, then?”

To her bewilderment, her queen’s eyes continuously darted from one place to another, as if expecting to be ambushed any minute now. “Are we alone?”

An odd question, but not necessarily a bad one. Putting her fingers on her chin in thought, the Council member tried to remember if she’d seen anyone that day. “Hm, I think Stephanie might be somewhere around here, engrossed in a book. But you know her, it’d be easier to get me to leave the archives than not seeing that girl with her nose deep in a book.”

Stephanie was probably with them. That was not a bad thing. Stephanie ought to find out sooner or later. Wringing her hands nervously, Sam willed her eyes to look at Delilah’s own curious turquoise ones. “I need your help with something.”

That caught her attention. “My help?” Sam nodded. “My, Sam, you’re starting to worry me.” Delilah admitted as she got closer to the Goth, her hand hovering over her shoulder but never close enough to actually rest atop of it, afraid that the sudden contact would startle her. It was unusual to see her so suspicious of everything around her. Maybe… “Did the ghosts do anything? Are we going to war?”

That seemed to snap the younger witch out of whatever she was going through. She didn’t lower her guard, though. “No, no. We’re not going to war.” She shook her head as she let Delilah gently guide her to another section of the archives. “But in order to avoid just that I might need to do something crazy…”

Delilah wrinkled her nose at that. “Something crazy? You’re not going to marry that Ghost Punk, are you?”

Startled, Sam jerked away from her touch, shuddering in discomfort. Where would she get such a ridiculous idea? She and Danny Phantom? She almost wanted to laugh. Instead, she let out a derisive sound from the back of her throat. “Don’t even joke about that.”

“So, what is it then? I’m sorry, Sam, but you’re not making any sense right now.” The shapeshifter insisted. “If we’re not going to war, and you’re not going to marry the Ghost King, what do you need me for?” Taking a few steps, she got closer to the young monarch, their faces mere inches apart as she tried looking for answers in her amethyst orbs. “What could be so serious that you’re so unnerved, Sam?”

Delilah’s intense gaze made her squirm, but she had a point. She couldn’t expect her to help her, no questions asked. For instance, she wasn’t just the best shapeshifter of the clan, she was also a Council member, and the archives guardian. She was the one tasked with keeping their people’s most precious treasure, their history and knowledge, safe. And considering what she was gonna ask of her, Delilah was in her right to know exactly what was going through her head. 

Steeling herself for what was to come, Sam straightened her spine, returning the intensity of the older witch’s gaze in earnest. “I need you to grant me access to a certain type of book.”

Delilah’s posture relaxed. “Is that it? Why didn’t you say so sooner? Sure, just tell me what you’re looking for and I’ll let you take a lookー.”

“I mean,” Sam cut her off, “I need you to grant me permission to take the book with me, outside of the manor...and into the Ghost Zone.” Her voice wavered when she muttered the last part. 

“Oh...I see...” The guardian’s expression immediately sobered up. She cleared her throat, awkwardly. “And, what type of book are you looking for?”

Now things were going to get really ugly. “I need a spellbook detailing everything we know about the Ghost Zone, specifically, its portals.”

For a while, Delilah just stared at her, almost unblinkingly. The good news was she didn’t appear angry or outraged as Sam had predicted, the bad news, however, was that her empty, unreadable expression was much worse. At least she’d have known what she was thinking had she been yelling at her for her idiocy; questioning her mental health. But as it was, Sam was almost as lost as her.

After what felt like an eternity, Delilah finally found her voice. “So you…” she quieted down, trying to find the words. “You want to take one of our most sacred texts to the Ghost Zone?”

Sam winced. Somehow, it sounded way worse when she said it like that. “I know it’s asking for too much…”

“Saying that’s an understatement wouldn’t even begin to cover it.” The Council member scoffed. “Seriously, Margaret would have a cow! And don’t get me started on Wilhelmina…”

“I know!” Sam was quick to reassure her. She was perfectly aware what she was asking of her might be a little excessive, but she wasn’t completely delusional! She knew just what kind of reaction their fellow Council members would have... “I know, but...the only way to ensure our people’s safety is helping Phantom. And he needs help closing numerous unstable portals that are suddenly opening. I thought the book I’d been using to get to the Infinite Realms would have the answers, but its contents were thoroughly underwhelming.”

Just like she did in Phantom’s lair, Sam got the spellbook out of her skirt before handing it to the guardian. In turn, she inspected its pages, concluding that, indeed, the book hadn’t much to offer. “Please, Delilah, you know I would never ask this of you if I didn’t think it’s our only hope.”

Sam wasn’t one to plead. The young Council member knew this better than anyone. She was headstrong and determined; the entire clan knew there wasn’t much that could be done to dissuade her once her mind was made up. Margaret herself found it to be both a blessing and a curse, while Wilhelmina thought it was a curse. Period. And Delilah...

Delilah prayed to all things above her that she wasn’t about to make a mistake. Sighing in defeat, she flashed Sam a small grin, earning herself a triumphant smile in return. Rolling her eyes good-naturedly, she motioned for her queen to follow her with a slight jerk of her index finger. “Come with me, your Majesty. I know just the thing.”

Sighing in relief, Sam allowed her eyes to wander around the manor’s archives. She really couldn’t blame Stephanie for loving the place to the point of practically making it her second homeーthe sight was breathtaking. 

The circular room, surrounded by large panel windows, located right below the Council Room, which put it in the three-story manor’s second story, was one of the best examples of a Pocket Dimension Spell put to good use. Countless shelves filled to the brim with colourful, leather-bound books went on as far as reached the eye; hanging proudly from the ceiling, the arrow-shaped banners with her clan’s signature colour and emblemーa black rose over a royal purple backgroundーadorned the room; leaning against the shelves, golden ladders could be seen moving on their own accord; which was almost as impressive as the floating books that flew from one place to another by flapping their two covers like an eagle would flap its wings. 

Walking through the numerous aisles, letting herself be, one again, amazed by the sight, Sam caught a familiar figure from the corner of her eye. Turning her head to the source, she found Stephanie Baker, sitting cross-legged on the floor with her back against a shelf’s lateral plank, an incredibly dense book perched on her lap. 

Sensing someone’s eyes on her, no doubt, Stephanie lifted her head up and away from her book, before a grin was plastered on her face at the sight of her queen. Her enthusiastic wave was answered by Sam’s much more subdued one, alongside a small chuckle. “She’ll never change; she’s at her happiest when surrounded by books,” Sam mused to herself. 

She and Delilah kept walking in silence, but with each step she took, the Goth couldn’t help but furrow her brow, anxiously. They were getting further and further away from the archives’ hot spot, the zone with the most activity disappearing in the distance until she almost couldn’t make it out anymore. Just where was she taking her?

Her question was answered when her guide halted abruptly in front of the wall. An empty space that, unlike the other walls encasing the archives, wasn’t even decorated by a portrait of one of the previous guardians. Not sure what to expect, Sam tilted her head to the side, speechless. “Uh...Delilah?”

But Delilah didn’t answer. Instead, she turned her back on her and extended her hands, palms open, in front of her. “Clavis mysteria!”, she chanted, her carefully coiffed onyx braid dancing around her, as if swayed by a sudden strong breeze. From her palms emanated a green fog that, as Sam could only look on in awe, speechless for an entirely different reason; seemed to open the wall in half, the resulting, uneven, wooden dents making way for it. 

An eternity or a few minutes could’ve passed, and Sam would be willing to believe anything she was told, when the green fog manifested again, carrying a rather large object with it. When the Witch Queen realised what it was, she could only gasp in astonishment.

Levitating before them was a royal blue, leather-bound book. Intricate designs were scattered throughout its back cover, engraved in gold. Two such designs, a pair of golden, twin swirls, flanked an equally golden fleur de lis on its spine. But the most amazing thing, what truly showed the book’s importance, were the golden letters, glinting under the light, on its cover: 

Arcana’s Grimoire

Mouth hanging open, the young witch could only gape at her friend, completely blown away by the revelation, as the grimoire landed safely on her hands. With a small chuckle, Delilah pushed some loose, black locks obscuring the right side of her face aside. “Sorry. No matter how tightly I tie my braid, spellcasting always messes my hair up.”

Her throat suddenly very dry, Sam swallowed before managing to speak, a finger pointing at the manuscript. “Is...is that…?”

With a knowing smile, Delilah nodded. “Arcana's Grimoire. If you want to find answers on what’s causing those ghost portals to open at random, this baby is your best bet.” Stretching her arms towards the queen, she handed the book to her, who held it with as much care as one held a newborn for the first time, almost reverently. “The grimoire holds the answers to all those questions time made sure to erase.”

“I-I…you...t-the book...” Sam stuttered, not sure what to say. “A-are you sure you want to entrust the g-grimoire, Arcana’s Grimoire, to me?”

“It’s risky, I know. But you said it yourself, you wouldn’t ask me to grant you permission to take a spellbook out of the manor if you weren’t convinced it’s our only hope.” Those few loose strands falling on her face, a stark contrast to her dark mane, she lay a comforting hand on Sam’s shoulder, a soft smile on her face. “And I wouldn’t hand the grimoire to you if I didn’t think it’d be safe with you.”

Eyes widening at the Council member’s words, Sam couldn’t do anything but send her a grateful smile in return. Clutching the grimoire close to her chest, she promised, “I’ll guard it with my life.”

Internally, she made another promise, only this time, it was much more violent than solemn. “And I swear, if Phantom so much as looks at it wrong, I’ll ask Danny to lend me some of his parents’ weapons and hunt him down myself.”

................

“You’re lucky this place sells some of the best pastrami sandwiches I’ve ever had, dude. Otherwise, you’d be on your own.” Tucker said in between bites of his heavenly pastrami with honey mustard sandwich. Wiping some sauce from the corner of his mouth with his sleeve, earning himself disgusted looks from the two other people present, he wagged a finger at his best friend. “Seriously, though. Who would’ve thought Sam would have good taste in restaurants?”

He winced when the Goth in question elbowed him on his side. “I have excellent taste in food in general, thank you very much. It’s not my fault only 9% of the global population can appreciate it.”

Once again, they were meeting up at the You Mocha Me Crazy, which, at this rate, was going to become their new favourite hanging spot. Unless Sam was willing to forego her vegetarian ways and ask for a Double Meaty Nasty Burger with extra bacon with them. Somehow, that seemed unlikely. Luckily, during their first visit Sam had introduced Tucker to their selection of sandwiches and cold cuts, making it easier for the techno geek to warm up to the café. 

After that successful first meeting, the trio decided to hang out whenever Danny needed Sam's help to write his ‘paper.’ All they had to do was ring or text Sam, and she’d tell them when she was free to meet.

Today was one of those days she was free and the guys were in need of her help. The three were lounging around a small coffee table Sam named ‘her spot’, for it was where she usually had her coffee or worked on her assignments in peace. The fact that she was good friends with one of the baristas also helped keep the space free of any ‘spot-stealing-squads,’ as she lovingly referred to ‘those vultures.’

Nursing his aching side, Tucker rolled his eyes. He’d already lost count on how many times they’d had that same conversation. “Is there anyone free from your vegan wrath?”

“For the last time, I’m ultra-recyclo-vegetarian, not vegan.”

“What’s the difference?” Danny intervened, an eyebrow raised in confusion. 

“Vegans tend to waste almost as much food as non-vegetarians. Ultra-recyclo-vegetarians make the most of every single meal.” Sam explained, forking a piece of tomato from her salad. “That’s where the ‘recyclo’ part comes from.”

“I thought that was freegans.” Tucker frowned, still munching his sandwich. 

“I’m surprised you even know what that is.”

“You and me both.” Danny said, turning to look at Tucker with a curious expression on his face. 

Rolling his eyes, the techno geek shrugged them off. “You meet the craziest people on Tinder.” He explained offhandedly. When he took notice of his two companions’ horrified expressions, he almost doubled over in laughter. Clearing his throat, he turned to Sam. “And you still haven’t answered my question.”

Shaking her head to erase the traumatising image that was Tucker’s love life, Sam started. “What? Uh...oh! Right. Ehem! As a matter of fact, there are people excluded from my ‘ultra-recyclo-vegetarian wrath.’” She corrected. “I’d never force people without enough resources to go vegan. Such as the Inuit community. Besides, those guys barely hunt anything compared to rich jerks with questionable hobbies, and they use everything of what little they do hunt.”

“Handy people.” Danny mused, before returning his attention to his laptop, resting on top of his lap, one leg crossed over his other knee. “Now, I don’t mean to be a buzzkill, but we’re here to help me with my...with my homework, remember?”

If Sam thought the way he seemed to overthink his words was weird, she didn’t let it show. “Yeah, you’re right.” She said as she turned her torso around, reaching for her notes inside her spider backpack. “Okay, you two. Lay it on me; what do you want to know?”

Tucker and Danny exchanged a glance, before the blue-eyed boy ventured. “Well...Sam, you’re the expert. What can you tell us of...um...of the witches.”

Scanning through her notepad’s pages, Sam froze at Danny’s words. Could her people’s secret have been discovered already? Before risking compromising her sisters, she had to test the waters first. “Why are you doing your paper on witches in the first place?” Her voice came out a little colder than she intended. 

Tucker furrowed his brow, taken aback by her sudden guarded posture, while Danny just rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Uh...why not? The seminar I signed up for is on mythological creatures and folklore, and witches are one of the most legendary myths ever...right?”

Alright, that made sense. But she couldn’t be reckless, she had to make sure Danny didn’t pose a threat to her coven. “Yeah, they definitely are. I’m sorry, it’s just...with all the ghosts constantly attacking Amity Park, I thought, ‘why witches?’, you know? I mean, your parents are experts! If you just asked them for a little bit of help, your assignment would immediately turn into an easy A, wouldn’t it?”

Taking a gulp from his espresso, Danny carefully thought what to say next. He couldn’t let Sam think he had some sort of ulterior motive for asking about the mystical group of women; he’d promised Lady Arcana her people’s secret would be safe, after all. So he did the only thing he could; he expertly lied. “Well, I don’t really like having things handed to me, you see. What’s the point in signing up for a seminar if I’m just going to get an easy A thanks to my parents, you know what I mean?”

Tucker had to fight the urge to laugh at the irony of the situation. Oh, what Danny wouldn’t have given just to get easy A’s during high school... When his two friends turned to him, Sam looking at him in confusion and Danny quietly begging him to keep his mouth shut, he played it cool by taking a sip from his drink. 

“Anyway,” Danny continued, “I just thought ghosts would be...I dunno...too mainstream? The assignment is supposed to make me do research on mythological creatures, and nowadays it’s pretty obvious ghosts are anything but mythological.”

“Witches aren’t far behind, either…” Sam internally mused, sipping from her macchiato. Holding the carton cup with both hands, she decided sharing some information with Danny and Tucker would be safe. She’d just tell them the basics, debunk some Hollywood myths...the usual. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Danny echoed, hopefully.

“Okay.” Sam repeated with a smile. “Anything in particular you want to know about?”

“Just...anything you can tell us, really.” Tucker said, leaning forward with his hands between his legs. 

“You’re gonna have to be a tad more specific than that, guys.”

Crossing his arms, the Astrophysics student thought long and hard. What was it that he really wanted to know about them? Well, the answer to that was obvious. His only real question was why? Why did they do what they did? If only he could figure that out, then maybe he’d know how to approach Lady Arcana. But there was no way he could ask that without exposing who he was. And it wasn’t like Sam, of all people, would have the answer anyway. 

So instead he asked, “What’s their origin?”

That startled Sam, who almost choked on her lettuce, Tucker quickly coming to her assistance and patting her back. After massaging her throat and swallowing her food, she looked at Danny with an inquisitive eye. “Come again?” She croaked out.

“What’s their origin?” He repeated. “And...and I don’t mean this as in...as in a history lesson. Like, when did witches first appear or anything. If I wanted to know that, I’d just read a book or watch a National Geographic documentary. I-I mean, how is a witch even born?”

“Do I have to explain the birds and the bees to you guys, too?” She asked with a coy smile, having recovered from her coughing fit. Despite the seriousness of his query, the violet-eyed girl couldn’t help but tease him.

Danny flushed in embarrassment. He had to admit, he’d handed her that one. Shaking his head, he chuckled. “I’m good, thanks. You might need to talk to Tuck, though.” He joked, earning himself an offended gasp from his best friend, who punched him lightly on his arm in protest. “But, nah. I guess a better question would be, what makes a witch...well, a witch?”

Sam had to admit, it was a good question. Even if it may risk her people’s secrets, such depth earned the blue-eyed boy some respect from her. Not many people went beyond the basics when looking for information. Most would be content with reading the first few paragraphs of a Wikipedia article. But Danny… Something about the intensity of his ocean blue eyes made Sam feel he was more similar to his parents than he’d originally thought; despite having no interest in ghosts himself. Somehow, he shared their inquisitive and curious mind, albeit from a less scientific approach. Just by that question alone, she immediately understood Danny Fenton was much smarter than people gave him credit for. 

Exhaling, she began to explain. “Believe it or not, the one who got closer to the truth was Harry Potter.”

“You mean the children’s book with the extra creepy white dude?” The bespectacled young man raised an eyebrow, before exchanging disbelieving glances with his best friend beside him. 

She just chuckled. “Yeah. Witches are human women who were born with the innate ability to do magic, setting them apart from the rest.”

“So...this is witches vs muggles that we’re talking about.” Tucker insisted. 

“Yes, Tucker.” Sam said with a bit more bite than she intended. “Point is, being born different tends to alienate people, and considering we’re talking about magical-powers kind of different…”

“The witches were alienated and persecuted by society.” Danny finished for her. 

“Bingo.” The raven-haired girl picked up some photocopies with different articles printed on them and handed a few copies to both of them. “Although nowadays most people bel-know witches aren’t real,” she caught herself before her subconscious could rat her out, “some cryptology experts theorise they just eventually flocked together to keep whatever magical gene they had inside the coven. You know, as a precaution to avoid further persecution.” To this day, she still couldn’t believe a group of nutjobs would be right on the money. The sole idea was ludicrous, and yet…

“So, that’s it?” Tucker asked, looking up from his own set of photocopies, incredulous. “Witches are just humans who, inexplicably, won the superpower lottery?”

The Goth just smiled sheepishly at him. What could she say, anyway? Though witches weren’t against scientific discoveries or careers (Star herself was studying to become a mathematician), magic sort of was their thing; literally. So nobody had ever really delved on why or how they’re different from other humans.

Scratching his chin in thought, Danny tried reconciling what Sam said to his own encounters with the spellcasters. When he thought about it, Lady Arcana and her witches really weren’t any different from any other citizen of Amity Park; the only surprising thing about them was their Queen’s unique eye colourーher being breathtakingly beautiful didn’t matter since her personality needed an awful lot of workーand their characteristic ability to do magic...and maybe their questionable taste in pets. 

But that was it. 

Other than that they were as human as his own family. Even their hatred of ghosts was in synchrony with the town’s general opinion of him. Perhaps if he treated the Witch Queen as any other girl, things would smoothen between them. It made sense that part of her prickly personality was a result of him consciously treating her differently than he would treat others. Deep down, she knew they were unwelcomed, and therefore, built walls around her to avoid getting hurt. 

“Look at you, worrying over making the Witch Queen feel comfortable around you...You’re a lost cause, Fenton.” Danny resisted the urge to roll his eyes at himself, having more important matters to take care of. “Sam,” he called out to her, startling her and Tucker out of their own conversation, “is there a way you could tell us about their spells or something?”

It was a risky question, he knew. But, as useful as learning to deal with the witches was, what they really needed was a way to put an end to the crisis threatening both dimensions. And the only way to do it was by finding a portal-related spell. 

Eyes widening at his question, Sam could feel her stomach churning ominously. That question was a bit too specific for her liking. Depending on how she handled the situation, she could either masterfully take care of it or put her subjects in danger over a potential misunderstanding. “Their spells? What do you mean?”

Danny pretended to look through his own set of copies, trying to appear nonchalant, as if his question were born from mere curiosity, rather than a sense of impending doom. “Nothing, really. I was just curious. I mean, would witches even cast spells, or would they voluntarily just manifest their powers like ghosts do?” As he spoke, his mind raced back to the floating book Lady Arcana had, without any kind of warning, shoved in his face during her last visit. 

The Goth had to resist the urge to spit in disgust at the notion of being compared to those disembodied remains of human consciousness. She took a subtle breath to ease away her repulsion. “It’s hard to say.” She lied. “Since there’s no clear evidence that true, real-life witches ever existed, ーand I’m sure they don’t, obviouslyー.”

“Obviously.” The two men seated with her echoed.

“ーthere’s no definite hypothesis explaining if they truly casted spells or not. For all we know, their famous rites and ceremonies could just be that; ceremonies belonging to pagan religions that were thought to be witchcraft by Christians.” 

“Any chance we might be able to find any spell on the Internet?” Tucker wondered, readily taking his trusty PDA out of his pocket, causing Danny to sigh tiredly upon noticing the device in his hands. While Tucker used his tablet and computer when doing assignments or playing video games, that was solely because the screens were bigger. He’d actually been in a loving, committed relationship with his PDA since he first got it when he was 14. As time went by and technology evolved, instead of adjusting with the times, he put all his engineering knowledge to use with the sole intention of updating his baby and never having to part ways from her. 

It was both kinda cool and a little disturbing, to be honest.

Leaning back on her chair and crossing her legs at her knee, mirroring Danny’s own stance, Sam propped her face on her hand, a bored expression plastered on her face. “Although I do find your commitment to recycling that old thing of yours instead of falling for the capitalistic trap that is technology consumption commendable,” she said, and Danny was sure his eyes must’ve popped open at seeing her utter that long-ass speech without so much as pausing to breathe, “sometimes I worry about you.”

Offended, Tucker frowned at her, only clutching his PDA tighter in his hands. “I’m mercifully going to choose to ignore everything you just said except for the part when you call me ‘commendable.’ Now, can I look for information on the Internet or not?”

Leaning forward, this time resting her chin on her knuckles at the same time as she propped her elbow on her bent knee, Sam shrugged, not really caring. “You can try, but chances are you’re only going to find Halloween articles from children’s magazines, or weird Satanist websites asking you to offer a sacrifice in exchange for joining them.”

As Tucker flopped back down on his chair with his arms crossed, pouting and grumbling something along the lines of, “Damn it, Jazz…”, Danny tried fishing for more information. “So they don’t really cast spells?”

The discomfort came back. She knew Danny was only trying to be thorough with his assignment, but that didn’t change the fact that his questions hit a little too close to the mark. “The only way to find out for sure would be meeting one in real life.” She said in a voice so low, even with his enhanced senses Danny almost didn’t hear her. 

Noticing the tension suddenly coming off of Sam, her previously laid-back and even playful posture changing to a much more tense one: legs crossed tightly, her shoulders stiff, both hands clutching at the fabric of her shorts…; Tucker decided it’d be best if they let the topic go for a while. And so, he did what he did best:

He abruptly changed the topic. 

“So Sam,” he called out to her, quickly getting both her and Danny’s heads to snap to him, “I don’t think you’ve ever told me.”

“Tell you what?” What was he doing?

“What’s your deal?”

Sam blinked. “My deal?”

The teal-eyed young man just nodded. “Yeah, what’s your type?” He asked as he leaned forward, mindlessly toying with his PDA. “Because in all the time I’ve known you, I’ve not seen you once with a boyfriend, not even a fling.”

“Tucker, you’ve known me for a year.” She reminded him. “Not necessarily as much time as you make it out to be.”

“Hey, a lot can happen in a year!” He defended. 

“Tucker himself has had three different girlfriends in the last three months.” Danny added. 

“See?” Then, he turned to his best friend with an unamused expression on his face. “But, dude, don’t say it like that; you make me sound like a player.”

“I’m just saying,” the black-haired youth put his palms up in surrender, a lazy grin on his face, “it’s not bad for a guy who was rejected by every single girl back in high school.” 

Tucker just glowered at him, before turning his attention back to Sam. “So...back to the question; what’s your type of guy?”

She could not believe this was happening. Back when she was a teenager, a tinsy bitsy part of her she tried very hard to suppress secretly longed for talking about girl stuff with the other girls her age from her clan. Something as silly as talking boys, makeup, or any other teenaged-girl nonsense with other people would’ve made her lonely childhood all the more bearable, and now…

...now she was being offered to talk about boys...by other boys...at twenty-one. And the worst part was that she was actually considering it. Her life could not get any more complicated than that. Sighing through her nose, unable to believe how low she’d stooped, she gave in. 

Her type...that was a good question. Back when she was still in her early to late teens, she would’ve said she was looking for a unique guy. The type of guy who valued his individuality and who was above all the pointless trends dominating the public with their pre-fabricated, market-targeted predictability. A guy who didn’t fall into any of the classical high school cliques: someone who wasn’t a brainless jock, or a geeky kid, or one of those posers who hid behind a fake dark persona to get people to pay attention to him.

Someone who embraced being different rather than exploited it. 

Someone like her. 

But all those fantasies turned out to be nothing more than that; fantasies. Delusions. Sooner or later she’d have to open her eyes to the world. She just wished Gregor hadn’t been the one to open them up for her… After that fiasco, Sam finally learned what she was truly looking for in a partner. “...a good guy.” She practically whispered in the end. 

Tucker and Danny exchanged a confused glance once their initial surprise at Sam’s sudden reply, after several minutes of silence, had worn off. It was the former who spoke up, “...I’m not sure that qualifies as ‘a type.’”

“Of course it does!”, she protested. “Just like girls stereotypically fall for ‘bad boys’, we can also fall for ‘good guys.’ And I’ve had my fair share of bad boys, thank you…” she muttered before looking away from them. 

Something about the way Sam said those words hinted at a lot more going on than just a teenage girl crushing over a guy with a motorcycleーand hopefully not a ghost one who only wanted her as a vessel for his real girlfriendー, but she seemed to have closed herself off completely. Danny wanted to ask her about it, but something in the way her position stiffened changed his mind. No way would Sam open up to someone she'd just met over something so personal.

Instead he asked, "And how about looks?"

She flashed him a small smile and that alone made his entire week worth it. "I'll admit, I do have a soft spot for guys that aren't exactly average."

Tucker scoffed. "Well, duh! I'd also pick a supermodel over a plain-looking chick any day of the week..."

"That's not what I meant and you know it."

Despite the seriousness in her voice, she eventually broke down laughing, the other two joining in on the fun soon after. As her giggles quieted down, Sam stole a furtive glance at Danny. The way he seemed to sense her discomfort despite barely knowing each other and making an effort to keep her mind away from unpleasant thoughts was enough to make her heart flutter, making her blush slightly at the realisation. 

She shook the feeling off, though. Danny was sweet, and maybe a little cute despite his, apparently, natural awkwardness, but she wasn’t looking for romance, having much more important things to take care of. Besides, he really wasn’t her type, cute as he may be. Still, that didn’t change the fact that she wanted to thank him for his help in some way. And, against her better judgement, she knew just what to do. 

An hour passed by until Tucker had to bid them goodbye, saying he was going to be late for class if he stayed with them any longerーalthough he really, really wanted to skip that lectureー, and so, he left his two friends to their own devices. Another forty minutes or so later, it was finally time for them to go to their respective classes, too. 

Rolling her eyes at Danny as he opened the door for her, but thanking him nonetheless, Sam stepped out of the café, her companion close behind her. “About the spell thing you asked me about earlier…” she started, her words coming out of the blue and tearing Danny away from his own thoughts, “I guess, if witches are actually just humans with magical powers, then it’d make sense if they’d need some sort of way to activate said powers…”

Mouth slightly agape, he finally found the words, “You mean like a password or something?”

She looked over at him from the corner of her eyes, a cryptic smirk on her lovely face. “Maybe.” 

Turning to face him, her smile widening but never losing its mystery, she waved before walking past him, “See ya, Danny.”

Danny slowly waved at her in return, unbidden, too gobsmacked to form a coherent sentence. Because just like that, she was gone. 

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