#my left arm is a pincushion | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yaderyngoch · 8 months

Text

I made a comment a while ago about a JayTim Tailor AU, and then the brainworms wouldn't stop so now I've actually written it.

Disclaimer that I'm super new to the fandom so this is my first time writing for it, and I also written one little fanfic in the past 3 years for a different fandom so I am Rusty and they're probably very OOC lol.

Tailor’s shops, Tim had found, were rather soothing places. Quiet and smelling faintly of amber and cedar. His chosen shop was an octagonal room lined with built-in shelves and racks of suits and armoires of darkly stained mahogany. A table in the centre of the room housed a swatch book of different types of wool and lining silks that Tim liked to flip through just to feel the delicately woven fabrics.

On one side of the shop window, there was a mannequin dressed in a half-finished suit, one side left without the facing so onlookers could see the canvas and careful stitching that gave the suit its structure. On the other there was an old treadle sewing machine, though Tim doubted it was still functional. Nevertheless it helped add to the timeless sort of atmosphere of the shop, something that felt so far removed from all the computers and cold artificial displays Tim usually worked with.

He’d been coming to this tailor for a few years now. Bruce had recommended him, and Tim had been coming ever since. There was something calming about the familiarity. Coming in and greeting the salesman who recommended a few suits for him to try on, settling on one that he thought looked best before the salesperson called the tailor out to him. It was always the same tailor, an elderly man with small, quick hands and soft eyes by the name of Lucius Fox.

Tim waited for him now, dressed in a neat blue suit the salesperson had chosen off the rack for Tim. The shop did offer entirely bespoke suits, but Tim had always found that to be much more elaborate than he felt he needed. As long as he looked neat and presentable, it worked for him.

He flipped through that fabric swatch book, tracing fingertips along the pinked edges of soft blue wool and reading the sticker on the back of the previous swatch as though he had any idea what any of it meant. Camel hair, it said. Tim didn’t think the fur of a camel would be particularly soft or good for suitmaking but evidently he was wrong.

“Mr. Drake?” Called a voice from the door to the tailor’s workshop itself, a voice lower and smoother than Tim had been expecting.

Tim looked up to see a man walking towards him, tall and broad with a streak of white through dark hair, a ruler and chalk in one hand and a pincushion secured to the other wrist with a band of black elastic. He’d forgone the jacket of his three-piece suit, the sleeves of his dress shirt neatly rolled up to his elbows, a tape measure draped around his neck. The suit was fitted just enough to display a figure far sturdier than Tim would’ve expected for a tailor, just hints of a broad chest and arms that filled out the sleeves far better than most.

His face was just as chiselled, with sharp green eyes that seemed to shimmer with amusement, the corner of his mouth turning up just slightly.

It took Tim far too long to realise he’d been staring, and he quite quickly flicked his eyes back down to the book before him, feeling warmth rise on his cheeks. “Yes, that’s- uhm.” He cleared his throat. “That’s me.” He looked back up at the Tailor. “Sorry, I just was expecting someone… else.”

The Tailor smiled in something between understanding and amusement. “Yes, Mr. Fox is out for the week so he’s left me to handle the shop. I’ll be taking care of you today.” The blush rose higher on Tim’s cheeks, and if he didn’t know better he’d assume the Tailor was doing that on purpose, with that honeyed voice of his and those smoothly spoken words. “My name is Jason.”

“Tim,” he answered, picking at the band of his watch.

“A pleasure to meet you, Tim,” answered Jason, and Tim was almost irritated at how well such a simple and common name rolled off Jason’s tongue. Jason gestured towards the pedestal in front of the three-way mirror, a platform just a little bit above the ground that made fittings easier, evidently. “Stand up there and face the mirror,” said Jason, tone polite and professional despite the command.

Tim nodded, trying not to follow Jason’s order too quickly and trying even harder not to fidget. He’d gotten better at it over the years. At his first fitting, Mr. Fox had smacked him upside the head with a ruler and told him to sit still. Now though, he had a feeling he’d find it just as difficult to behave as he had back then.

Jason came to stand close behind Tim, and it was with another small amount of irritation that Tim noticed even atop the pedestal, Jason was still slightly taller than him. “Tell me a little more about how you like your suits to fit.” His voice was softer now that they stood closer together, a gentle sound rather close to Tim’s ear. Tim couldn’t tell if he could feel the body heat radiating off of Jason, or if it was his own body that was warming up.

“Well… I’m not really sure I have much of a preference. Mr. Fox just fixed whatever he thought looked bad.” Tim wasn’t particularly meticulous when it came to fashion.

Jason hummed in understanding, stepping back just slightly to sweep his eyes over Tim, analysing the way the suit fit him with a careful, sharp stare. “Well, Mr. Fox is very good at what he does, but between you and I? He's also ancient and tends to prefer older, boxier styles, which I don’t think particularly suit you.” Tim felt rather like a blank canvas, where Jason could see the vision of the finished piece and Tim couldn’t. “You have a much narrower waist than most of the men I see. I think you’d look far better in something that showed that off a little more.”

Tim tugged at the hem of the jacket, trying to see what it was that Jason saw, but as far as he was concerned a suit was a suit and as long as it fit he wasn’t sure the cut of it made much of a difference. It was something to wear to a formal event and want to take off as soon as he got home. As far as he knew, the one he had on already fit fairly well for the most part.

“Here, I’ll show you what I mean and you can see what you think,” Jason continued, stepping closer to Tim again, standing right behind him so that in the mirror he could see his own silhouette overshadowed by Jason’s. Jason stroked gentle fingers up Tim’s spine, a featherlight touch to smooth out the wrinkle at the base of his neck. Tim suppressed a shiver as Jason leaned in close to place a pin to mark where the extra fabric near the collar needed to be taken in.

“Generally, off the rack suits were designed to fit men with far worse posture than you,” Jason explained, moving on to pin the sides of the suit. He sounded… appreciative, nearly praising despite the aforementioned posture making more work for him.

Tim could definitely feel his body heat now, attention narrowed down to where he could feel the delicate brush of skilled fingers along his waist, sliding a pin through the fabric with ease and precision Tim wouldn’t have associated with larger, stronger hands, far less wrinkled than Mr. Fox.

Tim could feel the warmth of Jason’s breath, could see him leaning in close in the reflection of the mirror. Now that Jason wasn’t looking at Tim’s face, Tim couldn’t help but stare at Jason’s, at the piercing, intense gaze, careful and precise in his work. He was much younger than Tim assumed most tailors were, likely only a few years older than Tim himself.

Jason moved to the other side, momentarily placing a hand on Tim’s waist to pull away the fabric needed. Tim wondered what he was thinking, so focused and diligent, fingers so much more skilled than Tim would’ve expected. It was an art, really, and there was beauty in simply watching the way Jason worked, in feeling each gentle brush of fingertips along the fabric, light and delicate and telling of so much skill in those hands. Some part within Tim desperately wanted to ask for more, for a taste of what those feathery sweeping touches promised.

“How does that feel?” Tim snapped his eyes away from Jason’s face and back to his own reflection, reminded quite quickly that Jason was a professional only doing his job and Tim desperately needed to get it together. Jason was reminding Tim that he desperately needed a few things.

“Uh… what?” Tim asked, feeling suddenly rather silly and realising he hadn’t been paying any attention at all to any of the things he was supposed to be paying attention to.

Fortunately, instead of the irritation Tim had been expecting, Jason simply laughed, a low chuckle rumbling in his throat. “The suit. Does it feel too tight? Too loose?” Oh- right. That was why Tim was here.

He looked at his silhouette in the mirror again, this time actually looking at himself instead of at Jason, and found he quite immediately knew what Jason had been talking about before. More than just fitting him better, Tim felt like he looked more… like himself. Not someone putting on a costume to go play the character of some high-society heir. He looked… really good, and good in a way he hadn’t expected to see in himself.

“Well?” Jason asked, smirk tugging at his lips again. “You seem quite easy to leave speechless, but I would appreciate at least some feedback.”

“Oh- sorry. It feels good. Thank you,” Tim answered, looking back at Jason in time to see his satisfied smile.

“Good,” said Jason, stepping closer again. “Now for the sleeves, I think they’re a little long for you, hmm?”

Tim nodded, knowing at least that much needed to be fixed. The hem of the sleeve was barely above his knuckles. Jason leaned in, left shoulder brushing Tim’s right as he slid one hand past Tim’s hip, one hand on either side of Tim’s.

Tim’s breath hitched, trying to calm the way his heart raced at their proximity. He knew this was part of the fitting, that this was the easiest way for a tailor to roll up his sleeve. Mr. Fox had done it too, but when Jason touched him, it was… different. No- Jason was just doing his job. He was a professional, Tim shouldn’t be thinking these things.

Jason’s index finger brushed Tim’s palm as he started to roll the sleeve up, tucking the excess fabric inward so it looked more like what the finished product might be. He slid two fingers beneath the sleeve to help smooth out the folded edge, the backs of them brushing along the sensitive skin of Tim’s wrist. Tim would be surprised if Jason couldn’t feel his racing heartbeat like this, but if he did, he didn’t say anything of it, simply curling his fingers and bringing them down slightly to bring the sleeve down just a little.

“How’s that?” Jason asked, voice hardly above a whisper now that he was practically speaking in Tim’s ear, their faces only a few inches apart. He slid his fingers out of the sleeve, pulling away again so Tim could examine the length for himself.

“Yeah,” Tim answered breathlessly. “Yeah, I like that.” He realised now that Jason had pulled away, he very nearly felt cold. But at least the distance gave Tim room to catch his breath and chase away those creeping thoughts.

Then, Jason stepped in front of Tim, between him and the mirror, and Tim’s heart stuttered in his chest. Tim had nearly forgotten about how Tailors marked the second sleeve, and he was swiftly reminded when Jason dropped to his knees in front of him.

Tim immediately held his breath, staring directly forward and absolutely refusing to look down.

“You know, I can’t do this if you don’t relax,” Jason teased. It was then that Tim realised he’d balled his hands into fists, and then that he knew that Jason definitely knew what he was doing. He released the breath he’d been holding, unclenching his fists and relaxing his arms at his sides.

Jason hummed in satisfaction, and Tim felt that gentle brush of warm fingers against his own as Jason held the ruler up to measure the new length of the sleeve from the tip of his thumb, sliding a pin into place before repeating the process with the other sleeve. Tim was trying not to tremble, trying to ignore what he could see of Jason in his peripheral vision, trying not to wonder what it might be like if he used that tape measure for something other than its intended purpose.

Finally, Jason stood again, face so close to Tim’s that Tim could make out the different shades of green and blue in his eyes.

“Wonderful,” he said. “Now, if you’d please remove the jacket, it’s time to mark the pants.”

Tim was going to die in this tailor’s shop.

#jaytim #jaytim fic #my fic #my writing #*wordvomits 2k of technical sewing jargon* lick it up baby #I highly doubt there is actual interest in this but that's Okay because I am my own target audience

134 notes · View notes

sulumuns-dootah · 5 months

Text

17.12. Glasyalabolas - Mistletoe

༺☆༻

⟡ Masterlist ⟡

₊˚⊹.* The Yule festival of Hell *.⊹˚₊

༺☆༻

“Y/N, could you come here?” a familiar velvety voice called out to you while you were busy making bows to decorate gifts for Leviathan's servants with Foras. Looking over in the direction from where the voice came from, you see Glasyalabolas standing in on one of the many door frames leading into the spacious room. He's leaning against it like he's some punk in a teenage drama.

“What? I'm kinda busy here. If you need something, come to me.” you call back and focus back on helping hold down ribbons so Foras can tie them around the gift boxes. In your mind you're counting how much you've done and how many are left to go. The higher demons get more fancy bows and the lesser they are, the less work goes into the packaging. The boxes are all pretty, but you can still tell the difference between a box meant for a duke and one for president.

“No, you have to come to me, Y/N.” Glasyalabolas addresses you again. This time you don't even look at him. There's too much work and not enough time. The gift boxes were supposed to be ready two days ago, but of course angels have other plans.

“It's okay, you can go. I can tie the bows for knights myself. They don't need to be so fancy.” Foras tells you while he's finishing up the last bow meant for a count. You can hear Glasyalabolas hum in approval from the other side of the room.

With a sigh you set down the scissors you've been holding in your hand and take a pincushion off your wrist. Who knows what does the tall demon want and if you'll be even able to return to your work.

“Yes? What is it?” you ask irritated. Originally you only offered to help out with the gifts, but with the weather getting more sunny, you've unofficially taken on Barbatos' position and the stress of it was catching up to you.

“Look up, Y/N.” Glasyalabolas only nods his head upward. You follow his gaze and notice a green branch hanging above the two of you. It takes you a little while to realise what the branch is.

“Oh.” you exclaim and feel your cheeks flush. Does he really mean what you think he is?

When you look back down from the green twig, you jump a little. The tall demon's face is now closer to yours due to him leaning slightly down to match your height. He's watching your face intently for any reason of displeasure or hesitance, but there is none to be found.

The air feels more tense and you decide to close the distance, which is apparently even closer than you thought, between your lips. He tastes of red wine and something sweet. You suddenly don't want him to pull back. There's something addictive about his kiss. Throwing your arms around his neck you deepen the kiss and sneakily his wrap around your waist, lifting you up a little.

Unfortunately he pulls away after a while and looks into your eyes. You're still holding each other when a voice from another door frame sound off: “Aw, that's so adorable! I demand to get a kiss under the mistletoe from Y/N too!” It's Barbatos, who just came inside to help finish the gift boxes. His hair is frozen and his skin is glowing red.

You let go of Glaysalabolas and he reluctantly does the same. You're about to turn around and join the two demons standing around the big table, but the demon next to you catches your arm.

“Happy holidays, my queen.”

༺☆༻

But wait, this demon also has a gift for you!

"I've chosen you to be my queen, by my side on the throne. I shall present you with gift fit for a queen."

#what in hell is bad #what in “hell” is bad?#whb glasyalabolas #the yule festival of hell

47 notes · View notes

nikolai-alexi · 8 months

Note

A little while back you did piercing hcs for the marauders and co could you do that with tattoos? 😁

Oh babes, absolutely! I love this idea and boyyyy do I have Thoughts about this

So sorry this took so long! I had to work on it in between back to back shifts at work. Let me know what you think of these!

Tattoos & Styles I HC The Marauders & Co With (and this time someone asked for my brain rot!)

James

Okay, so James is definitely a pincushion. He absolutely let Sirius use him as a practice mannequin when they were first learning how to tattoo so he’s covered in varying different tattoos of different styles and skill level. I think James has kinda always been covered in Sirius’ art, bc he absolutely let Sirius draw on him during class. So when ink pens turned to tattoo guns, James and his zero fear of permanence didn’t bat an eye at being used as a practice dummy.

On his right forearm, he has a matching tattoo with the Marauders. It’s a stag’s head, with a rat sitting on it, the Sirius constellation between the antlers, and a halfmoon behind it.

On his right bicep, he has a half sleeve. I HC James as Desi and Hindu, and that tattoo is a Mehndi design James created with an elephant in the foreground. He had Sirius do it, ofc, and it took like 4-6 sessions to get it done because Sirius was absolutely fixated on making sure it was perfect

Regulus gives him a stick and poke (like a legit one, not an ink pen insert and a needle one) and it’s of a stag with a cat playing in its antlers. It’s on the inside of James’ right ankle. He’s constantly pestering Regulus about doing more

When Effie and Monty pass (of very very old age and only that of course), James has Sirius create a memorial piece for them. They incorporate a lot of meaningful things in it for James; one of Effie’s own Mehndi designs, a crow (the messenger between the lands of living and dead as well as Effie’s favourite animal), Monty’s favourite book quote written in Punjabi, and a bunch of little symbols that represent them both. James and Sirius both sobbed through that entire tattoo. It rests right on top of James’ heart and spans most the left side of his chest

James is kind of a mess of different styles and skill levels, and is basically just covered in a bunch of small tattoos. He collects one on every holiday, pretty much any time Sirius is bored, or whenever something significant in his life happens. He’s just a living sticker book of art, basically

Marlene, Pete, and James each have their childhood house numbers tattooed on the inside of their left wrists. James’ is 421

Sirius

Sirius still has their runic tattoos and the chest tattoo, because I cannot physically make those not a thing. I love them so much

Down the back of their left arm, they have the cycles of the moon

Paw prints of a wolf and a dog, everywhere. Side by side down their spine, around their runic tattoos, down the side of their legs, etc.

Banding. There’s so much banding. Esp on their forearms! From super thin to super thick banding, it’s all over Sirius’ body. They have one set of banding that goes around their waist and it drives Remus crazy

Magic tattoo or not, Sirius absolutely has the Marauder’s Map footsteps all over them

Obviously they have the Marauders Tattoo too. It’s on the right side of their ribcage.

I think a lot of Sirius’ tattoos that they didn’t do themselves are runic. Protection runes, mostly, but all kinds of different runes in multiple runic languages (I HC Sirius as being a total Ancient Runes nerd)

All the tattoos Sirius did do on themselves are more like doodles than actual tattoos. Something popped in their head, they had time to spare, so they did it real quick. There’s not a lot of thought behind those ones

There are a bunch that are representative of the people in their life, though. Like they’ve got Regulus’ constellation, Alphard’s constellation, Andy’s constellation. They’ve got rat paw prints and deer hoof prints, James’ quidditch/footie/lacrosse jersey number, chess pieces with whiskers or a tail, chocolates stacked on top of books, etc.

They’ve got their own kind of memorial tattoo for Effie and Monty (they didn’t feel like they could use Effie’s Mehndi design because they’re not Hindu and there was a lot of guilt and stuff they needed to deal with before they could even bring themselves to do the memorial tattoo and James was ready to lose his mind because when his mum said that Sirius was her child no matter what, she didn’t mean that they were only her child if they became Hindu themselves. There were lots of conversations about that)

There really isn’t much open space on Sirius’ body lmao they just constantly tattoo over things and all sorts of chaos

Remus

Where Sirius is very chaotic with their tattoos, Remus is very methodical. It’s not that his tattoos can be read like a book or anything, he just puts a lot of thought into his tattoos. He dedicates limbs and areas of his body to certain things. He doesn’t just get an idea and slap it somewhere. It might be a control thing, it might not be, who knows. It’s just the way he does things

Has the Marauder tattoo on his left thigh

You know the chest tattoos with the hands? Remus has one, except the left hand is holding a can of petrol and the right one is holding a zippo

Remus’ right sleeve is almost patchwork, but it’s like a blended patchwork? I’m not sure how to describe what I think of when I think of his right sleeve, but basically, it’s a significance piece. His right sleeve is basically the places in his life that have left an impact on him. The house in Wales where he grew up, the fork his Mam swore up and down was lucky, the couches in the Gryffindor common room, and the brickwork fireplace. Candles from the Great Hall float all around his arm, the spot James showed him behind the Quidditch bleachers where he carved his name into the wood when he was high, the broken piano in the Shack that Sirius always tried to play, the door number to Sirius’ and his first flat, the uneven second hand kitchen table with tea cups on it they put in their kitchen. The castle itself. The forest. Everywhere that makes an impact on Remus’ life gets immortalised on his arm.

I am a firm believer that Remus would refuse to get anything wolf/dog related inked, but you bet he has stars all over. Sirius’ constellation is tattooed over his heart

I’m also a huge believer that Remus is a classics nerd, so his left side is dedicated to classic mythos and literature references. He’s got gods and goddesses and stories inked into his skin like it’s his arm that tells their stories, not the books themselves. He’s got Hades and Persephone reaching for each other between the worlds, Orpheus and Eurydice, and Achilles, Patroclus and the Trojan Horse. He and Regulus have a whole geek out when they realise they each have a mythos tattoo

Similarly to his mythos sleeve, I think Remus, especially growing up in Wales and with Hope as his Mam, give off big mythological creature nerd vibes (excluding werewolves, obvi). Like you cannot tell me that little bitty Remus Lupin was not a dinosaur kid. So his right leg is all mythological creatures. Kind of on theme with his sleeve, a lot of them are Greek, like Chimera, Pegasus, and a Sphinx. But he also has an Afanc, Tylwyth Teg (Welsh interpretation of Fae/Faeries), and an Adar Llwch Gwin (a griffin-type of bird, with the head and wings of an eagle and of a cat)

His left leg is sort of open, it’s where he puts things that don’t really have a “place” or when he runs out of space on his sleeves

Peter

Marlene, Pete, and James each have their childhood house numbers tattooed on the inside of their left wrists. Pete’s is 439.

Has the matching Marauder’s tattoo with James, Sirius, and Remus on his left bicep

He’s not necessarily opposed to getting more tattoos, but he pretty much just gets them with his friends. He feels like he’s too indecisive to just get one

Marlene

Marlene’s tattoos are chaos. There’s no rhyme, reason, or order to them. They could be super meaningful or they could be a rabbit wearing a fancy suit with a top hat balancing on a unicycle and frogs stuffed in the pockets (that one’s on her left thigh. she has no recollection of when or where she got it)

She has identical outline of cats around both of her nipples because she thought it’d be hilarious to have a “titty tat of a kitty cat!”…I’ll give you three guesses as to who did that for her and the first two don’t count.

Marlene, Pete, and James each have their childhood house numbers tattooed on the inside of their left wrists. Marlene’s is 465.

Marlene is the kind of person to walk into a shop and go “I have £100, what will that get me”. Her body is hers to decorate and she’s doing it with a fuck ton of permanent stickers

She has a matching tramp stamp with Evan, Barty, Dorcas and Tillie. It’s the absolute worst thing she has tattooed on her and she adores it.

She’s really just covered in flash work. There’s some traditional tattoos, with old school card suits and flowers on her shoulder. There’s neotraditional pieces, with the overlapping sun and moon on her hip. There’s lots of fineline, a dragon wrapping around a bouquet of poisonous flowers on her sternum. There’s a wacky sort of tribal/geometric half sleeve on her right calf. She’s got fun little watercolour pieces decorating her arms. She’s got a blackwork geometric piece that goes around her stomach that’s all negative space and shading details and no one can agree one what everything is or isn’t (she won’t tell anyone the answers either).

She has a very tiny snake and lion behind each of her ears

She has a mandala tattoo that goes across the back of her head, but you can only see it when she has an undercut in her hair

Mary

Mary is a fun one. She’s definitely a tattoo fiend, but while she’s not methodical like Remus and Regulus are, she’s not chaotic like Barty and Marlene are with them.

She’s got a lot of different things, a bunch of muggle references, a lot of Wizarding references

Couple of fun floral pieces

Something about Mary just screams “forest” piece to me. I think she’s got a sleeve that’s all themed after the Forbidden Forest and it’s all done in realism. Very spooky but also very beautiful

Not to make this heartbreaking, but if canon compliant Mary got one tattoo before she obliviated herself, I think she would have gotten a tattoo of Hogwarts with a compass, because even though Hogwarts was the source of her trauma and pain, a part of her would always feel at home there. So when she knew she was going to obliviate herself, she got herself something to find home with, should she ever need it

Solar System. Mary strikes me as a closeted Astronomy and astrology nerd. I think she’s got a solar system tattoo, straight down her spine, and a galaxy tattoo on her ribs, and then maybe the astrology signs somewhere?

Matching butterfly tattoo with Lily, Mary’s is a Monarch

Lily

Lily, loml, she’s a watercolour babe 10000%

She doesn’t have a ton of pieces, but she gets a few every now and again

Fineline watercolour girlie for sureeee and we love her for it

She says she doesn’t like floral pieces, but she has one on her sternum, however it absolutely does NOT have lilies in it

Miss Girl absolutely has one of those fineline tattoos with the stack of books with a tea cup on top of them and the steam looks like magic, you know the ones I’m talking about? And it’s like in her inner forearm right by her elbow

Has a matching butterfly tattoo with Mary, Lily’s is a Swallowtail

Regulus

Has a bottom lip tattoo that says “CUNT”. It was his first tattoo and his second ever act of rebellion against his parents (his first being his nipple piercings). Barty came up with the idea to have them all write down a word and then pick it out of a hat and that’s what they’d get tattooed. Barty and Evan could not stop laughing when Regulus pulled out his.

Regulus is very similar to Remus in a way. His tattoos are all very organised and thought out, minus a few impulse ones with his friends or Sirius and the Marauders

Regulus really favours abstract, geo, and blackwork styles, with a bit of fineline influence in some pieces. He doesn’t have a single colour tattoo, strictly black and grey.

His left arm is all bold lines, sharp angles, heavy black work, and lots of negative space. He got it right after he got unofficially disowned, used the bank account his parents cut him off from as a last “fuck you” to them and it kind of represents his inner turmoil during that time of his life. He did the sleeve in one session, it took 13.5 hours and his artist took more breaks than he did. If that gives you an idea of how his mental state was at the time

His right arm is lighter, less harsh lines and negative space, more open linework. Lots of geometric patterns that feed into each other shoulder to wrist. There’s still some inverted shading and negative work, but for the most part, it’s fairly open. There’s a lot more diversity in his right sleeve than his left, stacks of shapes and a bunch of 3D shading, the linework seems to twist and turn with his arm, rather than go against the grain of his body like his left does.

His chest piece is his absolute favourite of all his tattoos. He and Barty started on it almost immediately after he got the all clear from Drs/Healers after his top surgery. The tattoo is of a Boomslang snake, and it weaves in and out of his surgery scars like it’s entering and exiting his body from under his skin. It slithers all the way around his chest, ribs, and back, before it curls over his shoulder and it’s head comes right to his heart. It’s jaws are open, and it looks like it’s striking at his heart. Throughout the scales, the use of heavy blackwork and negative space carves out the words “Le monstre n'a pas peur de ce qu'il deviendra” or “the monster does not fear what it will become”. It was one of the most painful tattoos Regulus has, because his top surgery scars were still healing, but the tattoo and the fact that it was Barty who did it made it so incredibly worth it

His left leg has a full sleeve on it, and it’s super dope. The whole sleeve is based off of animals with magical or supernatural tales about them. The sleeve is almost done like a totem pole, but the faces are done half in geometrics and half in inverted shading. He has a fox, a coyote, a cat, a vulture, and a bat

His right leg is where all of his impulse tattoos go. Or where he lets Barty and Sirius practice. There’s a lot of small pieces and some larger ones. Sirius did a piece on his thigh that’s a realistic portrait of a lion, except the Regulus constellation covers it’s chest. Barty did another piece with a dog and the Sirius constellation on his calf.

He has a tattoo of Icarus with his wings melting and falling from the sky on the right side of his rib cage

He wants to do a back piece and fill in his torso at some point. Give him 3-5 years to make up his mind and not over think it lmfao

Barty

Blackwork. So. Much. Blackwork.

If he’s got tattoos in a magical fic, his entire left forearm is a blackout. Then the rest of that sleeve is an inverted sleeve with negative space

Has a snake that starts on his sternum, wraps around his neck, under his right arm, over his shoulder and ends on his chest. Done in blackwork style also

His right sleeve is a bit of a mashup. He’s got some blackwork and negative space, but also a bit of fineline work.

He has a neck and face tattoo. It’s on the left side, and it starts near where his shoulder meets his neck then goes up his neck, and around his head and ear. It’s a rose bush. (If it’s a magical tattoo, the different coloured roses bloom and close at different times depending on Evan’s moods)

On his right hipbone, Evan tattooed “ROSY” on him

He has a galaxy and constellation tattoo on his left thigh, it’s the only other coloured tattoo he has besides his rose bush one. He got it for Regulus when he officially changed his name after coming out as trans

His legs are full of small tattoos he did himself. He started tattooing to piss his father off, so some of them are really dumb or badly done, but it’s so on brand for him that he touches them up from time to time just to make sure they stay. The tattoo he’s most proud of though, is Regulus’

I think his ribs and torso are pretty covered, probably a mix of random flash art he thinks is cool when he’s in the shop and more floral designs with snakes.

He absolutely has knuckle and hand tattoos, but for the life of me I cannot decide what exactly they’d be. Part of me really thinks he would do a nod towards Hogwarts and do a snake, an eagle, a badger, and a lion and just do symbols on his knuckles. The other part of me thinks he’d do something ridiculous like “PLAN” on his right hand and “AHEA” on the left just because he’s Barty and why wouldn’t he do shit like that

He has a matching tramp stamp with Dorcas, Marlene, Tillie, and Evan because they were all high as a mf and thought it would be hilarious (it is, in fact, hilarious and the most 70s tramp stamp ever)

Has a bottom lip tattoo that says “SLUT”

He wants to do a massive back piece (talking like shoulders to thigh), but hasn’t decided 100% what he wants to do, so hasn’t done it yet. But once that’s done he’s going to have very little open skin left to tattoo

Evan

On his right hipbone, Barty tattooed “BEE” on him

Has a bottom lip tattoo that says “WHORE”

I cannot stress enough how much of a new school vibe I get from Evan. Like this mf gets just the weirdest shit tattooed on him

Rose bush, but all the flowers are skulls. It takes up like all of his torso and rib cage. There’s also a bunch of vines and poisonous plants tangled in there. Somehow it simultaneously does and doesn’t at all fit his vibe

Dragon. Giant, wrapping, dragon. Takes up his entire right leg from the top of his foot up his hip. The dragon’s head wraps up around his thigh and arsecheek then over his hip bone and is blowing smoke right at his naval. He thinks he’s funny.

He and Pandora have a double helix DNA tattoo. Evan’s is on the outside of his left hand

Pandora

Had a bottom lip tattoo that says “PSYCHO” (Barty was PISSED when she got this one until he pulled his out and then wasn’t quite as mad. He did try to get Evan to tattoo his upper lip with it so he could be “Psycho Slut” which he thought was very on brand)

Pandora is also very new school vibe for me. I feel like she would absolutely get all of her creatures tattooed in a new school style and then have a really abrupt fineline piece here and there. It kinda makes your head spin, but that’s the whole point of it

Pandora and Evan have a double helix DNA strand tattoo. Hers is on the outside of her right hand

Has a giant realistic thestral on her thigh

Moths, lots of really cool fineline tattoos of different moth species (idk she strikes me as a bug girlie)

Dorcas

Has a bottom lip tattoo that says “BITCH”

Has a massive sword tattoo down her spine

Right sleeve is an ivy sleeve, it’s just vines and wrapping around her arm and hand. Some of it goes between her fingers and under her arm

Has a lot of Japanese Traditional style tattoos, the Yin and Yang koi fish on her thigh, cherry blossoms up her left calf, phantom Samurai on her ribcage

On her right calf she has a tattoo of a witch being burned at the stake, very haunting, very cool

Amelia

Has a balance tattooed on her inner left wrist and a gavel on her inner right wrist

Has a matching tattoo with Emme and Tillie of a stack of TNT on her hip

I think Amelia keeps her tattoos covered for the most part. They’re really important to her, but they’re definitely FOR her, ya know? Idk, that’s just the vibe I get from her

Emmeline

Has a matching tattoo with Amelia and Tillie of a stack of TNT on her hip

Something about Emme just screams floral tattoos to me. I think she definitely has a sleeve (or two) of mostly floral tattoos. It feels like a really nice dichotomy between how much of a badass she is (either as an Auror or firefighter or whatever kickass occupation she has) and how soft and kind she can be. I really see her having a sleeve on her right leg that she absolutely gets done in black and grey so her godbabies can colour her flowers in whenever she babysits them

Tillie

Has a matching tattoo with Emme and Amelia of a stack of TNT on her hip

Has a matching tramp stamp with Evan, Barty, Dorcas, and Marlene, she has zero recollection of getting it but every time she has to see the unfortunate thing, she can’t help but laugh. She vows to never get high and get tattoos with them again, but she absolutely fails at that

Shark tattoos. Like so many. Whale sharks, hammerheads, great whites, black tips, nurse sharks, shovelnose, etc. There’s just random little tiny shark tattoos all over her and I’m obsessed with them

On the same theme, I think she also has an ocean theme leg sleeve. A full coral reef, mermaids, all kinds of fish, ofc there’s sharks, maybe a whale and definitely an octopus in there. The whole thing is done in full colour and goes from her ankle all the way up her hip and ends at the bottom of her ribcage

21 notes · View notes

mudhamster · 4 months

Text

CHWHWN: 29./30. December - "One day left"

29. December

The next day, Izuku lay on the couch with a book. It was one of three books about the history of superpowers in different countries that his mother had sent him all the way from America. Instead of a bookmark, one of the books contained an extremely long letter, which he didn't know if it was an apology or a reproach after reading it. He turned a page and had both sides of the book in his hands when something slammed the book hard into his face, one of his own thumbs digging into his left eye, and the loud rustle of an old plastic bag drowning out his surprised curse. But not the evil snicker from behind the couch.

"Kacchan! My book!"

"I have something more precious here," he claimed, digging a finger through the bag and into the space between his ribs.

"What is it?"

"Look inside."

Upset by the surprise attack, but still mostly curious, Izuku pushed the book onto the small table in front of the couch and sat up straighter to look into the bag.

At first, all he saw was black, but when he put his hand inside and finally pulled out the soft, heavy fabric, he saw delicately embroidered cranes in subtle silver. Then he caught a whiff of a scent that made his next question unnecessary: "This is from you.

"Yes. A few years old, but I think it would fit around your shoulders."

"It's a ... kimono?"

" Yes," Katsuki, impatient as ever, pulled out the entire contents of the bag and stood up to show him the robe in all its glory. Izuku stared at the delicate orange accents, the shiny silver seams and was pretty sure that what he saw was a handmade piece. From Kacchan's father. One of a kind.

"But, Kacchan, I can't - what about you?"

"Like I said, it's my old one," Katsuki pointed out, rising from the couch and pressing the garment to Izuku's chest, "I have a new one. Cooler, of course."

Still stunned, Izuku held the fabric in his hands as carefully as if it were silk and followed the blonde across the room with his eyes. By the door, he stopped again, "Dad will be home in two hours, I've already let him know."

"Let him know what?"

"If it doesn't fit, Dad can fix it for you until the day after tomorrow."

Just as he was about to tell him that he wouldn't accept the kimono or his father's extra work, he received a dangerous look from glowing eyes.

"Contradiction is not an option, Izuku."

30. December

"Better?"

Izuku stood in Kacchan's father's sewing room, arms outstretched to both sides, holding a pincushion in one hand and his belt in the other.

"It... I don't know - I," had never worn a kimono before.

"Stretch your arms out in front of you, like this," Masaru instructed, pulling the sleeves up to his ankles and checking how tight the fabric was around his shoulders, "and now let them fall, okay."

The belt was taken from his hand and tied around his waist in a complicated knot. Then he tugged a little more, stepped back for a moment and nodded.

"I'll shorten this too," he smiled his fatherly smile and untied the knot with practiced hands, "then we're done."

"I don't know how to thank you all," Izuku whispered and handed over the small pillow with the pins. Just when he thought that his little concern would be smiled away as usual, Masaru rubbed his chin before giving him a gentle look.

"Go to the shrine with him."

"Okay," Izuku replied immediately. They had already agreed on that, but it seemed more special than Kacchan had implied. "Do you go every year?"

"Well," Masaru mused with a somewhat indecisive shrug, "he didn't want to go this year."

"No?" Izuku asked as he was helped out of the kimono without tripping, "Why not?"

"I don't know, son," they exchanged a knowing look, "Katsuki doesn't talk much about things that bother him. Unfortunately."

Izuku nodded.

"Do you want to see what his new kimono looks like or..."

"No thanks," Izuku interrupted politely, "I want to see it on Kacchan tomorrow."

The answer was a warm chuckle, then a "I see.“

#bkdk #mha #bakudeku #izuku midoriya #boku no hero academia #deku #fanfiction #fluff #kacchan #chwhwn #katsuki bakugou

15 notes · View notes

ricard-blythe-ffxiv · 6 months

Text

What could possibly go wrong?

“You know this is a bad idea, yeah?”

Ricard barely glanced up from the plans littering his desk, names of locations, routes, his men, possible scouting locales, rotations, local business where they could insert themselves, along with notes he’d taken during his meeting days before with Cordelia Gray. Instead he reached for his nearby glass with an irritated sigh. “I’m well aware of the potential issues, Baines. Weren’t you just complaining that I wasn’t giving you enough to do?”

It was now that he looked up, taking a long sip of his drink as he straightened before moving to collect the half empty bottle from nearby.

The Highlander man seated across from him rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed loosely over his chest as he watched Ricard turn to refill his glass. “Thought we’d be talking about going out on assignment somewhere, chattin’ some people up, more the usual. Not spyin’ on some little lordling over some family spat - not usually your style.”

“I was bored.”

“Bored, Ricard?”

“Yes, Delwyn. Bored. I have been playing the good little financial advisor for months. You know what happens when I get bored.”

“Aye, you make stupid decisions, but usually not this stupid. What happens if you find out something about the little lordling that puts little lady Cress in a bad spot, hm? You don’t like the other one because she turned you into a pincushion..”

Ricard’s head turned on a swivel as the bottle was set down none too gently, his drink dangerously close to spilling. “I believe you might have some harsh feelings towards an ex-lover who stabbed you and left you bleeding out in the middle of a foyer too, Baines.”

“Touchy touchy. Anyway - the other one…”

“Valeria. She has a name. As does the one who 'turned me into a pincushion' - Vahalia.”

“Eh. Twins right?”

“…fraternal.”

“Details.”

“We work in details, Delwyn. They’re rather important.”

“Right, well, the stabby one and the not stabby one works well enough for me. So tell me, all mighty information broker. How are you going to handle it if we find out something about your newest client’s nosy baby brother in law that negatively impacts the not stabby Cress? Gonna go talk to the stabby Cress and end up with another extra hole that has to be patched up? Because you kinda lucked out that someone found you last time if memory serves. Or are you gonna tell your client and hope that she tells the stabby Cress, because how likely is that?”

Ricard fought the urge to roll his eyes. “The client has a name as well, Delwyn - Cordelia Gray, might do you well to remember that. Look...Valeria Cress is a friend, if something comes up that concerns her then I'll manage it. Other than that, I manage and report information, that's what we do...”

“Nuh uh, don’t get to pull that. You have a responsibility. Didn’t think this one through before you accepted the job, did you Ricky?”

Ricard sighed heavily, downing half the contents of his glass as he sat down before running a hand over his face.

“Fuck.”

“That’s what you need to do, relieve some damn stress.”

“Fuck off, Delwyn.”

“I’m just calling it like I see it, Ricard - you’re wound tighter than a fucking antique clock.”

“My sex life…”

“…or lack thereof…” Delwyn managed to dodge as a pen was thrown at his head.

“Is none of your concern.”

“It is if you’re making decisions that get the rest of us into shitty situations.”

Ricard again narrowed his gaze towards the other man before glancing down at the plans. “It’s a little different from what we typically do, it doesn’t mean it’s a ‘shitty’ situation. We do surveillance regularly. This is just more of a constant operation. And we’ll be getting paid better for it.”

“And if we find out something certain stabby people might be interested in?”

Ricard opened a nearby box, pulling out two cigars, cutting off the tips before offering one to the other man and then gathering up his lighter.

“Then I’ll handle it. But don’t forget Baines - Lady Gray is our client first and foremost. The information she needs is primary. Everything else is extra.”

“Uh huh…whatever you say boss…”

What could possibly go wrong.

#the perceptive smartass #ffxiv edition #stories #blurbs #the answer is everything #devil is in the details

8 notes · View notes

edoro · 10 months

Text

recently i’ve ended up in the ER twice about a week apart (one time for “left side chest pain for hours”, one time for “inexplicably can’t breathe and my inhaler isn’t helping”) and since nothing was observably wrong with me either time i can only assume that i’m suffering under a witch’s curse or possibly experiencing physical stress illness due to the general state of my life

these events HAVE however given me the chance to practice one of my superpowers, which is Being Really Chill When People Stick Needles In Me, Especially If They Fuck It Up

(Talking About Needles And Stuff below the cut)

i’m generally an easy stick, because i have good, very visible veins and am not remotely bothered by needles (in fact i often watch them stick me AND watch the blood come out because i think it’s cool)

however, these last two times i’ve ended up with a graduate intern and a med school student respectively being the ones to place my IV and try to draw my blood, and Boy Have They Needed The Practice

between the diabetes and the hormones, i’ve gotten blood drawn 2-4 times per year for the last three years, not counting supplemental testing for things like my eventual fibro diagnosis or “hey, why is my hair falling out?”, and i used to donate plasma as many times a week as they’d late me for a solid few months, so i’m used to it being a quick and painless process that leaves me with nothing worse than a little scab and occasionally slight bruising right around the entry wound

this has not been the case these last few times! they have Butchered Me! the intern blew the first vein she tried, so i expected that bruise

(it was v funny, because i watched her put the needle in, then kinda pull it out and wiggle it around to reposition, and she got one vial of blood before it just stopped as the skin in the crook of my elbow right above the needle slowly swelled up into a taut, shiny balloon

at which point she went, “heyyyy, Maritza, can you come here a second?” like yeah i think we need some help in here, Maritza

i was not emotionally distressed by this but it made me get very hot and sweaty because my body was just going “now son this just isn’t right, this isn’t right at all, something is happening that should not be”)

but the draw sites on my other arm that didn’t have any apparent issues have also developed enormous bruises, and last night the poor med student had to get me three times (blowing a vein in the process as well), and then resorted to trying to suck the blood out of the IV in the back of my hand through a syringe because it just was not coming out

eventually he just gave up and sent a phlebotomist to get the rest of it, which was thankfully a painless and fairly quick process, but now THAT draw site in the back of my OTHER hand is bruised to hell as well, and i feel a little bit like a pincushion

so i’ve decided that i’m simply not allowed to have any more actual or possible medical problems for at least the next couple of weeks until the bruising fades, because they are simply Running Out Of Veins and i’m about to be going around looking like someone slammed my arms in a door or something

#personal #medical stuff #specifically needles

6 notes · View notes

specksizedgoddess · 4 months

Note

When I said I would "show you off to my friends," maybe you thought it would be simple; it's not everyday I see a bug-sized person, after all. We could have a little chat! Who knows, we could all hit it off, you might even make some new friends! ...what, is that so naïve?

I know, I know. More likely, you had the glimmer of hope that we would pass you around and use you until there was nothing left but an Eve-ish splatter on a lucky someone's ass, or inside their holes or between their teeth. That would be a fun game for all of us. We'd get to enjoy you, and there's so many ways that big bodies can pop little bodies. I'm sure you'd get off to it before we broke you. Freak.

There will be none of that. Instead I have a pincushion and a nice foam bed for you to relax on. I am going to pin you down, literally, and display you the way that insects are displayed. That's how I'll show you off. You will not be touched by anyone or anything but sharp, cold metal. Go on and get into position. It's better for you in the long run, I promise. This way, you'll have the honor of being on display! That, and if you try to flee, I promise I will do much, much worse.

The needle is, what, four, five, six times your height and impossibly narrow. How easily I position it over your soft flesh, push it down through you, splitting, shredding, splattering everything it touches. Your tiny body offers no resistance. Hardly a twitch of my finger to get it done. You, on the other hand, are stuck in place, left to fight for consciousness through the cold, ripping pain. Why are you squirming? Are you trying to free yourself? I suppose I should pin your arms and legs, too.

Die slow, love. You're our little exhibit now.

-🌙

AHDHSHFHDHFHD OOOH MY DHAHDHS HHI HAHSGS IM. HSHDHD MHMM <333333333

SHDH THANK YOU <33

Moaning as you coo over me, telling me how you'll show me off to your friends... admittedly, all those fantasies and more and rushing through my head, blushing as I nod eagerly, so easily scooped up in your hands and led to the foam bed...

Whimpering slightly as you tell me exactly what will happen, the sharp, cold words cutting into me as I nod and moan, barely able to stammer out an apology- face getting even redder as I see the gleam of the needle, glistening with the light... sharp and pointed right at me.

I dont fight exactly- a sort of squirm, in a mix of anxiety and exitement, trying to steady myself as it descends... nodding as you tell me what will happen, exited to be treated like any other bug~

In a flash, a needle jammed theough me easily- cold metal burning against my insides as I scream in a horrid mix of pleasure and pain~ lips trembling as I mouth something unrecognizable about bugs... blood every so gently drippig as you lift me up...

Giving a weak nod as you tell me to die slowly. I can be good entertainment. I can be an exhibit. I can be good. My squirming is just an attempt to find comfort, though by the enthusiastic moans, I'm practically begging to be pierced through my limbs so I dont move so much...

Your little specimin <3

#thanks for the ask!#🌙#HI #ITS SO GOOD TO SEE YOU AGAIN DHFHWH #crueleve

2 notes · View notes

frozenjokes · 4 months

Text

To Keep // 7

Prev/Next - Ao3 Link

The rock wall rained dust as Cub collided with it in a heavy crack. He dove left, teeth snapping so close to Cub’s ear, he could feel the sharp exhale of Scar’s rancid breath. Cub shoved hard, Scar toppling without the use of his arms for balance, but that didn’t stop him from kicking out, his boots smashing against Cub’s chin. Cub reeled toward the cave entrance, dazedly cradling his mouth. It was only seconds before Scar was back on his knees, and he wasted no time lunging forward, delivering a nasty headbutt that couldn’t have hurt Cub more than it hurt Scar. Though, Cub didn’t see Scar’s reaction, falling heavy against the jagged floor with ringing ears. Scar’s weight fell on top of him, but whether or not that was intentional or the result of a new head injury, Cub wasn’t sure.

“I’d say this is another win for me, which is a little pathetic if I’m being honest,” Scar huffed out, ragged,” It’s like you don’t even want to use me like a pincushion anymore, which, as much as I’ve enjoyed our time together, those weren’t any of my favorite moments, so it’d be lovely if you let me go. ”

“I’m not usually this slow,” Cub breathed, wincing at the deep discomfort in his jaw. Had Scar broken something? “Off.” Cub pushed weakly, but Scar adjusted, keeping his balance.

“I’ve been good, haven’t I? I haven’t even killed you once despite numerous opportunities. You’re not very good at subduing me, but I’ve been kind and helpful and I think that’s deserving of a little trust, yeah?”

“You don’t gain anything by sending me back to Spawn. You’re still stuck.”

“No, I don’t want you going back to Spawn at all, even after I’m free. I’d much rather you stay here where I can beat the piss out of you, even with my arms tied behind my back. Literally.”

“Ah, well good. Then we don’t have a problem.”

Scar gawked, but before he could speak, Cub shoved again and sent the other rolling with a yelp, followed swiftly by several complaints that Cub deftly ignored. He didn’t bother hiding his huff of frustration as he left the split cave, still cradling his jaw. This was the second time in a row he’d been unable to subdue Scar, but even before then, Scar had managed to catch him by surprise more times than that. He made his way to his bag, sulking over his box of potions, most of which he’d brought for healing. He’d already gone through half of them; more on himself than on Scar.

Something about this connection- spell- whatever was going on between them, it was making Cub weaker. Day after day, his head felt so much foggier, his limbs heavier. It wasn’t unpleasant. He was happy to work out here, losing track of time and spending hours with his eyes shut, basking in Scar’s magic, but.. Whatever was happening to Cub, it didn’t seem like it was happening to Scar. Scar was still sharp, still quick, and while some of the effect had to be rubbing off on the other due to the nature of their shared minds.. Cub shook his head.

Scar couldn’t know.

Cub felt another wave of Scar’s magic pulse from the cave, washing over him and burning away his discomfort. He closed his eyes, watching the colors dance and fade, and relaxed. Cub wasn’t entirely sure what Scar was doing, releasing energy like that with seemingly no purpose or direction. Maybe it was instinctual? Territorial? He certainly left his mark; any vex within a mile’s radius would know something strong lived here. Cub had even seen one or two floating around, drawn in by the presence and then fleeing upon seeing the two of them. Cub himself had never felt any sort of inclination to make his presence known in this way, but typically, that wasn’t the goal he had in mind when hunting vex. Did Scar realize the effect he was having on them? On Cub? Cub doubted it. Scar would much rather see Cub sulking than making an effort to keep him happy and relaxed.

///

“.. Earth to Cub.. Earth to.. wow , you’re really out of it, huh? Hello? Anybody in there..?”

Cub blinked his eyes open at an unpleasant buzz of magic ringing in his ears, then jolted backward seeing Scar, towering over his sitting form. Scar laughed (was he normally this loud?), wobbling a little with his bound legs. His head was framed eerily by the moon, his short hair almost glowing white.

“I thought you were dead there for a moment! Well- dead- ahhh,” Scar rolled his eyes, “You know what I mean. I was worried for a second I wouldn’t have anyone left to get me out of these restraints! Yeesh! That was a long nap there!”

Cub squinted, then blinked some more, but his eyes didn’t seem to want to focus. “Nap..? Was.. it wasn’t dark before..”

“No. It wasn’t,” Scar said simply, and Cub was having a difficult time telling if he was being genuine or making fun of him, “If it’s any consolation, I’m pretty sure I also conked out for a while. Wild, huh?”

“You don’t look like you did.”

“What?”

“You look good.”

“Why, thank you!”

“No. I mean you.. look.. fine..” Cub gestured helplessly, his hands still looking fuzzy. It felt like a hard film had fallen over his eyes, one that wouldn’t fade no matter how many times he blinked or shook his head. Scar half-sat half-plopped to the ground, still looking pleased.

“Bad nap? I get it. Ghosts don’t normally do that, so you’re probably out of practice!” Scar bumped his shoulder against Cub’s with a grin, “I, on the other hand, am a professional.”

“I don’t understand. This is wrong. You didn’t- you didn’t drug me, did you?” Cub found himself patting the sides of his lab coat, searching. He hadn’t left anything in there, not that Scar would have been able to take anything, or that would have been dangerous. The key around his neck still remained as well, and Cub was certain no matter how many ‘naps’ he fell into, Scar wouldn’t be able to get it without his noticing. But something was missing- something important. Like walking out of the house and just knowing you’re forgetting something, that something wasn’t right, that..

“Drug you? How would I have done that?” Scar rattled the restraints that kept his wrists bound behind his back for emphasis, but it did nothing to calm Cub down.

“Scar, how much time has passed? What did you do?” Cub failed to keep the fear from his tone, his state only worsening at the glint in Scar’s eye. Cub shuddered as he felt a pulse of Scar’s magic run through him, his body untensing against his mind’s will.

“Shhh, relax, relax. You’re fine. I’m not going to hurt you, Cub, not yet. You’ll know,” Scar narrowed his eyes, smiling to himself, “You’ll know. I mean, you gave me the option to fight, and I’m a gentleman, so I promise to return the favor.”

“Scar..”

“Relax, Cub. You can let go now, I’ve got you,” Cub felt Scar’s hand on his back, the movement awkward given his limitations, but still, Cub felt himself melting into the touch. At another pulse of Scar’s magic, he felt his mind loosen as well. In a moment of desperation he tried to shoot back his own wave of magic, anything to fight Scar’s hold, but he found himself lacking the will.

“You’ve got me?” Cub muttered, eyes fluttering.

“I’ve got you.”

The dancing color of Scar’s magic under closed eyelids was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

///

“Cub? Cub, are you there?” Cleo’s shout cut through the haze of Cub’s mind, jolting him back to reality. It was dark, still dark, his eyes still refusing to adjust, and he- “Cub? Where are you? Where is Scar?”

Scar. Not Scar.

Cub stumbled to his feet, failing again to blink away the fog. The pounding of hooves reverberated painfully in his ears, each impact landing as if Cub was being trampled rather than the dirt. How long had he been here? Long enough for Cleo to come looking? Cub tripped over his legs, zeroed in on the dark crack in the cliff face. He ducked inside, using the walls for balance as he cast a quick spell to mask their location; one that would never work on Cleo, zombies resistant to magic as they were. Honestly, given his weakness, it probably wouldn’t fool any ghosts either. Scar had pressed himself into the far corner, crouched low, lips pursed.

“Scar, whatever you’ve done to me, you need to release it- dispel it- whatever - I can’t protect you like this.”

Scar opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by another call from Cleo, so loud, Cub had to slam his own hands over his ears. The effort did nothing to dampen the noise. The shadows near the cave entrance shifted.

“Scar-“

“I can’t, it’s not- it’s not like that, this whole thing required a lot of careful set up on my part, and honestly, I don’t know entirely how releasing you would work .”

“You- dammit!”

“Is she going to kill me?”

“Quiet.” Cub shut his eyes against the noise, fumbling with a chain around his neck. He produced the key, locking it between his fingers and shoving it in the keyhole for the restraints on Scar’s legs. Cub felt Scar’s anticipation, felt the breath he held. “You’re going to run, hear me?”

“What about my arms? How am I supposed to defend myself?”

“You’re not going to hurt Cleo.”

“I wouldn’t! We’re friends, Cub, still to me at least. Please.”

Cub shook his head, struggling to throw the haze. He gritted his teeth as Cleo called again- so loud , why was everything so loud?

“Turn around then,” was all he could manage, grabbing at Scar’s shoulders to move him somewhat forcibly. Scar leaned into his touch, somewhat hindering Cub’s ability to unlock the restraints, but he managed regardless, mourning the loss of this era, all too short. He braced himself for teeth and claws tearing through his neck and chest, for Scar’s weight to leave him once more, and for another painful separation.

Scar did not move. He stayed, back against Cub’s chest, even letting out a soft, relieved sigh as he stretched his arms forward.

“Shit, that hurts,” Scar breathed, calm against Cub’s alarm.

“Scar, you need to go. You need to run,” Cub stressed, pushing weakly against Scar’s back despite his own body’s pleas to stay, just like this.

Scar shushed him gently, but was unable to keep his voice level, descending into a soft laugh, a gesture revealing enough to make Cub’s blood run cold. He didn’t hear hooves anymore. He didn’t hear Cleo. Scar turned his head with dark eyes, lips dangerously close to brushing his cheek.

“She’s not here, Cub. I got you pretty good, huh? Unfortunately, she might come around soon, and I’m not about to stick around and wait for that to happen. I wouldn’t take it too hard though, I mean, yesterday you spent the whole day in the rain, then got confused later when you were wet. The day before you spent your evening wandering aimlessly, and got so lost I had to help you back. You’ve still got the sense to follow a trail though, it wasn’t a big deal.”

“I.. I don’t..” Lost. He was lost. He couldn’t- where was Spawn?

“Don’t remember? I’m not surprised. You’ve been a little out of it,” Scar snickered, “Honestly, I was a little worried you wouldn’t hear my Cleo, but turns out a little fear lights your nerves up. Good to know! Ah, now this is the part where I tell you you’re in danger. As cute as it’s been to watch you bumble around, I’m a little sick of taking care of you. It’s time for me to do an experiment of my own.”

“Scar, no, you can’t.. I don’t.. There’s something important I- I need to find it before you kill me,” Cub shuffled back, and Scar let him, watching with narrowed eyes.

“Not ready to die? Well, you’ve got, say, a minute to do something about that. I’d suggest putting some distance between us, maybe even getting that little club of yours, though, I’m not sure you’re in the right state to use it.”

“You don’t understand-“

“I’m counting, Cub. Better get going.” Scar pushed Cub away with his feet, sending him stumbling upright. A minute. A minute to find spawn. Fear rooted Cub to the spot, and he closed his eyes, trying to focus, to figure this out, but the intricate color of Scar’s magic made everything worse.

“One.. Two.. Three..”

Cub ran.

He was lost, completely aimless, just as Scar described. Cub almost never knew where he was going in the untouched wilderness, but this was different. He couldn’t focus on a single landmark, couldn’t recognize a single tree. His sense of direction was thrown as well, like his ability to do so had just been snatched away. Panic burst like electricity in his chest. If Scar killed him, would his spirit be able to find its way back?

Up.

Cub had to go up. Even if the haze followed him, Scar couldn’t reach him above the tree line. If he went up, he could escape. Cub felt like swimming through syrup as he tried to float away, his own treacherous mind screaming to stay.

Claws hooked into his legs, dragging him down.

Cub shrieked and kicked out, but his foot found no solid purchase on Scar’s body. In a moment of panic, he dove downward, aiming to drive Scar against a tree, but the thing about running headfirst into trees, is that you , the guy in front, also get a face full of bark if you’re not careful, which Cub was decidedly not. Cub reeled back, unsure if the screech filling the air was his own or Scar’s. He sat, suspended in a daze, but didn’t get the chance to recover before Scar pounced, dragging him to the ground in a sharp pin. Cub tried to scream, but only tasted dirt.

“A nice try. Can’t say I’m all too surprised though.”

Scar wrenched his claws across Cub’s back, Cub opening his eyes fast enough to see the sneer on Scar’s face. He seemed to wait for Cub’s response, cruelty dancing in his expression.

“Scar,” Cub choked. He didn’t want to tell him, he didn’t want Scar to know, but desperation forced the words forward, “I need to find Spawn. I need-“

“What happens to a ghost that can’t find their way back to Spawn, Cub?” Scar’s eyes glittered with excitement. Cub’s heart sank.

“I don’t know.”

Scar laughed, raising his arm to strike, but drew out the moment, long enough for Cub to push upwards and rake his own claws across Scar’s face, catching the left side where his skin had grayed. Scar screeched as Cub scrambled out from under him, but his movements were still so sluggish, and Scar was so fast. Cub managed to put a few feet between them before Scar leapt again, but it was becoming increasingly clear he wouldn’t be able to run.

Cub turned to face him, just fast enough to catch one arm, but not the other as Scar dragged it down his chest. Scar only grazed his skin, but given the malevolent excitement in his eyes, Cub got the impression that was on purpose. He was being played with. He lashed out clumsily, but Scar stepped back, diving forward at the follow-through and knocking Cub back to the ground. Cub kicked out again, but still couldn’t seem to strike where the other’s scars had made him physical. He thrashed as Scar shoved his arms to the ground, but there was no escape.

“You’re so afraid,” Scar breathed, eyes alight with fire. He carefully drew one of his hands away from Cub’s wrists, inviting another bout of struggling until the same hand squeezed around his neck, “Careful now, you might get cut.”

“This is bad, Scar. Please.”

“You’ll be alright. I’ll take care of you, promise.”

“No-” but Scar had already ripped away his throat, sending darkness swirling through his vision.

#hermitcraft #gtws #goodtimeswithscar #vex scar #vex cub #cubfan135 #cubfan #hermitshipping #cubscar #convex #boatemghostsau #cw: violence #zombiecleo

2 notes · View notes

dragonjesterwrites · 2 years

Text

100 Follower Ficlet! 🎉

To celebrate and as a thank you, I present to y'all a ficlet I've been tweaking and playing with since March- it's been yonks, but I'm at a place where I'm pretty happy with it :)

TW: Drunk behavior (lovey-dovey drunk behavior but just in case)

Magnets

"Hey Moony, I'm home!" You called out as you nudged the door open with your foot, arms laden down with heavy bags of groceries. You heard the soft thwump of a book being closed and a jingle of bells before Moon rounded the corner, letting out an amused noise at your self-inflicted predicament even as he offered up his own arms.

"Hello, my Star." He greeted you as you gratefully handed him a carton of milk and a couple of the heavier bags. "How was your day?"

"Pretty good, long though. Got a new supervisor who likes the sound of his own voice." You chuckled, leaning forward to kiss your partner, and Moon hummed in content as he nuzzled against you, before the two of you made your way to the kitchen. "How was yours?"

"I know the type. My day was quiet, but fun. I tended to the garden, read a few books, and played chess with Sunny until we got dizzy from switching."

"Glad you had a good day." You smiled softly up at him before turning to pull open the vegetable drawer. "Anything in the garden ripe enough to pick yet?"

"Mmhm. Here." You heard the rustling of the bags stop and Moon's machinery whir as he moved away, then back, and you glanced over at him, one hand on the fridge to steady yourself. Held in his hands was a small cardboard box, tilted for you to see. Inside were a good few cucumbers, tomatoes, and stalks of celery. "Freshly picked. How does pasta sound?"

"Pasta sounds amazing, thank you Moony. Oh, hey, I got you some stuff, it's in the bag on the right." He handed you the box to put in the fridge, then turned to look through the bag.

"A Guide to Making Stuffed Animals." Moon read aloud, running a hand over the cover. He flipped it open, pausing briefly to scan the table of contents, before thumbing through the pages. He turned the book to face you as you stood, and you grinned as he tapped a picture of a shooting star plush. "I'm definitely making this one first."

He set the book down on the counter and pulled out the other contents- a sewing kit, a pair of fabric scissors, a little hedgehog pincushion, and a box of fridge magnets.

"Oh, sorry- the magnets were an impulse buy." You smiled sheepishly, putting away a carton of milk. Moon made an amused noise and cracked the plastic lid open.

When you turned around to grab the bags he'd set down next to himself, he was in the process of sticking a blue plastic 'O' to his forehead, after its red twin and a green 'M'.

You couldn't help but grin at the sight. "What on earth are you doing?"

He paused in the middle of plucking an 'N' out of the box, the letter held precariously between his silicone covered fingers. "Isn't it obvious?" He asked, amused as he tilted his faceplate at you. You shook your head and joined him, digging through the box until you found a star magnet, which you placed on his chest between the two buttons. The two of you kept it up for awhile, giggling like children as you stuck magnets on him.

As you picked a yellow 'Z' from the box, you adjusted your grip and saw the grubby thumbprint you'd left on it. "Oof. Forgot I was dirty from work. I'm gonna go take a shower, Moony."

He nodded as he stuck another magnet on his forearm, which was getting rather cramped now. "Alright, Stardust. I'll get started on cooking as soon as I feel Sunny is going to be suitably annoyed by the amount of magnets on us." He let out a quiet cackle and continued to rummage through the box.

"I think the whole box should do the trick." You told him, grinning, and he nodded.

"I think so too. Enjoy your death-water."

You playfully rolled your eyes and made your way to the bathroom, adjusting the shower to the temperature you liked before stripping and climbing in.

You were rinsing out the shampoo, eyes closed as you dunked your head into the pleasantly hot water, when you heard a crash. Startled, you quickly rinsed the rest off and turned off the water.

"Moony? You okay?" You were certain you'd locked the front door- you'd purposefully made yourself remember so it'd be one less thing to worry about. You strained your ears to hear better, heart thudding in your chest, but all you heard was a giggle. "...Moon?"

You hurried out of the shower and wrapped a towel around yourself, glad the curtains were shut so you could just dash over to him and not worry about being gawked at by nosy passerbys.

Careful not to slip, you rushed into the kitchen, and saw Moon slumped against the counters, giggling to himself. Most of the magnets were still stuck on him, but a couple laid on the floor next to him, including the N from his forehead.

"Moon, what happened? Are you alright?" You dried your hand on the towel before reaching out to cup his face, concerned. His head lolled up to look at you, and he giggled again.

"Mmhmm." He managed out, sounding positively mirthful. "Took a bi' of a-" He broke into giggling again, before collecting himself. "Bi' of a fall. I'm okay. Jus… um." He tapped the side of his faceplate, appearing to concentrate. His finger slowed, and his attention fell to the N on the floor. "That fell off. My head says 'Moo'." And then he broke down into helpless giggles once more, sliding down the cabinets in his helpless amusement.

"Oh, my god." You began incredulously, trying to hold back your own laughter. "My love, you're drunk."

"Am not. I'm a robot, can't get drunk. Silly Starlight." He waggled his finger in your face, distracting you from figuring out what the hell to do.

"Love, you're hammered." You snorted, smiling as you picked up one of the letters next to him. Wait- oh. Oh. Oops. "The magnets. They're messing with your hard drive." You raised your hand to his forehead. "Let's get these off of you."

"No!" He protested, pushing himself up against the cupboards, and you winced at the squeal of metal on wood. "I'm art."

"Moon-"

"And I'm faster than youuu." He sprang to his feet before you could stop him, and almost immediately toppled to the ground again, only barely catching himself on the counter top. He grunted and heaved himself off, swaying dangerously. You ran up to stabilize him, grabbing the loop on his back with the hand you weren't using to hold up your towel. Damn, how were you supposed to dry yourself off and take care of your very drunk partner?

"I'll let you take the magnets off if you go to bed." He giggled, spinning his head around to face you. He tilted his faceplate to the side in a question. "Can we cuddle? I like cuddling with you."

You huffed, smiling as he batted his eyelids at you playfully. "Yeah. Sure, we can cuddle." It was only eight, but cuddles did sound nice. And you weren't terribly hungry anyway. "But you're gonna let me take the magnets off, mister."

"Okaaay. Which way's bed…" He tapped his fingers against his faceplate, the sound off-beat. You released the loop, taking his hand in yours and leading him to the bedroom.

"Sit down, I'll be right back. Just gotta dry myself off and get dressed." You informed him. He grumbled something and tried to get back up off the bed, but you firmly took his shoulder and sat him back down.

"Wanna cuddle." He protested.

"I promise we'll cuddle. But if we cuddle now, you're gonna short circuit, I haven't dried off properly." You insisted. He gazed up at you for a second or two, then stuck out his pinky with a suppressed giggle.

"Promise?"

You smiled at him, then gave him your pinky. "I promise."

He nodded, then swung his legs up onto the bed with a sigh. You exited the bedroom after grabbing a pair of pajamas, and took your time to dry yourself off- you were worried enough about his hard drive, you didn't want to add moisture damage on top of that.

When you reentered, warm and dry, Moon sat back up on the bed, bouncing slightly. He stood up as you approached, and before you could react, picked you up and fell back to the bed, arms wrapped around you and holding you close on top of him.

"Wait, Moon- your charger- the magnets." You squirmed in his grasp, but he just hummed and nuzzled his faceplate against your head.

"You pinky-promised. Cuddle time." He drew the blanket over you both, smoothing it down with a wobbly hand.

"Your hard drive could get damaged. If you let me take the magnets off, we can cuddle all day tomorrow, or until you let Sunny take over. It's my day off tomorrow, remember?" You offered. His hand paused in its jerky stroke down your upper back.

"Hmm... Okay." He unwrapped his arms from around you, and you set to work picking the magnets off and tossing them blindly to the side. He watched as you worked, humming what might have been a lullaby if it wasn't interspersed with laughter.

"What're you laughing about?" You asked with some amusement, removing the last letter from his face.

"You're my knight in cloth pajamas." He giggled. Then he paused, and cupped your face in his hands, thumb softly dusting along your cheekbone. "Thank you for saving my hard drive. I love you so much, I don't want to ever forget you." And with those last soft, slightly slurred words, he pulled you down back onto his chest, holding you close. If he noticed the way your face heated up against his chest, he didn't say anything, instead continuing to mumble out the lullaby, music box chiming in off-key.

You waited until his sleep mode kicked in, giggly indecipherable murmurs turning to quiet artificial snores, before allowing yourself to fall asleep, cuddled up with your partner.

~~~~~

When you woke the next morning, Moon was still asleep, face buried into your shoulder, and you couldn't help but smile softly, leaning down to press a sleepy kiss to the rim of his faceplate.

You gave yourself a few minutes to properly wake up, mind pleasantly empty for once, simply enjoying the promised, warm cuddles. But alas, your stomach prompted you to get up and about with a long growl, and you sighed before beginning to carefully extract yourself from Moon's hold.

"Nooo..." Moon mumbled, tightening his hold on you, and you turned to peer at him.

"Morning, my Moonlight. Still a little tipsy?" You teased, giving up for the moment and turning around so your front and forehead were pressed to his.

Moon's eyelids squeezed shut, then he opened them a crack, blue slivers of dimly glowing light escaping through the allowed space. "...The magnets."

"Yeah. They made you drunk." You kissed him gently as he shut his eyes again with a groan. "You're a very sweet drunk, if it's any consolation. If a bit mischievous. How are you feeling?"

"Mm. Kind of like someone turned my visual and auditory sensory input up to eleven. And my memories from after the magnets are corrupted, inaccessible." He grumbled, then sighed and wriggled in closer. "...This is nice though."

You weren't entirely sure how a robot hangover worked, but regardless you wanted to make sure he was okay, and a lazy day in suited you just fine. "Well, I did promise we'd cuddle all day today."

"I would love that." He murmured, and you nodded as you nuzzled carefully against his faceplate, warmth filling you when a rumbling purr started up in his chest and he pulled you in closer.

The two of you spent the rest of the day in the quiet, cozy dark of the blanket nest, with you only taking breaks to eat, drink, stretch, and use the bathroom. Moon recovered, albeit slowly, and only left to do one thing- with your help, he took the "accursed" magnets and set them firmly down in the furthest reaches of the attic, never to be used again, before picking you up and carrying you back to bed for more of the promised cuddles.

#moon x reader #moondrop x reader #daycare attendant x reader #sun isn't in this one but I might do a sequel with him

31 notes · View notes

lorna-d-m · 2 years

Text

Chapter Eight: Vows

Pairing: Helmut Zemo x Fem!OC

Summary: Captain Zemo roams the high seas thirsting for revenge, and instead, he stumbles upon the shipwrecked and left for dead Mary Spencer. As the sole survivor, Captain Zemo takes her aboard his ship, the Bloody Baron. Engaged to an English Admiral, Mary Spencer wants nothing more than to return home and live the life she was born for. That is, of course, until she realizes what life can be aboard the Bloody Baron with the Captain himself.

Word Count: 8,731

W: language, violence, drinking, oral sex (fem receiving), fingering (fem receiving), vaginal penetration. No stated use of birth control but wrap it before you tap it folks.

A/N: Little announcement, I will be going on a trip later this month, so there may be a delay for chapter nine. I do, however, have a one shot I can post if it takes too long. I have also decided on a modern au for Laszlo Kreizler as my next fic.

Once again, note that I’ve moved Sokovia’s location and made it a Germanic language. Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist, or fill out the form on my pinned masterpost. Thank you so much!

previous chapter

Mary woke at sunrise when Helmut kissed her forehead. He did not think she would wake, but when he pulled away she blinked at him, still half asleep. She beamed, relishing the affection he showed her.

“What are you doing up so early?” She rolled on her stomach to his side of the bed when he got up. It was still warm and smelled like him.

“I’m always an early riser,” he remarked, “You’ve simply never seen me in the morning.”

Mary contemplated that while he excused himself. It was usually Helmut waking her up with breakfast or a meal and checking in on her. She had never woken up with him, but she liked it. Hopefully, every morning would start with a kiss. Lightly, Mary ran her finger over her lips, jealous he did not kiss her there. But, she thought, it was sweet of him to kiss her forehead.

Helmut returned and drew back the heavy red curtains. Bright morning light spilled in, and Mary blinked a few times as she adjusted. He stayed a moment at the window to gauge the weather and the waves before humming in satisfaction. She watched Helmut saunter about the room to get dressed, pulling clothes from trunks and setting them aside. His gold chain, nestled amongst his chest hair, glinted in the light and caught her attention. He started to dress in a light tea-colored shirt, but he frowned when he discovered a hole under his arm. It was large enough to stick his hand through, so he found another shirt.

“I could fix that for you,” Mary offered from their bed. She wore several of his shirts, and she knew most of them had small holes or tears in them. If there was some way she could help him, she was glad to do so.

“Would you? I have sewing supplies somewhere here…” Helmut trailed off as he rifled through his desk.

“Of course,” She smiled coyly. “I did not spend so many afternoons in a drawing room, sipping tea and practicing my stitching, not to utilize it.”

He handed her the bundle of thread, patchwork cloth, and pincushion filled with needles. Mary was about to ask him for the clothes to mend when there was a hesitant knock at the door.

“Come in,” Helmut directed. He had yet to slip on his new shirt, but he made no move to do so. Zemo was not ashamed of his body, and he saw no need to rush to conceal himself from his crew.

Mary quickly covered herself with a sheet despite nothing being exposed. He bit back a snicker seeing her scramble, knowing modesty was ingrained into her head and despite nothing occurring, lying in his bed while he dressed did not appear chaste. Although the sheet could not hide her, it made her feel better.

Billy entered balancing a breakfast tray in one hand and keeping his eyes cast down. He spoke in a rush as he set down the tray; Helmut wondered if the boy even took a breath. “Sorry, sir, some of the crew said you might not wan’ to be disturbed in the morning, but others said you would wan’ breakfast, so I figured I would knock…”

Mary blushed and wished to disappear, but Helmut smiled goodnaturedly. He would hate for Billy to enter some morning and find them in a state of undress and disarray, so it was best to dismiss him from some of his duties. “Thank you for the breakfast, but I think in the future it will not be necessary.”

“Aye, Cap’n.” Billy still avoided Helmut’s eye and nodded before leaving.

“Is he gone yet?” Mary asked from under her sheet.

Helmut facetiously pulled the linen away from her and chuckled. “Yes, and tell me, Sternchen, what will you do when there is an emergency and someone comes into my cabin to find you in a less demure state?”

“Hmm,” she dramatized her thinking to amuse him, “I will send my soon-to-be husband, while I stay in the privacy of our bed.” Mary tugged the sheet back over her.

“Oh, is that your plan?” Helmut leaned in, placed a quick kiss on her cheek, and stayed exhilaratingly close to her. He practically purred in her ear, “Of course, I should have known.”

Mary’s heart skipped a beat, and she barely restrained a gasp. With a small smirk, he withdrew. Helmut finished dressing, securing his belt over his black linen pants and lacing up his boots. Then he handed her a neatly folded stack of clothes to darn before sitting at the table. Mary left their bed to join him, eager to eat breakfast.

“Is there somewhere on deck I can sit?” He glanced up at her while pouring his morning tea, so she continued. “I thought it would be nice to sit outside in the sun and the breeze for a bit.” Being cooped up in the Governor’s house and spending all of the previous day in their cabin made her long for some fresh air.

“I am not sure if there is one that will suit you, but it can be arranged.” The morning was far more temperate. By afternoon she would need shade and protection, perhaps even venturing below deck. Amongst his many arrangements for the day, Helmut wanted to be sure she would be comfortable.

After breakfast, Helmut paid a visit to the galley. If he was to plan a pirate wedding, he wanted it to be a proper celebration for everyone aboard. That would mean plenty of food, freely flowing drinks, and a massive amount of work for the cook to prepare for the night.

“It’s possible…” Anthony the cook stirred something in a large pot before returning to Zemo, “If you get me more fresh fish.” He cracked a grin, “How am I supposed to make a feast fit for a baron with only salted meats and preserves?”

Zemo returned Anthony’s grin with an acknowledging smile. It was rare for his previous title to be mentioned to his face, but he knew in this instance Anthony meant no harm. It was lighthearted ribbing, meant to make the Captain laugh.

“I am sure some of the crew can be convinced to cast lines and nets rather than their usual chores.” Besides, if he would rather eat a fresh fish stew than a sad, salted, unrecognizable piece of meat, so would they.

Anthony sprinkled several spices into the pot and gave it a taste. Smacking his lips, he returned to the Captain. “Then you will have the finest food any pirate has ever known, sir.”

Helmut did not doubt that, so he began his search for Oeznik. He needed his first mate to officiate the wedding, and he knew his old friend would be pleased for him. Oeznik was an early morning riser, and given the mid-morning time, he suspected he would find him patrolling the deck or inspecting work. He left the galley and passed through the berth deck.

Mary sat in the shade where the quarter-deck hung over the main deck. She happily showed him her work so far, and her stitches were smooth and clean as he knew they would be. He was thankful to have some of his shirts repaired and in rotation again since she enjoyed wearing them. Helmut did not mind sharing with her, he rather enjoyed the sight of her in his clothes, but he knew they both would appreciate clothes without holes or tears in them.

“What’s this?” He picked up a shirt to the left of her, yet to be mended, with several tears and holes in it. Helmut did not recognize it as his.

“Oh!” Mary smiled with pride, “Some of the crew brought me clothes to patch up.” He eyed the stack next to her which looked like more than some, and he arched an eyebrow. “They noticed me sitting here sewing things for you, and they asked if I would mend their clothes. I agreed, so three of them brought me a few pieces.”

“Awfully helpful of you.” He remembered her net fixing exploits and knew she liked to stay busy. Too much idle time and she would grow bored and restless. It was one of the traits he admired about her. “I am sure they will appreciate it.”

“Yes,” she glanced up from her stitching to look at him. “I examined one of the shirts and found several rough, zig-zagging repairs. I rather think mine will be an improvement.”

Helmut refolded the shirt and returned it to the pile. “With certainty.” He spotted Oeznik at the bow of the ship, so he politely excused himself. Mary urged him on knowing he had a busy day.

Zemo noticed the two men scrubbing the deck within listening distance as he approached, so he greeted his old friend in their native tongue. It would give them privacy since little the crew understood. Those who did were not near.

Oeznik followed his Captain’s lead when he spoke. “I see Ms. Spencer has decided to stay on the ship.” He always spoke of her as Ms. Spencer, never the less formal Mary.

Grinning slyly, Helmut pressed his palms against the railing of the ship. He leaned over a touch to see the waves cresting against the keel. “Ms. Mary Eleanor Spencer has,” after her panic last night of course he needed to say her full name with a smirk, “and we have chosen to wed. I need my first mate to officiate.”

“When, sir?”

“Tonight, at sunset.” He turned away from the water. “She did not wish to wait any longer.” Neither did he, but it had been her idea. Helmut would make it happen for her.

His first mate laughed quietly, and he almost did too from sheer joy. Never in his wildest dreams did he think Mary would grow fond of him, let alone want to marry him. Helmut spent so many nights dreading when she would leave him, how she would loathe him when she knew the truth, and yet Mary did not. She loved him.

“Hm,” Oeznik never forgot a conversation, and although Mary was important to Zemo, so, too, were Heike and Carl. Eight years of heartache and anger were not easy to forget. “You have reconciled your desire for revenge?”

Helmut’s eyes flashed toward Oeznik for a moment, burning at the memories, and then he sighed. “She was aware of her intended’s behaviors well before I told her.” Oeznik’s eyes widened as he continued. “Mary was only bound to him through duty and finance, not any form of love or devotion. She feels no loyalty to him.”

Oeznik smiled and clasped him on the shoulder. “Then it would be my honor to marry you.” Zemo leaned into the old man and hugged him. Oeznik chortled in surprise but supported his Captain as best he could.

In the evening, before the sun began to set, the couple prepared for their ceremony. Nervous butterflies fluttered in Mary’s stomach, but she was excited to see what he prepared for her. Helmut spent almost all day discussing and arranging with the crew, trying to keep some element of surprise for her.

Before he returned to their room, Mary changed into the sleek white negligee. She studied herself in the mirror and tried to remember all of her fantasies from two nights ago. Would Helmut find her breathtaking and charming as she dreamed, or would he not like what he saw as she feared?

You’re being ridiculous… Mary remembered the way he kissed her. Surely he would not touch her, tease her, thrill her, if he did not desire her. Helmut was respectful of her boundaries, never crossing the line, but edging close enough to tantalize her. Part of her wanted to know what would happen when he finally crossed that line.

Mary slipped the light blue day dress over the nightgown. She knew the cut of the gown would cover the delicate fabric, and she thought it would be a nice surprise for their night. He would unlace her dress, let it fall from her shoulders, then take in her form in the negligee. Perhaps he would kiss her first, pulling the pins from her hair as he did, and then—

—Helmut entered their room, startling Mary’s fantasies, and she sighed in relief when she realized it was him. He apologized, ever the gentleman, and she asked him to lace up her gown.

“In a moment,” he requested, “Allow me to clean up. I would hate to accidentally ruin your fine dress.”

Blushing as she held the top over her chest, and barely kept it from slipping off her shoulders, she waited for him to return. He did, and Mary felt his strong but nimble fingers at the base of her spine. His breath was warm on her neck, and his voice a whisper in her ear as he confessed. “Unlacing is more of my specialty, but I have experience and patience. A man can do anything if he has those.”

Mary leaned into his touch, and he chuckled against her. He was not even undressing her, he was lacing up her dress, and yet she found herself drawn to him. His every touch and word thrilled her.

“Have patience, Sternchen, not yet,” Helmut murmured. His mouth drew near the pulse point of her neck, and she wanted him to kiss it as he did before, but he withdrew with a pinch to her waist. He was finished with her dress, and he needed to tend to himself.

Playfully annoyed, she picked up his hand mirror and looked for somewhere to prop it up. Styling hair with one hand was difficult, so Mary found a spot on the nightstand where she could set the mirror and still see her reflection. Smartly, she kept all her hairpins from the Governor’s so she could recreate a seemingly delicate hairstyle.

Mary peeked at Helmut in the mirror. If Helmut could look at her undressing, could she not observe him dressing? He ferreted through several chests and trunks before humming excitedly and tapping his fingers against the wood. Mary watched with keen interest as he laid aside several dress shirts, coats, pants, and vests reminiscent of a Baron.

Meeting his inquisitive eye in the mirror, she gave her opinion. “I like the purple one.” Helmut smiled and held it up for her further inspection. It was a dark vest, the color of full-bodied wine, with gold buttons down the front. Sitting on the bed, Mary could not see the details, but she knew it was finely tailored. He would buy nothing less. She nodded approvingly at him.

“Then I shall wear it,” Helmut promised. He set it aside to create an outfit.

Mary returned her attention to her hair, wondering how her maidservants and her ladies ever fashioned her tresses. It was unruly and outright uncooperative no matter how many pins she placed, and she grew frustrated with it.

Helmut noticed her trying to pin a piece in place, and he watched as it fell again. She sighed in annoyance and started to try again. “Leave it down if it is bothering you,” he gently advised as he crossed the room.

She protested weakly, knowing it was a losing battle. “But I won’t look pretty if my hair isn’t up.” Admittedly, her hair did not look as she imagined with half the pins falling out, but she had been raised to believe a formal event meant her hair needed to be tamed and styled.

“This is a pirate wedding, Sternchen, not a society ball.” Helmut kissed her cheek and turned her face away from the mirror. “Besides, I think you are lovely, ethereal even, with your hair down,” he assured her in a low voice.

Taking his advice, Mary set about removing all the gold and pearl hairpins. Helmut dressed behind her, choosing a starched white shirt with ruffles near the wrist and collar. She took in a deep, steadying breath before picking up two pins and fastening her dark hair away from her face. On a ship, the wind was liable to blow in any direction. Mary at least wanted to be prepared.

“Handsome,” she turned over her shoulder and complimented him, “but I think you’re overdressed for a pirate wedding.” Helmut resembled a Baron. His white shirt was tucked into the black linen pants, and his purple vest was done up. Closer now, she could see the fine gold and silver embroidery.

Helmut demurred, “Really? And what, pray tell, should a pirate wear?” He stepped closer to her, sitting on the bed, trapping her against it. Stuck between his legs and broad frame, Mary’s heart began to race. However, she held her ground.

“A pirate’s shirt should be loose,” she reached for the top buttons of his vest and undid them. “Now everyone can see your strong chest and gold necklace.” So she could see it, more like.

Helmut laughed briefly, knowing she was doing this for her amusement. But, then again, so was he. Teasing her and pleasing her brought him joy, and he wanted to see where she would go with this ruse.

Mary pushed a lock of hair off his forehead and back, almost out of reach for her in this position. “A proper pirate should have a hat, the kind with a feather that flops in front of his face.” He stilled at her touch, his eyes reverent as her hand strayed to cup his cheek. “And jewelry,” she said definitively, “a pirate needs to be dripping in regalia.”

He took her hand cradling his cheek and kissed her knuckles. His lips were soft against her as he promised to follow her every word. Mary giggled on the bed, waiting to see what he would do. Helmut picked up the small chest of jewelry she stole from the Governor’s and handed it to her before picking up a similar container on another shelf.

“Reminiscent of your own words,” he quipped, “if you are to wed a pirate, then you ought to look like a pirate.”

She slipped on the rings and the bracelets with a grin, but she hesitated with the necklaces. The clasps were tricky, she remembered how difficult they were to secure, so she asked for his help. Clad in his heavy gold rings and necklaces, Helmut obliged.

“Now you look like a pirate,” he rasped in her ear. Mary held her hair out of his way, and his hands lingered. Her heart skipped a beat, and she feared he could feel it at the pulse point of her neck. His lips pressed against her, tender at first, then more insistent as he wrapped his arms around her waist. He kissed down the smooth line of her neck and nipped near her collarbone.

A knock at the door broke them apart, and Mary anxiously pulled away from Helmut. Much like the sheet in the morning, she did not like the idea of being seen in a more intimate moment. As a delicate lady, she was not accustomed to the idea. Helmut, she quickly learned, did not shy away from public displays of affection.

“Captain!” She recognized Billy’s voice on the other side of the door. “Are you ready? It’s almost time!”

“Yes!” Helmut called back, “We will be there in a moment.” He arched an eyebrow at her. “Are you ready?”

Mary checked her dress and her hair again, ensuring nothing was out of place, before nodding at him. “I believe I am,” she answered confidently.

He reached for his hat and sword belt on his desk. After all, he needed them to be an authentic pirate. “You look stunning, Sternchen,” Helmut complimented as he offered his arm to her.

She took it and reached for his steady hand. When she found it, calluses and all, she gripped it tight. He gave her a light squeeze before leading her to the deck. Mary looked to him for reassurance before stepping out, and he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear with a smile.

Outside, the crew of the Bloody Baron waited for them. Some sat on makeshift tables and chairs made of crates and barrels, and others stood. Candles lit the deck, but the sky was brighter. The sunset in the western sky was an array of pale pink, dark purple, and burning orange. It was endless and breathtaking.

“Go on.” Helmut nudged her toward the curved staircase on the left. Mary was reluctant to leave his side, but he squeezed her hand to give her courage.

She walked up the left staircase, mindful of every step, while Helmut ascended the right. Both were elegant in the vestments of their rank. They met in the middle of the quarterdeck where Oeznik waited for them. He smiled and greeted them in a low voice before clearing his throat to begin the ceremony.

“You may know this man as your Captain, but I have known him since he went by a name nearly forgotten now.” Helmut bowed his head in acknowledgement as he knew where Oeznik’s speech was going. Amongst the crew and many others in the new world, Helmut’s past was spoken in whispers and rumors, never confirmed. “Before he was ever Captain Zemo of the Bloody Baron, he was Baron Zemo of Sokovia. So when he found Lady Mary Eleanor Spencer in the wreckage of her ship, he could not leave her there.”

Mary’s cheeks flushed. Helmut must have told him her full name. She did not mind, it was fitting for their wedding, but how Helmut learned mortified her.

“It was only natural they should form a strong bond, greater than any of their ties to their past, so they may start a new future.” He looked expectantly at Helmut. “Would you like to say a few words?”

She admired the way his lips parted in thought and how the sun shone on all of his freckles. He radiated adoration like he wished to worship her.

“I would, danke freund.” Helmut stood a little straighter, bristling with pride. He wet his lips before speaking, and his voice was quiet, meant for her ears only. “For years, I was lost in darkness. There was no bright moon or glittering stars in the sky. But Sternchen, the light reappeared when I met you. ” His eyes, typically discerning and harsh when he stood on the deck, were warm and wide, softened with love when he spoke to her. “You, my little star, lit the way. You guided me to purpose and to hope.”

Tears welled up in Mary’s eyes, but she tried to blink them away. One started to roll down her cheek, and she sniffled as she wiped it away. Helmut took her hand before it could return to her side and held it.

“Mary, I vow to treasure you above all else.” He gave her hand a comforting squeeze before speaking loud enough for the crew to hear. “I will love you, respect you, and protect you, and if I ever fail to do so you can cast me into the sea or desert me on an island.”

Some of the crew laughed at the idea of their Captain being marooned for being a bad husband, but Mary knew he meant every word. Helmut would never lie to her.

“Mary, would you like to say a few words as well?”

She nodded first, unsure if her voice would squeak or crack when she spoke. “I would, thank you, Oeznik.” Her voice did not fail her, so she continued. “Helmut,” Mary paused, wanting to find the right words, “were it not for you, I would be in a loveless marriage. I would be an ornament to my husband rather than an equal.” He rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb. “You taught me to be brave, to go after what I want, to be my own person. I can never thank you enough for that.”

“Courage was always in you. I merely encouraged it,” he added, smiling indulgently.

“I promise to love you in every way I can. If I do not know how, then I promise to learn.” She was unashamed to admit there was much she did not know about love and relationships, but she desperately wanted to understand. Admitting her inexperience was the first step of learning, so perhaps that was another form of bravery.

“Helmut, do you have the rings?”

Reaching into his vest pocket, he pulled out two simple gold bands. Helmut, already holding Mary’s hand, slipped the ring on her finger. She plucked the other ring from his open palm and placed it on the corresponding finger. Their hands were already decorated with rings — gold and silver, rubies and sapphires, emeralds and diamonds — but these simple gold bands were far more meaningful and valuable than the rest combined.

“By the power vested in me as first mate, I pronounce you husband and wife.” Oeznik lowered his voice again, “You may now kiss your bride.”

Cheers went up from the crew when Helmut leaned in. His kiss was chaste but sweet. On his lips was the unspoken, bewitching promise for more.

They descended the stairs with entwined arms. As they passed, members of the crew clapped them on the shoulders and congratulated them. The sun hung low in the sky, the final golden rays reflecting across the water, and soon the candles and stars would be the only source of light. Helmut led her to a table and chairs set aside for them and pulled back Mary’s seat for her.

“Everyone,” at Sam’s encouragement they raised their mismatched cups of beer, wine, rum, or whatever suited their fancy, “a toast to the groom with a bride so fair, and to a bride with a groom so rare.”

Congratulations came in a mix of “here here”s, clapping, and stomping against the floor. Helmut and Mary thanked them profusely, raising their glasses of wine. He insisted on one of his fine, aged bottles for the night. Anthony laid all the food out on a table, and the crew waited for their captain to eat before they gorged themselves.

Helmut lifted his glass, his other hand holding hers, and smiled. He had a captain and baron’s innate ability to announce without unduly yelling, letting his voice carry instead. “Please, eat and enjoy. This is a night to celebrate!”

The music picked up, lively strings and drums, and they crowded around the dinner table. Helmut leaned close to Mary, his leg brushing against hers, as he rubbed smooth circles into the back of her hand. Ever the watchful Captain, he surveyed the scene on the deck.

“After all the re-routing and diversions, they deserve to have some fun for one night.” He joked, “It’s an apology for less fighting and raiding.”

Mary laughed, but she was curious too. “When will you return to business?”

He returned his attention to her and studied her expression. She knew he looked for fear or worry, signs that perhaps despite her desires she was afraid of a pirate’s life, but he found none. Smiling, he answered her.

“In a matter of days.” Helmut held his wineglass by the stem but did not drink from it, “We are going south now to pursue a lead, and I will sell what we have collected at port.” He shrugged lightly, “From there, I could not say.”

“That’s part of the fun, is it not? You can sail anywhere you want, whenever you want?” She thought of all the outlandish trinkets on his bookshelves and the places they must have come from. Perhaps she, too, could collect mementos from every outlandish location.

“Anywhere, as long as it is with you,” he promised, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “Sternchen, allow me to bring you a plate. You should not be hungry at your own wedding.”

Helmut returned moments later, and as they ate Mary observed her wedding. People ate, drank, and were merry. The music was lively and rustic, the card games high spirited, and she knew the party would run well into the night. Every so often a crew member approached them, sometimes in a group, and congratulated them. Mary greeted each one by name and sincerely thanked them.

For once Helmut looked nervous, tilting his head and not a trace of a smile as he pressed his lips together. “I must confess,” he once again leaned close to her to be heard over the festivities, “I know it is not the wedding you dreamed of, but I hope it pleases you.”

“Oh Helmut,” Mary set down her fork and turned to face him. “It may not be the sophisticated church and lush gardens I always imagined, but I have something far better.” He perked up as she continued, puffing his chest, “I have a husband who loves me, which is more than I could have ever hoped for.”

“You can wish for whatever you desire, Stenchen, and I will grant it for you.” He drew closer, his face inches from hers, and his thigh pressing against hers. Mary wanted to ask him to kiss her again, as he had in the morning or before their wedding, but she did not. This was not the time nor the place.

Instead, Mary tipped her gaze up toward the stars and chose the brightest one. She did not know its name, but she knew Helmut would teach her if she wanted. “I wish to dance, husband.”

“Then we shall dance,” Helmut purred. His eyes were dark in the flickering candlelight as his pupils threatened to overtake the warm brown.

Helmut guided her by the hand to the makeshift dance floor in the center of the deck. Without asking, a space was cleared for them. She placed one hand on his shoulder, and he rested his on her waist. Mary held her open palm against his, but Helmut curled his fingers and linked them with hers. At the prompting of the band, Helmut made the first step and Mary followed his lead. She would follow him to the ends of the earth, but at the moment a dance was enough.

He was a gifted dancer, another facet of being raised a Baron, and they were graceful as they swept across the deck. Their gold and silvery jewelry glinted in the light, dazzling anyone nearby. Although Mary danced with at least a dozen men in London, none of them compared to Helmut Zemo. None could thrill her as him with light touches to her waist, his fingers holding her to him, his dark piercing eyes peering into hers, and the murmured words in her ear.

A folk dance followed the waltz, much more upbeat and uptempo, and Helmut’s hand slid steadily from her waist to the curve of her bottom as he pulled her closer to him. He glanced at her to see if she wanted the space between them again, but by her mischievous smile, he knew she did not. Even if she did not know how to verbalize her wishes, Helmut still knew to grant them.

After several songs, Mary leaned her head on his shoulder. She panted lightly against him, livened by the vigorous dancing, and he held her close. He brushed a lock of hair behind her ear so he could whisper to her.

“Would you like to retire to our room?” Mary did not think she had ever been so close to him in such a state, she could feel his heartbeat near hers, and she craved more. She nodded against him, affirming his question.

“Go ahead. I will join you in a few moments,” he instructed. Helmut would exchange a few pleasantries and farewells before leaving for the night. Mary untangled herself from him and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before leaving.

Mary returned to their room, and in a frenzy, she flitted about the room. She dipped a washcloth in the water basin and washed what she could. It was a cool night on the deck with a gentle breeze, so thankfully she did not sweat too much. When she stepped out of the water closet, Helmut entered their room.

“Will you unlace me?” She gathered her hair over her shoulder and turned her back toward him.

“Of course.” Helmut was said he was far more skilled at unlacing a dress, and it showed. He swiftly pulled the laces until the shoulders of her gown threatened to fall off and her white negligee underneath was visible. His hands lingered for a moment at the base of her spine, but he left her alone to prepare himself.

Mary neatly folded her blue dress while he washed and changed. Standing in only her delicate nightgown, she felt both indecently exposed and nervous beyond belief. She remembered her mother’s hushed advice before she left to wed, and Mary took her advice.

First, she blew out the sconces on the wall, and then she extinguished the candlesticks on his desk. Then Mary drew the heavy red curtains to a close blocking out all star and moonlight. The only remaining light was on the nightstand, a trio of small flames, which she would smother soon enough. Mary settled herself into the bed sitting up against the pillows and tucking the sheets around her.

“What is this?” Helmut returned, rolling up the sleeve of his loose white shirt, and Mary’s eyes went wide. She worried she had done something to displease him, or he might be unsatisfied before they even began. “Why is it so dark?” He drew near the bed and picked up one of the candles, holding it near his face, so he could see better. “Did you do this?” The flame showed he was not angry with her but concerned. His brows knit together, and he frowned.

She nodded affirmatively, and he sat at the foot of their bed, the candle still in his hand. The hot wax dripped onto the catcher plate, but still, she feared a drop would spill onto him or her.

“Why?” It was a simple question, only one word, but one that troubled him. His hawkish eyes peered into her soul, somewhere between anguish and outrage.

“My mother said my husband would prefer darkness for the marital act, so I thought-”

“-Of course,” Helmut huffed, muttering a curse. Mary looked at him, her eyes wide with nerves and confusion, so he continued. “I would like to think it may not be your mother’s fault, it is misinformation mothers have given their daughters for generations, but in my life I have learned to know better.”

Unconsciously, she moved her hands to cover her stomach. He may have kissed her and told her he desired her, but she remembered her mother’s words of how her husband would dislike her stomach or her thighs or whatever else. Her instinct was to hide from him, to cover herself. Mary opened her mouth to speak, “Helmut-”

“-Sternchen,” He glanced from her shaky hands to her ashen face and sighed. “Please believe me when I say I wish to see you.” Helmut cupped her chin with the palm of her hand, forcing her eyes that had been avoiding his to focus. “I do not take the privilege nor the honor of being your husband lightly, and I do not wish for you to ever feel unworthy.”

She nodded, and he nodded at her in return. Helmut took the tallow candle and used it to relight the sconce. Muttering about it being better, now that warm light filled the room, he returned to their bed. He greeted her with a kiss, chaste at first, before pulling away. Mary leaned into him, not letting him draw too far away, and he chuckled lightly.

He kissed her again, deeper, more passionate, bordering on desperate. One of his hands cupped her cheek, holding her to him, while his other hand wandered. It started on her waist, visible above the sheets, squeezing every so often, before moving lower. Helmut sucked on her bottom lip and trailed his kiss along her jaw, making her pant as he reached the pulse point of her neck. He could feel her heartbeat race as his hand slid along her thigh over her nightgown and under the sheet.

Mary trembled under his touch, so Helmut retreated. He remembered what she said about her mother, and he knew mothers’ reluctance to speak honestly to their daughters about such matters. The last thing he wanted to do was coerce or manipulate her. “Mary,” his voice was soft and tender, “what do you know about sex?”

She hesitated, pressing her lips together in uncertainty. Helmut did nothing to embarrass her, but it was not a comfortable topic for her. He took her hand in his, rubbing circles against her knuckles, and she was comforted by the simple gesture.

“My mother told me the purpose of the marital act was to please my husband and to create children.” He nodded, letting her speak rather than interrupting her. “Her advice to me was for it to be dark, that I should be quiet, I must never correct my husband, not to be too eager, and I should never refuse my husband either.”

Helmut shook his head in disappointment. He was not surprised, he had been raised a Baron, but he was still disheartened. It was poor advice meant only to please the husband but never the wife. “Did you ever hear anything else?” Helmut was not naive. He knew women would still whisper of sex in their drawing rooms and parlors in hushed tones.

“Some of the ladies said it could be pleasurable with the right man,” Mary flushed a furious shade of red. “They did not say much more, just that their husbands were often unsatisfactory.”

He scoffed a laugh, glad some women figured that out at least. Helmut was pleased, too, that she heard something other than her mother’s awful advice.

“Oh, my sweet Sternchen,” he pressed a kiss to her knuckles, “Sex is about more than producing children,” she nodded along, mesmerized by his eyes, “in fact, there are many activities which will not result in children. It is also more than a husband’s pleasure or a wife’s pleasure, it is about mutual enjoyment.”

Mutual. Mary wondered how Helmut felt when he kissed her. He was always so composed, but did his heart race too? Did he feel the same?

“May I show you one of the best ways a man can please a woman?” She nodded, but that was not enough for him. “Can you say it? I would like to hear you.”

“You may,” Mary answered. She could trust Helmut to check with her at every step, and she appreciated his attentiveness.

He instructed her to lie back on the pillows, and she did. Her eyes never strayed from him, curious as to what he would do next. Helmut pulled back the sheets, exposing her feet and the bottom of her nightgown, and she shivered against the sudden cool air. Slowly, he pushed up the hem of her negligee, and his fingers trailed up against her leg. Now exposed, she inhaled slowly as she watched him press a kiss to her abdomen. He moved down her body, and she squirmed.

One of his hands grasped her hip and held her there. “What I am about to do is commonly called oral sex. I am going to kiss you here,” he lightly ran one of his fingers over her, making her wriggle again, but his other hand held her in place. “Are you alright with this?” His molten brown eyes flickered to hers.

She remembered before when he asked her to answer aloud, so she did. “I am.”

The hand that traced along her moved to hold her other thigh, tighter than she would have expected. He started with little kisses and playful nips on her thigh, enough to excite her and almost beg him for more. By morning there will be dark bruises and marks, but neither one cared. Helmut was caught up in the moment, inhaling her heady scent.

He licked along her sex to prepare her. Mary swore she saw a mischievous smile on his lips before he twisted his tongue against her. His every touch was lightning, and she writhed under him at the striking pleasure.

“Helmut-” she gasped, grasping his sun-lightened hair. It was the only part of him she could reach, and she held on tight to him, curling her fingers in his locks. “What is that?”

“That, Stenchen, is your clitoris,” he chuckled against her, “and its sole purpose is for gratification.” Helmut rubbed it in circles with his thumb, watching how Mary stretched and groaned.

She panted, “More, please.” Mary craved that feeling like she needed to breathe. As with everything he did, it was addictive. She wanted more of him, more of his touch, more of his kiss.

“As you wish.” Helmut licked up all the wetness that seeped out of her, his tongue teasing against her entrance. She breathed unsteadily under him, but he wanted to make her fall apart. He yearned to make her pant, whimper, and moan. He longed to know what she would sound like when he brought her to climax, what she would feel like, and what she would taste like. He craved it all, desperately.

Helmut sucked on her clit, and on instinct, Mary rut herself against Helmut’s face. He relished this act of impulse. His tongue danced along her entrance again before diving in, pressing against her walls and tasting her sweet slick. She whined his name at this, and he moaned against her. Perhaps by groaning and humming against her, he could encourage her to release her own sounds.

He kissed, licked, and sucked every bit of his wife. Heat built in her core, sparked by the lightning of his touch, and he brought her closer and closer to the brink. The muscles of her thighs contracted and ached, threatening to trap his head between her legs. From the sound of his deep groan when she twitched, Mary did not think he would mind.

His lips returned to her clit and sucked hard, bringing all of his work to a climax. First were flickers of lightning, then came the thunder. Helmut was rewarded for his efforts with a gasping mewl.

“You are delicious,” Helmut grunted. He rested his head against her pillowy thigh, allowing them both to catch their breath. “Divine.”

Mary finally untangled her fingers in his hair. She caught her husband gazing at the apex of her thighs adoringly, and she smirked. Curiously, she wondered how long it had been since he last lay with a woman. Had it been his wife, Heike? Or had he found company on lonely nights? She could not blame him if he had, certainly not if some woman was able to ease his suffering and teach him a thing or two along the way.

“I want you.” She was still too shy to say exactly what she wanted, but he knew.

He laughed happily, meeting her eyes. “Not yet, Sternchen, not yet. I am afraid you are not ready for me.”

“Are you scared of hurting me?” Mary remembered her mother’s warning that her first time may be painful, but that it should not be too long. If she was tough she would endure.

Helmut sighed heavily, his fingers absent-mindedly tracing circles against her thigh. Already he could see dark marks forming from where he held her. He pressed a kiss on each one before answering.

“No matter how much I prepare you, there is still a chance it may hurt.” Mary nodded slowly against her pillow. She hoped her mother had been wrong about that as she had many other things. “I promise to be slow and do my best to be gentle, but you must tell me if you are ever uncomfortable.”

She ran her fingers through his hair, attempting to smooth down the mess she made of it. “I will, Helmut, I will.”

“I am going to start with my fingers. Is that alright?” He waited for her permission before continuing. “Can you take off that lovely nightgown? As pretty and enticing as it is, it rather gets in my way.”

Mary quivered at the cold of their room, but Helmut, who lay beside her, was warm. His searing hand cupped her breast, and his thumb stroked her pebbled nipple. To make the situation equal, Helmut removed his white shirt. His golden chain, nestled among the hair on his chest, glinted in the golden candlelight.

She ran her hands over his chest, feeling his hard muscle under the soft surface. His muscles jumped and flexed under her tentative touch, much like they did when she tended to his wounds, but this was different. This was not accidental, eyes and hands wandering, it was purposeful. Mary wanted to memorize every plain and angle of him.

Helmut rolled from laying beside her to straddling her. Mary could taste herself on his lips, and his plump cheeks glistened with her. He continued his kiss, following the familiar line along her jaw and neck, but he did not stop or pull away. He kissed his way to her chest and took one peak into his mouth, laving it with his tongue. Refusing to let the other feel neglected, he flicked and pinched it making her huff.

“Sweet girl, did the pinch bother you?” Vehemently, she shook her head no.

Her hands twisted in his hair again, holding his mouth to her. As if he would willingly detach from her. The hand that fondled her breast strayed, stroking and prodding at her entrance. Slowly and carefully, he pumped his finger in her, using the wetness of her desire and his saliva to his advantage. Mary never felt anything like it before — it was so different from his tongue —, but she enjoyed it. Rubbing at her walls, he searched for the sensitive spots his tongue could not reach. By the intensity of her whimpers, Helmut knew he was close.

Cruelly, at least in her opinion, Helmut pulled his fingers away from her. He brought them to his lips, obsessed with the taste of her, and laughed when she pouted at him.

“Greedy little thing, aren’t you?” He dramatically smacked his lips. “But you are so sweet and so patient for me.”

Mary could not bear waiting any longer. “Helmut, please.”

“Remember,” he prompted, “any discomfort and you tell me.” He spoke quickly, rushing through the rest of his sentence, “And I must admit to you that I may finish rather quickly, but I would still like to please you.”

Mary was so eager she could hardly get the words out. “I promise, and do not worry about that. This will not be our last time together.”

Helmut enjoyed that: she did not say she doubted or she hoped it would not be, she knew. He unbuttoned his pants and shimmied out of them, leaving them on the floor, and slotted between her hips. Mary glanced down quickly at him, and she grew worried.

“Are you sure it will fit?” She had his tongue and his fingers in her, and as exhilarating as it was, she feared he would not fit. Helmut ceased his adoration of her neck, there would be several marks come morning, and rasped in her ear.

“I am sure, Sternchen, I have experience and patience. A man can do anything if he has those.”

“Then please, Helmut.”

He notched the head of his cock at her entrance. One of his hands found hers, holding it, while the other guided himself. He pushed in gingerly, waiting for the slightest word or expression of pain from Mary. She grimaced, taking a deep breath, but encouraged him. He prepared her well, but the stretch was still greater than anything she experienced before. Helmut muttered praise for her the entire time, raving about her beauty and how much he loved her.

Mary let out a breath when his hips met hers, and he groaned. “You’re so tight and wet,” Helmut buried his face in her neck, nosing through her hair. He continued to purr dirty praise in her ear, licking and sucking between phrases. His cold gold chain brushed against the top of her breasts, and she desperately wanted him to move. Her muscles tensed around him, making Helmut hum in pleasure. For a moment, he thought he would spill already, enveloped in the wet heat of her, but he steeled his nerves.

Slowly, he drew his hips back before pushing forward again. He fell into a steady rhythm, a push and pull, teetering on the edge of too much and not enough. Everything Helmut did, Mary wanted more. Her hands traced along his back, feeling the powerful muscles and healed scars move, and instinctively she tried to meet each thrust.

“More, please,” she begged. Helmut snapped his head up to stare deep into her eyes. He anticipated anything he did being too much for her, too painful, and yet Mary asked for more. His pupils dilated, overtaking the familiar brown, and something deep within him shifted when she made her request.

He began a brutal pace, hips sinking into hers without restraint. Mary cried out and her eyes rolled to the back of her head when he struck deep, so he did it again and again. His strong frame pinned her to the bed, and there was nowhere else she would rather be. With one hand he pulled her thick thigh up and around his hip, angling her better for him, and the other toyed with her nipple.

“Does it feel good?” he growled, “To have a husband who loves you so dearly? Who would do anything for you?” John Walker would never have satisfied her, and she knew it. No one could please her as Helmut could.

There were no coherent thoughts in her head. Her answer was a mix of please, Helmut, and indiscernible babbling. It was music to his ears. Her fingers dug into his skin, her legs shook against him, and he knew she was close again. Helmut was confident her thigh would stay if he no longer held it in place, so he pushed his fingers between them to circle her clit. It was the final touch that pushed her over the edge, squealing his name.

Helmut maintained his tempo as well as he could, staying consistent for her orgasm, but she coaxed him to follow her soon after. He let out a choked moan as he spilled himself within her in stuttering thrusts.

He stilled, his cock starting to soften inside her, and Mary held him tenderly. She smoothed his hair out of his eyes and cupped his round cheeks with her hands. Helmut rested his body on her softness, running his hands over her plush curves, and squeezing when the desire struck him. When both their breathing steadied, he kissed her delicately. While he did not wish to leave her, he knew he needed to clean them so they could sleep.

“Is it like that every time?”

Mary could feel him chuckling, his chest moving against hers, and she laughed herself. “It can be however you wish, my love,” he assured her.

Eventually, he pulled his softened member from her. She missed the full feeling of him, but he explained it would not be comfortable for them to stay like that. Reluctantly getting off the bed, he wet a cloth in the basin to wash the two of them. His touch was gentle, not trying to overstimulate her, but to soothe her.

He offered her one of his shirts or her nightgown to sleep in, but she rejected it. Lying next to him was warm enough, and she wanted to feel him against her. When he blew out the remaining candles and laid back down in the bed, Mary rested her head on his chest. She heard his heartbeat and his steady breathing, and Helmut kissed her on the top of her head. Mary fell asleep, lulled by the rocking of the ship and the feel of her husband under her.

tag list: @scuttle-buttle @fictionlandslanddreams @livvyshmiv @somethingthatsaysbubbles @hardlyinteresting @sapphiredreamer26 @aedeluca @alycu1 @linkpk88 @rachreads @fandom-princess-forevermore @alindeluce

#daniel brühl fanfic #daniel bruhl fanfiction #helmut zemo fanfiction #helmut zemo fanfic #helmut zemo x reader #zemo fanfiction #zemo fanfic #zemo smut

43 notes · View notes