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visit-new-york · 1 year

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100 Most Fascinating Facts About the Empire State Building

The Empire State Building, located in the heart of Manhattan, New York City, is an iconic skyscraper and one of the most famous landmarks in the world.

Construction of the Empire State Building began on March 17, 1930, and was completed in just 410 days, opening its doors to the public on May 1, 1931.

Standing at a staggering height of 1,454 feet (443.2 meters), including its antenna, the Empire State Building was the tallest building in the world when it was completed. It held this title for nearly 40 years until the completion of the World Trade Center's North Tower in 1970.

The Empire State Building has 102 floors, with 86 of them being used for office space, and it houses numerous businesses and organizations.

The building was designed by architect William F. Lamb, who worked for the architectural firm Shreve, Lamb & Harmon Associates. The design was inspired by the Art Deco style, which was prevalent in the 1930s.

It cost approximately $40 million to build the Empire State Building, which would be equivalent to over $700 million in today's money when adjusted for inflation.

The building's construction was completed during the Great Depression, and it was often referred to as the "Empty State Building" during its early years due to the difficulty of finding tenants for the office spaces.

To finance the construction, the Empire State Building was funded by a group of wealthy investors, including John J. Raskob, a financier and businessman.

The building's exterior is clad in Indiana limestone and granite, giving it a distinctive and elegant appearance.

The Empire State Building's famous Art Deco spire was originally intended to serve as a mooring mast for dirigibles, but the idea was quickly abandoned due to safety concerns and strong winds at such heights.

The building's construction progressed at a remarkable rate of four and a half stories per week, an unprecedented speed for that time.

During the construction, five workers tragically lost their lives, and they are honored with a memorial plaque inside the building.

The Empire State Building has a total of 73 elevators, including service elevators, and it takes just 45 seconds to reach the 86th-floor observatory from the ground floor.

The building's 86th-floor observatory offers breathtaking panoramic views of New York City and has been visited by millions of tourists from around the world.

Notable visitors to the Empire State Building include several world leaders, celebrities, and even fictional characters like King Kong in the classic 1933 film.

The Empire State Building was the location of several daredevil stunts and record-breaking feats, including the famous race to the top between a man and an elevator.

The building's official lighting system can be programmed to display various colors and patterns during different events and celebrations, making it a striking presence in the New York City skyline.

Every year, on Independence Day, the Empire State Building participates in the Macy's Fourth of July Fireworks display, illuminating the night sky with a colorful show.

In 1964, the Empire State Building was designated as a National Historic Landmark, recognizing its cultural and historical significance.

The building's observatories are open to the public year-round, and they are especially popular during the annual Empire State Building Run-Up event, where participants race up the stairs to the 86th floor.

The iconic scene from the movie "Sleepless in Seattle," where Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan meet on the observation deck, has become a quintessential romantic movie moment.

The Empire State Building has been featured in numerous movies, TV shows, and music videos, cementing its status as a symbol of New York City and an emblem of urban life.

On a clear day, visitors to the observatory can see up to five states: New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Connecticut, and Massachusetts.

The building has experienced several incidents of lightning strikes, but its construction materials safely disperse the electrical charge, keeping it relatively safe during storms.

The Empire State Building's Art Deco lobby is adorned with beautiful murals and decorative elements, transporting visitors back to the glamour of the 1930s.

A famous photograph called "Lunch Atop a Skyscraper" was taken during the construction of the building, showing construction workers casually sitting on a steel beam high above the city.

The Empire State Building has appeared in various video games, becoming a recognizable virtual landmark in games set in New York City.

The building's famous spire has undergone several alterations and changes over the years, including the addition of a television broadcasting antenna.

An observation deck is located on the 102nd floor, offering an even higher vantage point for those willing to climb a few more flights of stairs.

During the annual Empire State Building Run-Up, the fastest recorded time for ascending to the 86th floor is just under 10 minutes.

The building's exterior lights are often coordinated to support important causes, such as lighting up in specific colors to raise awareness for charitable events and holidays.

The Empire State Building's lobby houses a scale model of the building, offering visitors a close-up look at its architectural features and design.

The Empire State Building's design and construction techniques were considered innovative for their time, and many of its principles have influenced the development of future skyscrapers.

The building's façade features intricate stone carvings, depicting various animals and mythological creatures, adding a touch of artistry to its exterior.

The Empire State Building was the first building to have more than 100 floors, making it a true marvel of engineering and architectural achievement.

The building's steel frame weighs around 57,000 tons, and the total weight of the building, including its contents, is estimated to be over 365,000 tons.

In 1945, a B-25 bomber crashed into the Empire State Building's 79th floor in dense fog, resulting in 14 fatalities and significant damage to the building.

The Empire State Building's architecture has served as inspiration for various skyscrapers and buildings around the world.

The building's height, including its antenna, is precisely 1,454 feet and 8 9/16 inches (443.2 meters), making it an engineering marvel to achieve such precision during the 1930s.

The Empire State Building has been featured in numerous songs, poems, and works of literature, cementing its status as a symbol of ambition, progress, and the American Dream.

The building's main lobby features a stunning ceiling mural titled "American Progress" by artist Roy Sparkia, depicting the rise of New York City.

A bronze plaque on the ground floor commemorates the visit of President Franklin D. Roosevelt, who turned on the building's lights with a push of a button on May 1, 1931.

The Empire State Building was the location of a unique event in 1951 when Kathryn Johnston became the first woman to be married on the building's observatory.

In 1980, the exterior of the Empire State Building was designated as a city landmark, ensuring its preservation for future generations.

The Empire State Building's prominence as a symbol of American industrial prowess and architectural excellence was further solidified by its inclusion in the Great Seal of New York City.

The building has been featured on several postage stamps issued by the United States Postal Service, further showcasing its iconic status.

The Empire State Building played a significant role in numerous movie plots, and its imposing presence has served as a backdrop for memorable cinematic moments.

The building's immense height allows it to be visible from various points across New York City, making it a guiding landmark for many residents and tourists.

The Empire State Building was depicted in the 1983 video game "King Kong," where players climbed the building to rescue the titular character.

The building's observation decks have hosted numerous special events, including weddings, proposals, and even a high-wire walk by daredevil Philippe Petit in 1974.

The Empire State Building is an energy-efficient building, and it has earned a Leadership in Energy and Environmental Design (LEED) Gold certification for its sustainability practices.

The annual Empire State Building Run-Up attracts participants from around the world, with many athletes and fitness enthusiasts challenging themselves to conquer the stairs.

The building's 86th-floor outdoor observatory has been featured in movies like "An Affair to Remember" and "Sleepless in Seattle" as a place where couples can share special moments and breathtaking views.

The building's observation decks have been the setting for several world records, including the highest concert and the highest-flying paper airplane launch.

On a windy day, the Empire State Building sways gently, and the topmost floors can sway up to several feet due to its flexibility and structural design.

The Empire State Building has appeared in numerous comic books and graphic novels, often serving as a backdrop for superhero battles and epic showdowns.

The building's observatories are equipped with high-powered binoculars to allow visitors to get a closer look at various landmarks and attractions across the city.

The Empire State Building has been featured in various virtual reality experiences, allowing people from around the world to explore its heights without leaving their homes.

The Empire State Building's façade lighting is often used to commemorate special occasions, such as holidays, national events, and philanthropic initiatives.

During the Christmas season, the Empire State Building is illuminated with festive colors, and a large Christmas tree is displayed in the lobby.

The building's observatories are open until midnight, offering visitors a chance to experience the stunning nighttime views of the city that never sleeps.

The Empire State Building's central location in Midtown Manhattan makes it a convenient starting point for tourists exploring the city's many attractions.

The Empire State Building has been featured in video games like "Grand Theft Auto IV" and "Crysis 2," allowing gamers to interact with a virtual representation of the iconic structure.

On a clear night, the Empire State Building's lights can be seen from miles away, creating a mesmerizing sight in the New York City skyline.

The building's annual lighting of the tower in blue on April 15th marks the start of Autism Awareness Month, showing its support for autism-related initiatives.

The Empire State Building has been depicted in countless postcards, souvenirs, and artworks, becoming an emblem of New York City's skyline.

The building's iconic mast and tower were originally intended to serve as docking points for airships, but advancements in aviation technology rendered this idea impractical.

In 1947, a United States Army Air Force B-25 Mitchell bomber successfully made a round-trip flight between New York City and Bermuda, proving the feasibility of commercial transatlantic flights.

The Empire State Building was featured in the climactic battle scene of the 2012 film "The Avengers," where the superheroes fought off an alien invasion from the top of the building.

The Empire State Building has appeared in numerous disaster movies, where it is often destroyed or damaged by earthquakes, tidal waves, and alien invasions.

The building's observatories offer a clear view of the Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island, Central Park, and other iconic New York City landmarks.

The Empire State Building's interior spaces have been used as sets for various film and TV productions, including commercials, documentaries, and music videos.

On special occasions, the Empire State Building's lights synchronize with music, creating stunning light shows visible from various vantage points around the city.

The building has served as a popular backdrop for fashion shoots, with models posing on its observation decks or in front of its grand entrance.

The Empire State Building was the tallest building in the world when it was featured in the classic 1933 film "King Kong," where the giant ape climbed to the top.

The building's annual Empire State Building Run-Up attracts participants from various backgrounds, including professional athletes, firefighters, and fitness enthusiasts.

The Empire State Building has been a popular destination for marriage proposals, with its breathtaking views providing a romantic setting for couples in love.

The building's observation decks have hosted a variety of events, including live music performances, book signings, and art exhibitions.

The Empire State Building's design incorporates setbacks, creating a distinctive and recognizable silhouette on the Manhattan skyline.

The Empire State Building has been featured in numerous post-apocalyptic movies, symbolizing the endurance of human architecture in the face of catastrophe.

The building's height makes it an ideal location for various telecommunication antennas, broadcasting radio, television, and mobile signals to the city.

The Empire State Building is lit up in blue and white in honor of the annual International Day of Peace on September 21st, promoting global harmony.

The building's interior lobby and halls have appeared in several period dramas and historical movies, evoking the elegance of the Art Deco era.

In 1994, a Norwegian base jumper successfully parachuted from the top of the building, landing safely on the streets of Manhattan.

The Empire State Building has served as a focal point in various New Year's Eve celebrations, with its lighting being an integral part of the festivities.

The Empire State Building has been used in art installations and performance pieces, exploring themes of urbanization, identity, and human experience.

The building's observation decks have been visited by numerous celebrities and dignitaries, from movie stars to political leaders from around the world.

The Empire State Building's Art Deco style has inspired interior designs, fashion trends, and architectural elements in buildings worldwide.

The Empire State Building has been depicted in animated movies and TV shows, capturing the imaginations of younger generations.

The building's grand entrance features exquisite decorative bronze doors, with intricate reliefs and ornamental details.

The Empire State Building has been featured in numerous books and documentaries that explore its history, engineering, and cultural significance.

The building has been the subject of various art projects, including paintings, sculptures, and installations, showcasing its allure as an artistic muse.

The Empire State Building has served as a symbol of resilience, representing New York City's ability to recover and rebuild after the tragic events of September 11, 2001.

The building's observatories have been visited by prominent figures in history, including Queen Elizabeth II, Princess Diana, and the astronaut Neil Armstrong.

The Empire State Building's annual Halloween lighting event sees the top of the building bathed in orange and other eerie colors, adding a spooky touch to the city's skyline.

The building's observatories have been used to conduct scientific research, such as atmospheric studies and meteorological observations.

The Empire State Building was featured in the 2005 film "King Kong," where the giant ape climbed to the top once again in a modern retelling of the classic story.

The building's exterior and observatories have been a popular filming location for various TV shows, commercials, and music videos.

The Empire State Building has been featured in the backdrop of countless wedding photographs, becoming an iconic symbol of love and commitment.

As one of the most recognizable buildings in the world, the Empire State Building continues to be a symbol of human achievement, architectural excellence, and the spirit of New York City. Its enduring appeal and timeless beauty ensure its place in history for generations to come.

#Empire State Building #New York City #new york #newyork #New-York #nyc #NY #Manhattan #urban #city #USA #United States #buildings #travel #journey #outdoors #street #architecture

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beanibon · 11 months

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i love your mermaid AU! but what if we switch roles and reader is the water creature. how would the trigun boys react? maybe some nsfw headcanons?

I love this whole mermaid AU coming back, I definitely need to more on it cause I love Mermaid/Siren AUs so much.

TW: interspecies sex, oral (m!receiving/Wolfwood), use of aphrodisiacs (in Knives), creampie, size difference (Vash), breast-fucking (Vash), breeding (Knives), drowning (Knives)

(For Vash I wanted to have the Reader a more Whale Shark build, so they'll be slightly bigger than he is but very docile and sweet)

Vash is definitely the type of guy to go whale watching with mates, pair it with beers and snacks and he'll have the perfect outing on a day off.

The first time he spotted you was when Wolfwood teasingly pushed him overboard, complaining they needed bait to lure anything interesting. Vash arguing with his best friend while still in the water, only to panic as something brushed his leg, pulling him under water. That was when he met a curious mermaid, significantly larger then him, but gentle as they circled him, protecting him with tiger shark that had previously pulled Vash under.

You disappeared the moment Knives pulled Vash out of the water, resulting in screaming match between his brother and best friend. But all Vash could think about was the friendly face that greeted him the moment that suffocating water surrounded him.

After being denied on a boat for weeks from his overprotective brother, Vash eventually managed to return to the exact coordinates he found you, alone this time as watched the waters intensely. It wasn't long until he heard your echoing calls, surfacing to take a closer look.

Vash was mesmerised instantly, watching as you circled his boat with fascination, before pulling your large form onto it. It had Vash panicking at first, but the moment you towered over him all worries disappeared as your dampened hair cascading on either side of him.

Your large form was captivating, yet Vash became increasingly aware of your bare breasts that pressed against his body as your tongue licked his lips, slipping in-between them in a startling kiss.

Needy hands tore Vash's clothes off, leaving him naked for the world to see as you sank your larger body on his.

Vash moaned, hips grinding upwards at your advances. But you pushed him back, shuffling backwards as the boat lurched with your weight, squeezing your breasts over his cock, pumping them up and down.

The entire time Vash was whining, moaning and clawing at the deck of the boat, legs kicking as you worked his cock faster. He was flabbergasted at this sudden advance, but he couldn't stop looking at those patterned breasts, and suddenly this didn't feel so bad.

Vash pulled you into another kiss, moaning against your wet lips. You felt amazing around his cock, not to mention the way you had previously slightly crushed him.

He adored the size difference, enjoying being the weaker of you two as you easily had him whimpering as you squeezed your breasts around his cock.

A final cry had him coming all over your chest, panting as you gave him a praising kiss.

Vash found himself returning more frequently, part of him ashamed that he fucked a mermaid on a regular, but the moment he saw your beautiful form nuzzling into him those worries were swept away as he indulged in you yet again. Falling in love a little harder each time.

(Wolfwood works at a shark observatory, Reader is more so based of a flying fish who accidentally got stuck in bull sharks enclosure)

Nicholas is in charge of a pod of Bull Sharks at a rescue facility, bonding with the creatures and making sure they don't eat each other during feeding time.

The first time he spotted you it was during a smoke break, watching as the sharks darted rapidly towards the outer reef of their massive enclosure. It wasn't uncommon for wild fish or the occasional seal to get stuck in the enclosure, most workers tried to help the creature as quickly as possible. So you could imagine Wolfwood's surprise at having a frantic half-human half-fish creature fly out of the water, tripping him in their attempt to escape the hungry sharks.

Frantic high-pitched chirps and damp, webbed fingers helped Nicholas up, checking him over to make sure there was no injuries.

Meanwhile Nicholas was gobsmacked at the sight of you, cowering as a shark swam a little too close. You were stunning, but he wasn't the kind to believe in silly tales of mermaids... until now that was.

It was obvious you were trapped, the only way back to the ocean was either through the Bull Shark's enclosure or on land, you were stuck either way. So Nicholas opted to help, awkwardly scooping up your body as he exited the enclosure, carrying you as you chittered in his ear.

The moment he reached the edge of the ocean, just outside the enclosure that was walled off, you happily leapt into the water, chirping as you splashed water over your drying scales and skin.

Wolfwood was about to head back, until you chirped loudly his way, ushering him over. He hesitantly obliged, moving closer.

That's when you pounced on him, nuzzling into his chest as you purred. Nicholas felt his cheeks flush, unsure of what was even happening as small waves lapped at his now soaked body.

Delicate hands tugged his work pants lower, Nicholas trying to pull them back up, only to freeze as that purring mouth enveloped his oddly hardened cock. He didn't recall the uncomfortable tightness of his wet clothes, nor the way those stunning eyes had him feeling butterflies in his gut.

Yet your mouth was warm, bobbing up and down as Nicholas stuttered out shaky moans, a hand coming up to cover his mouth as your tongue swirled around the head.

His cock was taken down to the hilt as your throat opened to take him whole, eyes fluttering to look up at the human that so graciously saved you.

You swallowed his release easily, even licking your lips as you gave Nicholas a toothy grin nuzzling into him one last time before leaving. Nicholas left with his cock still exposed, flaccid and covered in drool and cum.

Turns out you needed rescuing a few more times from the grumpy Wolfwood, giving him a new reward each time.

(Knives is a marine biologist, working alongside his mother Rem at her underwater observatory after discovering she had obtained a new asset. Here Reader is a pufferfish mermaid :3)

Knives works in an underwater observatory facility, the lead marine biologist under his mother Rem Saverem. He's often hard to approach as he prefers solitary research in the large reef they've set up the facility in.

He was shocked when Rem excitedly presented you to her eldest son, showing off the mermaid they had rescued from poachers, some of the net still tangled in the many spines across your body.

Other than his mother, Knives was incharge of studying you in your recovery. You were often panicked at the people watching you, darting to hide and camouflage with the natural decor of your temporary tank.

You'd only ever be seen out when Knives was around, taking an odd fascination with the gloomy human that observed you, taking notes on behaviourisms or certain characteristics you portrayed.

When one of the scientists startled you, causing you to panic, that's when Knives realised that the net entangled in your spines was a hindrance to your recovery. Frowning as you got caught on some coral, further injuring yourself as that only panicked you further.

You eventually freed yourself, sad chirping noises filling the tank as you pawed at the missing spines that had snapped off in your fear-stricken phase.

So Knives took it upon himself to untangle the net, taking a small knife to saw away the thick rope.

Of course you startled the moment he entered the water, hiding instantly. But Knives was patient, after all he was doing this after hours, against Rems orders of not interfering with you in hopes you'd recover without relying on humans.

Once you found the courage, recognising the man that made you follow along the glass in silent curiosity, you emerged. Quiet squeaks sounding as you observed this intruder, spines flaring the moment he pulled the knife from his pocket.

Turning to flee, Knives was quick to intercept, grabbing the rope before you could further harm yourself. You flailed desperately, screeching as Knives struggled to cut the net. But once the first cut was made, hissing as your spine pricked his flesh, you calmed.

Allowing Knives to slice the rope free of your body, you whimpered. Hands explored Knives body as he worked, slitted eyes admiring his exposed pectorals, chirping out admiring noises as he quirked a brow at you.

Another prick had Knives flinching, unaware you had flared your spines again, this time with an ulterior motive unknown to Marine Biologist.

Knives mind went foggy, panting into his oxygen mask as his skin began to warm, body feeling oddly fuzzy. You seemed unbothered, finally free of the net you circled the human, slipping off the mask that allowed him to breath.

Quickly you pulled off the remainder of his clothes, body coiling around him as you slid onto his hardened cock, Knives gasping at the foreign sensation.

You were now above him, pushing him to the sandy bottom of your tank, lower body humping his cock as pleased chirps drawled from your lips. The feeling of his cock was addictive to you, watching as Knives body reacted to your aphrodisiac, eyes clouded with lust as he reciprocated your advances.

Knives had been milked several times before his lungs began to squeeze, urging him to resurface for air. But no matter how many times his body jolted or fought against your continuous grinding, you didn't untangle yourself from him, simply cooing at how his hands covered his mouth.

He was borderline unconscious before he was discovered, embarrassingly enough. Rem, his mother, the one to save him from your ruthless fucking.

Yet despite being scolded and treated against your aphrodisiac, Knives couldn't find it in him to regret what he had done. In fact, the moment you were released back after a full recovery, Knives easily found you after you refused to leave the area.

Turns out, other than the drowning part, he enjoyed every touch and caress of your deadly body against his, and he'd be lying if he didn't indulge in some more sinful acts with his precious asset.

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333creolelady · 3 months

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Lady Of The Blue Bakunawa Ch. 6

Afab black OC x Roman Reigns (Pirate au)

Banner by : @joannasteez

Warnings: MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING. mentions of past child loss, grief, mentions of past child abuse, mention of past sexual assault, mentions of past murder, gore, mentions of past racism, heavy angst (with fluff), hard topics, sex, foreplay (fingering cunnulingus fem receiving) Handjob, description of bodily fluids (cum, arousal), emotionally heavy topics, Includes a creature (a collective) who thrives on pain, religious undertones due to mention of the seven deadly sins, brief mention of not wanting to be alive (not SH), patricarichal views (Jane is unlearning, give her some grace chile).Minors DNI. LONG CHAPTER ALERT.

Songs this chapter: When Ginny kissed Harry, Davy Jones, Avril 14, El matador, Observatory kiss

Alternative playlist songs: Like a star, Decks dark, The Moment I said it, Cemeteries of London, Simply beautiful

Chapter Playlist link here <-

Next-> chapter 7

<- Back to Masterlist

Alternative Playlist link <-

Second warning. This chapter is emotionally heavy. Please consider reading it in two parts if you have to. This chapter has brief mentions of PAST sexual assault mid chapter. There is also a consensual smut scene (foreplay) at the end of the same chapter. If this is too heavy for you I will send you a cliff notes version (just shoot message in my DM’s) Chapter indicators for the SA topic will be <color coded> so you may skip if need be. . Proceed with caution.

Roman

He watches her take a breath and shoot at an empty can floating on a piece of driftwood. Caden had tied to the wood to rear of the ship. It was the best way she could get shooting practice from a distance. Funnily enough, Jane was savvy with a gun. She’d only been practicing for a few days and could shoot pretty well from a reasonable distance. Roman was impressed.

He’d left her for a few moments to set the dinner table inside his cabin. The waters were calm and the warm breeze had made the humidity slightly too sticky. He made light of it, feasting his eyes on the exposed skin of her neck and arms. Warmer weather called for thinner clothes. He would enjoy it for now.

He placed her bowl across from his and plated the food onto a porcelain plate. There were many upgrades on this new boat. Night had a taste for the finer things and had many high priced items hidden on the ship. He seemed to like fine china. Jane noticed his absence and turned around, he beckoned her to eat. She sat down across from him and placed her pistol on the table next to her.

Roman observed the way she handled her weapons so confidently already. “ Like a proper pirate”, Roman teased. She pulled off the extra hat he gave her and sat it beside the gun. She smiled shyly, placing a napkin in her lap.

8 days ago Roman and Jane’s relationship had changed in what only could be described as an explosion of passion previously left unshared. He now would encourage her sword lessons with Adhar. He would teach her how to use a gun and how to defend herself.

And now there was no confusion on whether or not affections would be shared. It was clear as day that they liked each other. He was just waiting for Jane to lean into her desires and initiate more often.

She sat across from him and dug into the food, spooning it into her mouth. He went fishing for her and cooked it. Tropical waters meant better catches of fish.

“ What is this?”, she said with an enthusiastic mouth full.

“ Oka l’a. It’s a dish of my people. Most people prefer it raw but sometimes we cook it for the children or sickly. You get the cooked version”, he chuckled watching her pick up a tiny piece of fish and eat it with her fingers.

“ You made this?”, she said with surprise.

“ Yes. That’s why I was gone”, he smiled.

“ It kind of tastes like coconut too. We used to put coconut in some of our food back in Trinidad. My grandfather used to add it to his Callaloo”, she sighed in content.

“ So you like it ?”

“ I do! You never told me you could cook.”

“ There was never a need to. Always had somebody to do it for me but thankfully my memory is pretty extensive. I’m sure there are a few missing ingredients however. This was my favorite dish my mother made.”

“ You remember her?”, she asked with curiosity.

“ I’m not ancient ”, Roman laughed. Jane just smiled and went back for another piece of fish.

“ Sometimes the memories get fuzzy after so long”, she shrugged.

“ I feel that way sometimes. The food was the easiest thing for me to remember because it was one of the last meals I had. At least that’s what my memory tells me.”

“ So this..raw fish. Your culture eats it a lot ?”

“ Yes. We prepare it in a way. We knew which ones to choose—we could asses how healthy the fish was. It’s very fresh and the children are brought up on it young. We never got sick. Thankfully, now that we’ve moved into more tropical waters, we have healthier fish. I could never eat this from the port. It was would end bad since the water is so filthy.”

“ Lest we want another cholera event”, she joked.

“ Don’t even remind me”, Roman shivered.

“ Do you have any other favorite meals ?”

“ Pork.”

“ Pork? But you can get pork anywhere.”

“ We cooked it better.”

“ How did you learn to cook anyway?”

“ The men cook where I’m from. Especially for big feasts. So young boys learn how to cook from their fathers.”

Jane’s eyes widened. “ Remind me why we aren’t back there instead ? Everything I’ve heard so far is promising.”

“ If you want off cooking duty you’d best say so. Unfortunately my meals are only reserved for you”, he teased.

“ As tempting as that sounds, I can't abandon ship with Caden.”

“ So what’s another interesting thing about your culture ?”

“Our seafaring is unmatched. We were the first people in the world to migrate by boat.”

“ So this comes naturally to you then?”

“ Yes. Especially because all I knew was water even in my life before.”

“ Married to the sea”, she teased. Roman didn’t laugh but instead graced her with a soft unassuming smile.

“And what about you?”, he asked.

“What about me?”

“Is there anything you remember about Trinidad ? Anything at all ?”

“ I remember putting scotch bonnets in our food. We have really spicy peppers—maybe even some of the hottest in the whole world. As a kid, whenever a general was particularly mean to us, we would rub the rim of their mugs with the juices from the pepper. There lips would blow up like fish.”

Roman laughed. “ Mischievous .”

“ Oh you don’t know half of it. Me and my cousin used to get in SO much trouble. There’s a certain kind of fearlessness children are born with. I would never have the gull to do something like that now.”

“ I’m a fan of young Jane. She sounds like she doesn’t take any mess”, Roman smiles.

“ I also remember being able to wear what I wanted as a kid. The culture we created for ourselves didn’t concern itself with layers and corsets and thick fabric. It’s hot. If I left my house with my stomach showing as a kid, people would laugh at my pot belly at most. Women didn’t have to be covered from neck to ankle either—like I said, it’s hot. Our garbs were also very colorful and bright. Then one day there were all these rules. Wear this not that. Your hair should be this not that. Anything else was suggestive or loud.”

“ Well..sounds like a story I’ve heard one too many times unfortunately.”

Jane shrugs. “Well I suppose there’s no point in stewing in it now. You take the good parts and leave the rest.”

“ I would have disagreed with that before I met you but now….”, Roman trailed off teasingly. A smile spread slowly on her face. He had a habit of staring at her unpromoted now. She was convinced he just liked to see her squirm.

She anxiously changed the topic. “How much longer?”

“ A few more days. We’re close.”

“ Days? Good, we have more pressing matters to address anyways.”

“ Like?”

Jane looks down in her lap finding the courage to finally spit it out. “We kiss…”

“Yes.”

“On the lips….”

“Yes I know.”

“And you touch me…”

Roman scoffs in a humorous tone. “How could I forget ?”

“Yes but… usually when that happens there’s a reason for it. Like there’s a purpose.”

“I want to make you feel good. Is that not the purpose for any of it ?”

“What I mean is that we’re doing things that people who are in established relationships do.”

“ We are. Fun, isn’t it?”, he smiled smugly. He enjoyed forcing her to be more direct.

“ I am unspoken for. You have no claim on me and I doubt you intend to wed. I know people see that we are involved no matter how cordial and polite you are in front of others. It’s unbecoming for a woman on a ship full of men to be so loosely claimed, while clearly giving away the very thing reserved for a steady union. I mean what if people think I’m just…kept. And while I think that most of your crew have been outstanding gentlemen to me, they’re still just men Roman”, she uttered quickly.

He raised a brow at her. “ Who said you were unspoken for…?”

She mirrored his face with a surprise of her own. “Uh…well you never said.”

Roman leaned forward with his elbows dominantly on the table across from her. “ My apologies. We are together. Meaning that you are my intended, lover, suitor. Or if you prefer the term courting then that is suitable as well.”

Jane is visibly stunned. She just assumed that any relationship she formed with Roman wouldn’t be a steady one. He wasn’t exactly traditional. “ Courting would mean that you intend to marry…?”

“ So ?”

“ You’re a pirate ?”

“ And?”

Her expression flattened.“ You live in a boat in the middle of the ocean.”

“ Accomodations can be made, don’t you think?

“ I mean yes…”

“ Unless you prefer our connection to stay strictly physical?”, he asked.

“ No no. I was just concerned about how it looked.”

“ How about this…I could make an announcement?”

“ No… it doesn’t have to be some big event.”

“ Well then I won’t hide my affection.”

“ I didn’t take you as a publicly affectionate person.”

“ It’s not like I’ll have my tongue down your throat—without your permission of course. Hand placement goes a long way.”

A mischievous expression spread across her face. “ Well since you’ve declared that we’re courting I’ll have to put you to work more often.”

“ I aim to please Miss Ramlal.”

“ I’ve noticed”, she giggled.

Romans attention faltered when a loud thump echoed beneath them. He stalked to the edge of the ship to see a giant piece of plank wood bumping on against the boat.

“ Look!” Jane gasped.

Behind them a ship splintered into a million pieces laid on the shore of a beach. It looked old and the wood was wet and rotten. The sail was obliterated.

“ Why-has this happened ?”, Said Jane.

“ I’m not sure, it could have been anything. I know one thing for certain though, this means we’re getting closer to our destination.” Roman pulled out his spyglass and further inspected the shipwreck. The wood had chunks bitten out of it as if something attempted to eat the boat.

Worry clenched Roman’s chest as he folded the spyglass and put it back on the table.

“ Room for dessert dove ?”

Jane

3 days of wind and gray skies with absolutely no rain and plenty of thunder, it was unheard of. The air was colder and despite the wind there were no waves. The boat had an almost mechanical float, as if it had feet underneath the hull dragging across the sea floor. Roman insisted that things were moving according to plan. Jane wasn’t so sure.

Suddenly a thick mist filled the air causing Jane to step back cautiously. Jane retreated back towards Roman’s quarters as a huge groaning sound echoed in the distance. A rumble vibrating throughout the ship sent her scrambling for Roman. Sure enough she needn’t look far as he immediately looked for her too, stepping out of his quarters and holding onto her with caution. Something rumbled under the surface of the water completely gray, solid, and endless.

What looked to be a building made of stone or concrete traveled slowly and disruptively out of the sea and into the sky, reaching past the clouds and onwards to the heavens. Water fell from the sides splashing back down to the sea below. Jane turned to Roman with fear, a question already forming on her lips but never making it past them.

“ It’s alright. This is where we’re supposed to be ”, he reassured quietly.

A murmuring crowd had formed now. The building had hundreds of tiny small square glass windows but no light illuminated from them. The shape of the building was rectangular, narrow and smooth. She’d never seen a construction like it. It’s opening was a gaping black hole that she couldn’t see through. Large wet stone steps led to the entrance, just wide enough to put a ship ramp down. As afraid as she was, her feet felt compelled to move forward. If he was going to go then she was coming with him.

“William, Adhar, with me. Jane…”, Roman headed for his cabin leaving the french doors open. The two followed behind him. William loaded his pistol and Adar unsheathed his sword. They sat at the table sharpening weapons and loading their pistols. Roman’s attached two small pistols to his hip. Jane took a pistol for herself and Roman softly took it from her.

“ You should know what you’re getting yourself into before you make your choice”, he said softly.

“Well, let’s hear it”, said Jane.

“The man who gave me the map to the key was rumored to have been the only survivor of the journey but it changed him forever. Every pirate knows that this is rumored to be an eternal prison of all depravity and fear. Here belongs every spirit of corruption—the first of their kind. Some are referred to as fallen angels.”

“ Demons ?”, her face wrinkled in confusion.

“ Aliens, demons..fallen angels. Whatever your persuasion.”

Jane took in a sharp inhale.

“ You do not have to go in. None of you do. I can do this alone”, said Roman.

“No…no I won’t leave you”, said Jane.

“ We stay with the captain”, Said William confidently. No fear.

“ Us pirates have heard the rumors for years about what this will look like…what it will feel like. I fear the rumors have been true. That…this place is every bit of a prison. I don’t know what horrors await us on the other side. All I know is that you will be judged in some way. The myths over the years alter and change.”

“ I understand.”

“ I must warn you that this creature has a fixation for women. Crane mentioned that we may have a better chance of getting the key with you there.”

“ Why?”

“ I have no clue but for that reason maybe you should sit this one out. Fixation could mean anything ?”

“ I’m coming”, Jane said with a gentle firmness. Roman is visibly nervous and holds back on controlling the situation. She can see the wheels turning in his head.

“ Are you absolutely sure Jane?”

“ I stay with the captain”, she uttered.

Roman stood in finality. “ Adhar behind Jane. William at my side.”

The group goes back to preparing their weapons. Hat, boots, long shirts and cotton pants. It was cooler now despite being in the tropics. Jane dressed in Caden’s hand-me-downs, disguising herself as a man as best she could. She was almost sure “fixation” wasn’t a good thing where they were going.

The four of them finished gearing up and made way for the ramp. Caden wished Roman luck eyeing the building with hesitance. Their feet finally touch the wet slabs of the stone stairs leading to the opening. William stands with Roman and Adhar is behind Jane forming a protective shape around her. Jane reaches for Roman’s right hand. He let’s her have it, wanting to give her comfort in some way. She looks back at Caden only to find Adhar staring at their hands with an unreadable expression.

William and Roman take the first steps and the others follow. Their boots echoed into the abyss. A few steps further and they become engulfed in darkness. Then suddenly the dark opening is lit with dozens of torches. They paused when they sensed the presence of another person. A large person–or perhaps it was once a person held a lantern. Large muscles, hooved feet, a tail, long uncanny long arms, and a BULL’S head. Before the scream could leave Jane’s mouth, Adhar covered it. Roman pulled his hand slowly from her and rested his hand on his pistol. William held his hand out, motioning to wait. The bull tilted it’s head to the side watching the group as if to assess them. The Minotaur’s eyes grew darker and wider when they landed on Jane causing Roman to completely pull out his gun.

“ If you want in, those weapons are not allowed”, it spoke with a deep honking barrelous voice. He motioned for Roman’s weapon.

“ The girl needs protection”, said Roman.

“ As does fate. No weapons”, said the Minotaur crossing his arms.

“ Remember what we came here for Roman, it’s fine. We didn’t come all this way for nothing”, Jane whispered.

“ I am the keeper of this prison. I control what goes and what doesn't come out. This is your final warning. Lose the weapons or you will not pass”, the Minotaur warned.

Jane saw the puzzled anger in Roman’s eyes. For a moment she thought he would shoot the damned thing but she rested her hand on his back. With a tense jaw he slowly placed his guns on the ground followed by his sword. The others followed suit. The minotaur watches them for a moment and begins to walk, not bothering to motion for them.

He leads them up a thin and narrow stone staircase with small windows overlooking the sea. There was a wet mildew smell to this place that clung to her nose. The stairs carried them out to a stone floor that held 6 cells on each side. The first creature was something out of a nightmare. It was humanoid with fleshy pale gray wings, an emaciated slim body, large eyes—all pupil, holes for a nose and no mouth. It stood unmoving, eyeing her before placing it’s hand on the invisible barrier that held it inside its cell.

She turned her head in the other direction only to find an even more terrifying creature. There was an Octopus like creature whose skin resembled human flesh with tentacles that had suckers like human mouths. It’s moans sounded like that of a woman’s and an animal mixed together. Her breath hitched and her nails dug into Roman hands so hard that he winced and turned around to face her. The group stopped.

“ Just don’t look Jane”, he reassured her quietly. Adhar placed a reassuring hand on her back looking behind him protectively.

“ Come. They are contained”, said the Minotaur without looking back.

“ Come Miss Ramlal. They look just like my old military unit. Just another walk in the park”, William said quietly in that thick German accent.

They go back to following the Minotaur. Jane keeps her head down to the ground in order to avoid scaring herself again. The only problem is that they would have to travel ten flights of stairs before they reached who they were looking for.

Within those ten flights of stairs the sounds of these…beings were far too intriguing. Some levels were completely silent and so dark it looked like nobody was there. Others were extremely loud with howling screaming monsters. Some of the creatures were violent, banging against their magical traps while others didn’t bother to turn around and see who was there.

She peaked and saw three 4 foot beings with dark grey skin, large eyes, slits for noses, no mouth, long fingers, large heads and tiny child-like bodies. She saw beings that looked like humans with three eyes and mouths full of razor sharp teeth. She saw beings that looked like children with black eyes. Some of them looked like animals that stood on hind legs, some of them were beasts she’d heard of in fairy tales. Lizard creatures, vampires and wendigo. She saw creatures that she’d only heard of in Trinidadian folklore. Douens, Lagahoo’s and Chikcharney’s.

Magic was real. It was a real as rain and it was dark. It was scary. Suddenly she knew without a doubt that the treasure had to be real too.

“ We have arrived”, The Minotaur grunts.

The tenth floor was one long hallway with a stairwell. It was dark. So dark that the torch the Minotaur held looked like a candle light. He snapped his fingers and ten torches lit the room to reveal a cell at the end of the hall. The cell was completely dark as if nothing was there.

The Minotaur turns to them. “ Have you brought them a gift ?”

“ Them? There was no talk of bringing it a gift. Nobody informed us.”

“ They will not speak unless you’ve brought a gift.”

“ I have an apple..”, Adhar says quietly.

The Minotaur hold out his hand awaiting Adhar. Adhar places the apple in his palm. The bull places the apple into a slot by the cell and pushes it into the opening. For a moment it’s just quiet but then a voice calls out. It sounded like a child, a man, and a woman all speaking at once. Like three voices stacked on top of one another.

“Have you met my children? My aspects ?”

“ Children ?” Roman called out the darkness.

“ Yes, they are my flesh and blood and …bone. Created in my image”, the voices groaned.

“ I wasn’t aware,” said Roman cautiously.

“ Perhaps you have read the apocrypha ?”, said a child’s voice. It startled Jane.

Roman doesn’t respond.

“ This is what you were wore that day….it is not ?”, said the child voice. Suddenly the blackness of the glass faded until it revealed a little boy….

Roman

His palms grew cold and wet. The room was hot. There it stood. The reoccurring nightmare that he could never truly out run. Himself.

8 year old Roman stood in front of him in a cotton lava lava, barefoot, no shirt because it was especially hot that day. He’d been playing in the water and his mother finally flagged him down to eat. He ate the last meal he would ever eat from her. He played with his siblings making sand cakes and running around the shore line. Then his life turned upside down.

“ Roman”, he heard Jane whispered to him. He couldn’t even turn around to face her. He was utterly frozen in place. The memories come back to him. His crying, being pried from the hands of his mother, sand burn on his back from being dragged, the screaming, the pleading. Nobody understanding him because of the language barrier. The confusion. The realization that he would never see his family again. The realization that his parents were not invincible and in the end, there was nothing they could do against German occupation. The harshness in the soldiers' glares. The disgust.

“ Or perhaps…this form would be better…”, The creature morphed into his tormentor. Queen Augusta Luise. She stood with a knowing smirk on her face, fanning herself with that imported Chinese fan. She was in her usual dramatic ball gown with an obnoxiously large ruby and diamond necklace. Her hair was in a tight updo with brown hard curls pinned at the top of her head. Her blue eyes cut him as they always had. It had even mimicked her thick accent.

The most gut wrenching, visceral, primal rage came over him. If he ever saw Augusta again he vowed that he would make her suffer. He stepped closer to the cell and the Minotaur reached a hand out to his chest.

“ They can’t get out. You can’t go in. It is written.”

“ What does it want?” Roman urged.

“ Your pain is your payment. If you want the key your pain, secrets, and sins will be judged. There is no prize without punishment.”

“ That hardly sounds fair.”

“ Is it not? You desire a treasure older than your existence. A treasure that can only be held in the hands of a worthy man. Are you worthy ?”

Roman frowned. “ What does my pain do for you?”

“ feeds us..”

Roman frowned, disturbed by its words.

“ We are hungry. It has been many years since we have tasted the sweetness of fruit ... .but the sweetness of sorrow is unmatched. It is dripping from one of you. We could not pass up this opportunity”, says Augusta’s clone with a sickly fake sympathetic voice.

“ Is it really worth it all? We don’t need a fucking key to get the treasure. I’ll take my bloody gun and shoot whatever’s holding the goddamn thing. What does this thing know about any of us?”, William whispered to Roman.

“ William Wright. Prideful William”, The monster morphed into a 3 year old boy with strawberry blonde hair, freckles, large green eyes and a button nose. It’s voice became tiny to match the body it emulated. Jane’s eyes widened in horror as William dropped to his knees in as soon as he saw the boy.

“ Too prideful to spend time with your only son thinking being a provider is more important than being there for your sick child.. Now he’s gone and what do you have to show for it ? A dead General who did nothing wrong but give you the commands you signed up for. Plucking out his eyes in a misplaced fury….”, This monster morphed into a burly man with blonde hair, and a bloody face with missing eyes.

“ Stop this! You know nothing!”, William cried in agony. Jane debated comforting him or staying put. She didn’t want the attention to turn on her.

The creature taunts William in his sons form and voice, leaning against the barrier. “ Prideful William, too prideful to say that he took out his own eyeball in guilt but instead lies and claims that he lost it in a sword fight. William the prideful. Too prideful to write to his wife. You ignore her letters. You let her wallow in her grief alone. Oh…pride is your true love. This sin suits you well. Even now…you cannot face the truth. You refuse it.”

William sat on the floor reduced to tears, head tucked between his legs. How easy this fierce man broke down. Roman’s fierce fighter had self- destructed. A reminder that everyone has something in their life worth crying over no matter how strong they appear.

Roman rested his hands on Williams' shoulder. He looked back up into the cell to see Augsta staring at him with that smirk again.

“ Do you accept..wraithful Roman?”

Roman’s face fell. “ Fine…but not her.”

Augusta twirled her hair playfully. “ If your pain is worth the treasure you seek, then perhaps…”

“ NOT. HER”, said Roman sternly.

“ We shall see. Come …”, the monster said in a gentle voice as it morphed into a young woman with nearly ankle length jet black hair. She had tawny brown skin, thick brown eyes, a wide nose and full pink lips. She was gorgeous… She was his mother.

Roman let the tears happen, he didnt try to wipe them away. It was too painful to claim indifference. It had been many years since he saw her face. His mother– the monster, was crying with him. She placed her hand on the invisible barrier and Roman nearly did the same. He stopped himself remembering that it wasn’t her.

“ She grieved you for a long time. She didn’t believe you to be gone forever. She convinced herself that it was a bad dream and that you were simply lost. But you were not lost.. You had a new mother..”, said the womanly voice. The monster then turned to Augusta again. Anger creeped up on the back of his neck. He always felt anger on his back and on his neck. Now it was no different.

“ Have your lover the fantasies you have of killing your former mother?”

“ She is not my mother..”, Roman sneered.

“ You called her Mommy. You held her hands in yours, appeased her even when she made you beg for a God you didn't believe in. She beat you into submission. So peculiar how hatred can turn into an obsession. You were her little doll and you performed for her for years. Making her believe that her love was the cause for your greatness. Fencing, Math, Polo, Portuguese,Spanish, German, English, Japanese. Star pupil…handsome and muscular. Smart as a whip. Well spoken…they would say. When her back was turned you spat in her food. You stole her items and sold them for free. You cursed her name every night before you closed your eyes. Too afraid to show your rage, too afraid to upset your captor. How she had turned you into her perfect pet, performing at a whim and entertaining her high born friends.Then suddenly she outgrew you. Her little puppy had turned into a wolf and that rage had cracked and broken the seams of your composure. She kicked out her dog..”, The monster taunted. It shifted to his teenage self in tattered clothes.

“ Suddenly the victim becomes the monster. Does she know about the killing spree you went on after she discarded you? Kings guards, high society sweethearts? Anyone who looked at you wrong? You may believe that your anger was warranted but how many orphans did you create ? Mothers you made childless? They called you the Lacerator because of the mess you left behind. Everywhere you went there was destruction and pain. You killed your fellow pirates in ways that would make the devil blush. You killed for money, for greed, for power. Yet you believe that the family you formed in your crew washes the stain of blood from your hands?”

Roman turned to Jane to see a sick look on her face. Would she see him differently after this?

“ You mention no context. Those people saw me as subhuman. Some of them were even ordered to kill me or took it upon themselves to torment me. I did what I had to do to survive”, Roman countered.

“ Not all of them were high born. Some of them were similar to yourself. Class traitor…so dignified in your approach to violence. Does she know that every moment of your life you have a wraith boiling inside of you so legendary that I can feel it through our barrier. You wish to harm me. You wish to harm those who have done you wrong but instead you have pillaged your way to your current riches. The same way the Germans pillaged your people. No amount of blood spilled will fill the hole inside of you. Wraithful Roman. Be hopeful that all this suffering will have amounted to something. May god save the ones you love if you get to that treasure and find nothing but bones and dust.”

Roman watched silently as the monster morphed itself into countless faces…some he remembered and others he didn’t. He could bare it no longer.

“ You got what you wanted”, Roman sneered. The monster froze with the terror stricken face of his last kill. A pirate from Captain Night’s ship.

“ Adhar…oh Adhar....”, the creature groaned in a woman’s voice. It’s figure became that of a woman moaning in pleasure. Gingers, Brunette’s, Black, White, Asian. Fair skinned and Dark skinned. They all moaned Adhar’s name one after the other.

“ They all loved you, Adhar. What is it about you that drives women to madness ? What wound do you press against that makes them feel so unworthy. Or is it you? Is it you who feels unworthy ? Is it you searching for something you never had ? Perhaps it was your mother. She couldn’t be bothered to care about you. She was forced to have you. You barely know the warmth of a mothers love. Or was it your father ? Nothing was ever truly good enough for him. You weren’t a man in his eyes. Kita almost made you whole again. She loved you dearly…”, a soft voice called out. She was undoubtedly south Asian. Green eyes, curly shoulder length hair, elaborate jewelry and an olive complexion. Roman looked back at Adhar to see a watery smile spread across his face.

“ I didn’t have any money. I just wanted to be able to provide for Kita. To give her nice things. To take care of her like a real man”, Adhar sniffled.

“ Instead of stepping up, asking her father for her hand and living a humble life— you rob and steal. You killed the market owner, someone you knew since childhood. You take from your own community. You betray the ones you love for money. They had no choice but to send you away leaving Kita with broken promises and a broken heart. What do you do to ease the pain? You pursue countless women, giving them sweet nothings. They awake to the smell of you on their sheets. Lustful lonely Adhar, so sure he’s content. So sure that he’s simply a kind man. So sure he made the right choice but constantly searching for a woman you’ll never have. Your longing has no restraint. It is so boundless that it has made you envious of the man who saved you from a life of poverty and starvation”, said the monster.

Adhar breathing quickened. His fists balled up in flattered fashion. “I- I- I just didn’t want to be …I didn’t meant to hurt anyone. That was never my intent….”

Then with a sudden turn of events Kita morphed into full lips, brown almond eyes and black onyx hair. Roman looked at himself on the other side of the glass. The monster mirrored him perfectly before splitting itself into a second person. Jane. The monster had morphed into himself and Jane. Roman tensed up not understanding where this was going,

“ Not only are you lustful but you are envious. Envious of affections shared between your captain and your new friend. Envious of a love lost. Envious of the love brewing between Roman and his intended. If you feel that you are unloveable—then you will always be. No matter how much you fuck the loneliness away you are lustful lonely Adhar. Adar the envious”, said Roman’s Doppelganger. It turned to kiss Jane’s doppelganger. Adhar looked sick as he glanced over to Roman and then Jane.

Roman was just as embarrassed as Adhar was. All the speculations he had about Adhar and it never occurred to him that he was jealous of what he and Jane shared. He assumed he just wanted Jane but that wasn’t the case. He wanted what they had. He didn’t know about Kita or much about his life before. Adhar was a newer crew member who he didn’t get the chance to speak with often. He took him in because of his proficiency with the sword.

Roman turned to look back at Jane who was standing behind the Minotaur now. The last time she looked this frantic was the first time they saw each other. William was in a ball on the floor staring at the wall. Adhar looked like he was seconds from cracking. Everyone was a mess. Now he understood what the creature meant when it said pain. Everything about this was painful. Their worst thoughts about themselves actualized.

“ If you don’t mind sir I’ll…be waiting behind the door. Just yell for me? ”, Adhar looked to Roman. Roman nodded in agreement allowing him an early exit.

“ We are done”, Roman says with resistance. For the first time in his life…he was afraid. He was afraid of what came next. He was afraid for Jane.

“ I could stop now but…this treasure that you want. It’s more than just Gold, Silver, Rubies and Diamonds. This treasure would make you the wealthiest person to have ever lived. The monarchies would pale in comparison to you. I have seen nothing to convince me of any of your repentance. If you give me her pain I could feed off it for months. Give me her or you return to your ship and get swallowed by the sea”, the monster hissed. It’s voice was nowhere near the familiarity of a human. It was stripped of any of humanity.

“ She is mine to protect. We will and take our chances. Jane come, we are leaving ,” Roman stalked to her but she stepped back.

“ N-no. No I can do it.”

“ I don’t want this. You don’t want this Jane”, Roman raised his tone ever so slightly. He didn’t mean to but his mind was spinning. Whatever she wasn’t ready to tell him, surely this wasn’t the way she’d go about it?

Jane walked over to him and placed her hands in his in an attempt to calm him.“Do you honestly think that this would be the worst thing that’s ever happened to me? I’m stronger than you think. Besides…it all had to have been for something. There’s nothing that this thing can tell me that I haven’t already told myself”, Jane smiled sadly. Roman nodded and hesitantly stepped out of her way.

Jane

The creature before her was incomprehensible. It was all things horror, despair, loneliness, fear, lust and darkness. It was many things and then nothing at all. Limbs, eyes, many teeth—countless teeth. Many faces and orphases. Its shape took up the entirety of it cell. And then in an instant it mirrored her. It looked just like her, like she was standing in a mirror.

“ I’m probably not in the position to make requests but…would it be okay if William left the room as well as the Minotaur.”

“ fine”, said the monster.

The Minotaur picks up William and throws him over his shoulder, leaving out of the room. Now it was just Roman and herself and this ….thing.

“ Come closer sweet little creature…”, said her doppelganger.

She stepped forward just a few short inches from the barrier. Her doppelganger looked her up and down, walking back and forth from one end of the cage to another in a predatory fashion. Jane didn’t not falter her gaze.

“ I was told you like women ? Why is that ?”

“ Like isn’t the word I’d use to describe you creatures. It’s so much more than that. The essence of a woman is sweeter…their secrets—darker. You are the original sinners. Your capacity for corruption knows no bounds.”

“ I see”, says Jane quietly.

“ Jane Ramlal. Trinidad and Tobago…. September 22nd. Family is gone—I presume it’s from the Spanish and British occupation”, her doppleganger assessed in a detached manner.

“ You have a knack for lying don’t you? Your grandfather taught you reading, writing and arithmetic. Very rare for a girl like you…and to have to pretend all those years to not know a thing.”

“ he did.”

“ Such sadness. It wafts off you. Depressive, even as a child. Fun times were short lived. It’s almost like you were doomed from the start.”

Jane doesn’t respond. There was no need to. She couldn’t change what she was born into. There no point in being defensive.

“ You killed a general with your cousin at 10 years old. You put a scotch bonnet in his drink and it burned a hole in his stomach. I would deduct points for that but he wasn’t a very good man either. Seems like you know how to pick the bad apples unlike your dear friend Roman.”

“ It wasn’t right.”

The creature looked at her strangely as if her accountability was unusual.

“ How hard it must have been for you working for high society. Cruel wives and their vulture husbands. The last 13 years of your life have seemed to blur together. Every day is the same. Work, sleep, work, sleep. No enjoyment, no happiness. It’s as if I’m looking at a loop.”

Jane remained unmoved. “ Yes I only just…started living recently.”

<<<<<<<IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO BRIEF MENTIONS OF SA STOP HERE. >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>!!!!!!!!

“ And you are no stranger to the violence of men?”

And there it was. Jane froze and closed her eyes slowly in shame. That’s it… the moment she was dreading. The one thing she would never say. The reasons she told the other men to leave.

“ I am more than familiar”, she croaked.

“ Something was taken from you…more than once. And again fairly recently on this boat taking you the America’s. You wish to not exist..?”

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<SAFE.

“ I….”, tears flooded Jane’s eyes. “ I have many times.”

The doppelganger tilted its head. “even now?”

“ Months ago. Not now.”

“ That desire drove you to poke holes into the hull of that ship for months with screws and knives. When the storm came the ship could not withstand it. However, the storm took a violent turn and you were left for dead. You survived by hanging onto driftwood. What a viper you are. You play helpless very well”, the Doppelganger smirked at her.

“ Yes…I did those things”, Jane said stoically. She wasn’t proud of what she did but she felt that she had no other choice. She wouldn’t bother rationalizing it to the creature.

“ You have been given an exit from your suffering. You cannot tell the dark from the light. All around you… endless possibilities. So many women would want what you have. The chance to start over but you are haunted by your past. I give you the sin of trisitia. An old sin long before the seven. Tristia…sorrow..Are you aware of the cure for each sin?”

“ I am not.”

“ For lust it is self control. For gluttony it is temperance. For greed it is charity. For sloth it is diligence. For wrath it is patience. For envy it is kindness. And for pride it is humility. Can you guess what the cure for sorrow is ?”

“ No…”

“ To live. Jane Ramlal…I sentence you to live.”

Jane looked thoughtfully at her doppleganger. The last few months had proven to her that she didn’t know what it meant to live until recently. It wasn’t just surviving like she’d always known. Living…enjoying life. Eating food when you’re not hungry. Not caring about how rich a dessert tastes. Buying clothes for fun. Listening to music and swaying to it. Relaxing and not feeling guilty about it. Being present enough to laugh at a joke. Being admired and not feeling unworthy for it. That was living. That was what she’d been missing for so long. “ Have I…given you enough ?”

“ I suppose. You are worthy of this treasure. You may have the key”, says the creature in a bold flat tone. It shifts back into its original form. Carefully it used their hand to reach inside of one of its many mouths and pulled out a key with a long chain. It placed the key into the slot box, pushing it to the outside. Jane picked up the key and held it in her palm. It was a mortice shape.

“ Only you may wear it. If you give the key to anyone else it will destroy them. Now that you have this key there will be many creatures that do not want you to have it. Keep it safe and do not lose it.”

“ I will protect it”, Jane placed the chain around her neck and tucked it into her shirt.

She turned to Roman and saw such a tired and withered expression on his face. It was as if being here had aged him 10 years.

“ Let’s get out of here”, she said.

“ Goodbyeeee friendsssss!”, the creature hissed.

Roman makes no protest as he leads her out of the room. The Minotaur, William, and Adhar all stood quietly by the stairs. They gathered their weapons and made way for the boat. The bull led them back out to their ship without so much as a goodbye. She walked up the ramp and looked back at the Minotaur standing in the entrance.

Magic was real. It was as real as rain. And it was dark. This..she knew to be true now.

An exhaustion came over her so heavily. She stumbled into Roman’s cabin, kicking off her boots. He trailed behind her placing his weapons on the same table they strategized at. William and Adhar left to go be alone. Truthfully she didn’t want to be alone after something so triggering and sensitizing.

She’d never seen Roman cry and his nose was still red from it. She studied his face thinking about all the things he did. She felt not a single ounce of judgment towards him. He was a bit more morally complex than she initially thought. There was a time in his life that he was unrecognizable compared to the man before her. She understood it all. She could accept that anger for his past. She was still angry about her own past—sin or not.

The two sat in silence for a few minutes before he pulled a hidden stash of rum. He sat out two glasses and she chugged the first serving. The second glass she poured on her own, filling it all the way to the rim. Alcohol never really made the pain stop but it slowed down her thoughts. She took another burning gulp.

“ Easy….”, Roman sighed across the table. She sat the cup down and suddenly the tears came. They racked over her heavily and violently. She muffled the sounds with her face in her hands. Roman reached across the table and grabbed one of her hands.

“ It’s alright dove”, he whispered.

“ It’s not alright. I feel. I feel…violated. I feel open. I hate this feeling.”, she sniffled.

“ We all do.”

“ I was never going to tell you what happened to me. Especially on that ship.”

“ Why….”

“ Because men pretend to sympathize…to empathize. They pretend to be good people but they’re not. You tell them your past and they’ll be sure to give you double of it. To make it hurt worse.”

Roman didn’t respond. He wasn’t sure how to.

“ I…have spent so many years trying to come to peace with it. Then the ship happened and it unraveled me. I don’t know if I’ll ever be whole enough again to give you what you want.”

Roman frowned in confusion.“ What do I want ?”

“ What all men want. Real sex. Not whatever game that was a week ago.”

“ Game? That’s how you saw it ?”

“ What could be better than taking the pleasure you want as opposed to spending all your time giving it ? I came and you got nothing”, Jane scoffed, wiping her face.

“ You’re approaching this like some type of payment Jane. Sex isn't some transaction—at least not how I see it. Not with you. I don’t pleasure you in hopes that you do it back. I do it because I enjoy it and nothing more.”

“ I don’t believe you”, she shrugged.

Roman was dumbfounded. Absolutely dumbfounded. He thought he made his intentions clear.

“ What aren’t I saying to make this better? What am I missing ? How do I take this pain from you ?”

“ You can't, it's already done.”

“ Jane..”

“ I can’t….I can’t go all the way with you right now. I don’t know if I’ll ever enjoy real sex again. And what’s even more maddening is that I experience a desire for you that supersedes any other man I’ve encountered. I crave you in a way that is foreign to me. But I cannot give you the very thing that I’m supposed to. What any woman would. I’m trapped in my body—in my desire. I’m fucked up. I’m…broken Roman.”

“ Don’t say that….”

“ I am.. it’s true.”

“ It’s not true. I want whatever you give me. I want you. There’s so many other options on the table for us. It doesn’t have to be just ONE way Jane. However and whatever we decide to do is for us only. There’s no guideline on this sort of thing. I’m in no rush.”

“ You told me that if I chose you I would be guilty of crime by association. I’m telling you if you choose me—I may not be able to fulfill you sexually in the way that you need. At least not in this moment. That could be days, months, weeks, years. It could be a lifetime if we make it that long.”

“ I’m telling you that there are other ways. I am more than fulfilled right now. I’m fulfilled by your gaze. The touch of your hand. Whatever you’re comfortable with is what I’m comfortable with.”

“ You say that now but what happens when what I give you is not enough anymore? There could be someone else, someone more willing. Someone more beautiful.”

“ You must think my brain is located in my cock”, Roman chuckled.

“ I…I just want it all out of the table.”

“ No seriously. You’ve got to stop with these generalized statements about men. I know the horrors of men. Every person who looks like you and me understands those horrors. What I can say is that I know men don’t always have the best representatives. A good portion of them are shit—even I can agree. And for about a decade of my life I was one of them. But people do change Jane. I changed. I changed even more when I met you. Being able to call you mine is enough. Whatever you’re comfortable with. I will never pressure you. I meant it when I said you’ve paid your dues. I’m not here to cause you anymore pain. Neither one of us needs that now. Especially not after today”, Roman urged.

She carefully took in everything he said. The conviction in which he spoke, the sincerity in his eyes… he was telling the truth. Her gut told her so.

Roman continued. “ You and me—you especially, have been through hell and back. Let us have this one thing to ourselves, for ourselves. Leave the expectations behind you. I’m not your dictator. I'm not here to tell you what you should or should not do as a woman. I just want this, I want us. Nothing more.”

Jane’s face wrinkled in confusion. Roman was a strange bird. Any other man would have walked away—at least the ones she encountered previously. “ That’s not very traditional, you know ? You really truly want this…all my darkness? All my pain? It’s not too much for you ?”

“ In case you haven’t noticed, I’m nowhere near a traditional man. I could ask you the same but who else would understand me like you? You heard about all those things I did in my past and you still look at me like I hold the moon and stars. Like me—an ole’ pirate, has the right to cast judgment over you. I want you and anything that comes with it. The good and the bad.”

Roman gets up from his chair and walks over to her, crouching down to where she sat. Her arms leaned over his shoulders and she wrapped them around him tightly in a deep decompressing embrace. How often do they hug?? Not often, if even at all especially for it to have felt so good. She revels in the feeling, confused on how something so simple had taken so much weight off her shoulders. He pulls away and cradles her face in his hands.

“ I will take your darkness and turn it sweet. This I vow to you. No secret of yours should be burdened alone”, he says.

“ Okay”, mutters wiping a stray tear from her cheek. Why did she always end up crying in his arms? Why was it so easy too?

“ Okay”, he chuckles. He kisses her lips gently and sweetly. Like she’s made of glass. She doesn’t mind it. She doesn’t mind being doted on and revered as precious especially after such a hard conversation.

“ What can I do to make your frown turn upside down ?”

“ I need a hot bath”, she murmured.

“ Okay I can do that . Any other requests ?”

“ More of what you made me earlier.”

“ ahh. The Oka l’a ?”

“ Yes please”, she mumbled face first into his shoulder. All that crying had made her sleepy.

“ Your wish is my command.”

Roman

Much to Roman’s dismay, they stopped on the deserted island with the rotting boat for barnacle scraping. It was necessary to ensure that the ship continued to travel at its highest speed. Barnacle scraping was one of the more annoying facets of being a crew member. In moments like this he was thankful to be the Captain. All that sand and salt water battering against someone while they scraped away with all their might—it wasn’t fun. Rory and Thomas were on duty. He watched them scrape against the hall of the boat, flinging the barnacles into the sand.

He needed to touch land and recenter his thoughts. His mind kept wandering back to all the venom that the creature spat. The conversation with Jane played on a loop in his mind. He had come to the realization that every action he made with Jane was in protest to all the beliefs she had about men. It would be his job to show her better everyday. It wasn’t a hard job but she was resistant to her prior beliefs. He was patient with her.

He let a wave of warmth fill his lungs from his pipe as he stared at his ship from the beach. Should he feel guilty for his anger towards the monarchy? It wasn’t just Augusta that caused him pain. There were many people like her. However, he was angry quite a lot. It was something he had only recently gotten a hold of 5 years ago. He found other cathartic ways to deal with it. He’d gotten into reading again and collecting cigars. He’d even gotten a fucking parrot but every now and then his mind would wonder.

He’d rethink arguments and injustices and dream up something better. A desperate need to be the savior he needed for himself. The thirst for vengeance. The occurring nightmares did him no favours. Sure, he was remorseful of the violence that ensued. His treck to the top of the food chain had been bloody—sometimes unnecessarily. He was bitter for many years. Still, if Roman had no choice but to be removed from his family he would choose being a pirate always. He never wanted the life of a monarch.

This constant battle of being a fierce figurehead and a the gentlest version of himself for Jane was a catch 22. One side of him needed the other, yet his line of work contradicted the very thing he wanted to give her. How much longer could this go on? He would never out run the cruel man he used to be. But he had to make space for the man Jane needed.

The ache for her returned, dull and throbbing like a maddening tooth ache. Ever since he’d nearly left her it seemed like there was a thin long string between them. If he got too far she’d pop into his head and somehow he’d return. He’d have to head back soon. But he needed this fucking smoke.

He undressed her for her bath in his room. She was stunning while clothed and even more stunning naked. It seemed quite redundant after the intensity of their discussion. However she seemed to be fairly comfortable. He kissed her intensely before he left, he could still feel it on his mouth. He liked the way she used his space, it made the cabin feel “lived in”. He could see himself shutting out the world and imagining the captain's quarters as a house on land. She’d be busy doing tasks around the space like a house. There would not be a roaring sea outside and he’d have her all to himself. He would soon suggest the idea of her moving her things into his cabin. There was no use in being apart.

He turned around to look at the boat, realizing he had strayed further away than he should have. He threw his cigar in the sand and squashed it with his foot. He watched the embers burn out in the sand. A distant yell snaps him out of his thoughts.

He can see Thomas stumbling backwards in the distance before getting up and lunging forward. Maybe a fight broke out? Roman starts a light jog back to the boat. Another yell and Adhar appears to be swinging his sword around—fighting? Roman was sprinting now. He dreaded the thought of secret attack but how? They were in the middle of nowhere.

He ran to the other side of the boat to find Thomas sparing with what could only be described as a skeleton. A skeleton?

“ Don’t just stand there! It’s strong !”, Thomas choked. It took Roman a moment to actually process what he was looking at. Not even the creatures in the prison confused him this much. The Skeleton had its forearm pressed against Thomas's neck. Roman grabbed the back of its head and swung it effortlessly to the ground. The bones shattered apart. The two just stand there panting while looking at the pile of bones.

“ How the fuck did you manage to let a skeleton choke you?”, Roman turned to Thomas.

Thomas rubbed his sore throat. “ I’m telling you it was kind of strong. And it’s bones hurt. Bloody thing got me while my back was turned”, he hissed. Suddenly Thomas’s eyes widened. Roman turns around to find that the skeleton had reanimated. This time he pulled out his sword and slashed across it’s sternum with his sword, causing it to fall again.

“ Bloody hell….”, Roman groaned as the Skeleton made yet another attempt and rebuild itself.

“ Just keep it discombobulated. It can’t hurt you if it can’t put itself back together”, he gave his sword to Thomas and stalked back to the ramp.

The top deck was hell. Pirates' backs were being ridden by skeletons in Tang dynasty armor. Rory blasted through a group of skeletons with a roar sending bone parts flying everywhere. Adhar was sword fighting with two skeletons at the same time. Williams fought at the edge of the ship sending bones flying into the sand. Caden used a femur as a weapon warding off approaching skeletons. Each time a skeleton was knocked down they’d reanimate and come back for more.

“ Anybody got a fucking match ?”, Williams yelled with a pipe in his mouth flying a bone down the beach.

“ Don’t even bother they won’t burn, OUCH!”, Earl yelped as a Skeleton bit his ear.

The skeletons that managed to get on the ship held Dao’s. Some of them were rusted by sea water making sharp, rusted, jagged weapons that could potentially kill someone. That’s how Roman ended up in a fight with an armored Skeleton holding a spear. One for the story books.

Jane

She actually didn’t mean to fall asleep in his bed but he insisted that he had work to do. To her surprise she woke up to yelling. She quickly grabbed her pistol off Roman’s table and busted the French doors open to find utter chaos. Skeletons were everywhere and they were angry? Roman fought somewhere in the middle of the deck, throwing Skeleton heads in the air and kicking them off the boat.

An especially tall Skeleton in thick black armor came stomping towards her. Her eyes widened and she lifted her gun at its head, shooting at it in three short bursts. She shot the head, chest and pelvis. It paused looking at her momentarily before collapsing onto itself. Roman turned around, nose flared in a heavy irritation. He storms over to her.

“ Get back in there and close the door”, he hissed.

“ What ?! No. I just killed that thing. It looks like you guys need the help!”, she gawked.

“ It’s not safe t-— wait”, Roman punched the head off a skeleton creeping up behind Jane.

“ They’re trying to stab people with rusty knives. I’ll be damned if you die because a bag of bones shanked you. Go back into my room and lock the door”, Roman demanded. Another Skeleton attempted to swipe at Jane with a spear. He snatched the spear from the Skeleton’s arms causing the bones to disconnect from it. Now an armless Skelton was trying to bite him.

“ I’m fighting. We talked about this. You said I was perfectly capable of defen— HEY!”, Jane scoffs as Roman picks her and throws her over his shoulder like a bag of flour. She scrambles against his hold, beating against his back but it’s pointless.

Roman storms through the French doors and plops her on the bed. She takes a pillow and throws it at him. When she realizes he’s heading for the door she sprints after him. She's a second slower than him and he manages to trap her inside.

Roman

He wraps his belt around the double door handles and places a sword in between them to prevent her escape. He can hear her yelling and beating from the other side.

“ William!”

“ Aye Cap’n?”, he turns to Roman, face drenched with sweat.

“ Do not let Jane leave that room. Do not let anything enter that room. She can’t come out.”

“ Aye”, William stalked over to the door with a pistol standing in front of it.

“ JACKASS!!”, she shouts from the other side of the door.

10 minutes into this “fight” a skeleton had actually managed to slash the skin on his arm. It did nothing but piss him off more. Thomas had retreated back onto the boat with a Skeleton biting his ankle like one of those rat terriers.

“ We need to get off this bloody island!” Adhar yelled in exhaustion. There were over 100 Skeletons reanimating themselves with some rising from the under the sand, crawling from the rotten boat and even coming out of the tree line.

“ Fuck this. Raise the sails. Cortez! Get us out!” Roman yelled, pushing another skeleton down the side of the boat.

They made sail again, throwing the bones overboard. The reanimated bones on the shoreline tried following the boat but fell apart once the water reached their knees. What was left of the skeletons was dumped in the water.

The men sat there panting on the wind deck. This was somehow the perfect way to end a shitty day. Some of them had bite marks, cuts and bruises. Others just looked disheveled.

“ Let me out of here you NOW!!”, he heard Jane screech from the other side of the door. Roman painfully peeled himself from the floor and untied the French doors. Jane swung the door open and pushed Roman. He barely stumbled. Her eyes widened when she saw his arm.

“ You’re hurt”, she held his arm.

“ Just a scratch”.

“ You’re bleeding onto the fucking floor. Earl!.”, She pulled him inside the cabin and sat him down.

Earl came and assessed his arm.“Superficial though I’m sure very uncomfortable. You won’t need any stitches; the cut was clean. Why don’t we get you an astringent, some ointment and a bandage?”

“ I can help him. Why don’t you go relax Earl. I’m sure it’s been a long day for you.”

Earl thanked her and gave her the wound supplies before leaving, likely to go assess his own bite. After a quick wash up, Roman sat at the table with Jane on her knees, pressed witch hazel against the wound. She rinsed it cleaned and dabbed bag balm on the very top.

“ You know you might not have gotten than cut if you actually let me help”, she sighed wrapping his arm with a bandage.

“ It was no big deal.”

“ Oh really? If it was no big deal then why didn’t you let me help?”, she bit.

“ Rusty. knives.”

“ I don’t. care”, she mimicked.

Jane rolled her eyes and sat the bandage roll on the table. Roman unexpectedly pulled her forward in between his legs, leaning over her just inches above her face.

Roman smirked. “ Have I ever told you how cute you are when you’re mad?”

He leaned down and kissed her mouth firmly in a long hum. She stiffened and then softened, swatting at his chest as he pulled away. He chuckled at the pout on her face.

“ You’re not funny”, she whined with annoyance.

“ Maybe not but I have to admit, after all the shit that happened today I never guessed I would be nearly stabbed by a dead guy.”

“ Well…that thing did say that other creatures won’t want us to have the key . I just hope nothing else comes up. Nothing we can’t handle at least”, Jane sighed.

“ Whatever it is we will get through it.”

“ Not if you lock me away”, she frowns.

“ Alright fine. Next time I promise but not if I sense your imminent death.”

“ Fine but you’re going to have to make it up to me.”

“ How ?”

“ I don’t know.”

“ I could always give you a kiss.”

“ You just gave me a kiss?”

“ Not that kind of kiss darling.”

She yawns in an exaggerated manner. “ Maybe with breakfast. I’m exhausted.” She stands putting the pound supplies back in the aid kit.

“ Then… I bid you a goodnight Miss Ramlal.”

“ Good night you stubborn ass”, she drawled on her way to the door.

“ One of these days you’re going to have to move your things in with mine. it’s only right ”, he called back to her.

“ In the midst of you making it up to me, maybe you’ll give me your proposition”, she winked at the door before turning the corner.

Roman accepted that challengeand went to bed with a stiff cock.

Jane

Thanks to her nap earlier she was up tonight. She read, she had a snack, she even tried on new dresses she got back in Port Plado before they left. She was bored. It also didn’t help that ever since their exchange she’d thought alot about that “convincing”. She should have taken the offer.

A knock on her door pulled her from her thoughts. She gets up pulling on her robe and answers the door. Roman is standing there wish disheveled hair, opened shirt, just trousers.

“ May I come in ?” He asks quietly.

“ Of course”, she moved over to let him sit on her bed.

“ How’d you know I was awake?”

“ I could see a light under your door.”

“ Oh. Right ”, she smiled pulling her robe around herself.

“ feeling okay ?”

“ yes I’m fine. Just a bit restless”, she looked at his trousers and could see a dint. Her belly flipped in excitement but she tried to hide it. He seemed tired.

“May I…..touch you ?”

Fuck it…

“ Ye—-.” before she can even finish the word he ambushes her, covering her mouth with his mouth. He pushes up her dress. They fell backwards on the bed. He pins her left leg to her stomach, keeping her open to reveal her glistening center. He licks three fingers and places them at her clit swirling them in tight firm circles. Her eyes nearly cross as her head falls back. He's so big she can’t close her legs. He props her other leg over his shoulder for better access. She has to cover her mouth from the sudden stimulation. She’s audibly wet which gives away the arousal she’s had for the last few hours. He pulls back to spit on her cunt and then resumes with those firm circles.

“ Roman ”, she sighs.

“Jane”, he mocks quietly.

“ What are you doing ?”, she asks lazily. She knew exactly what but her mind didn’t have enough time to calculate the last 30 seconds.

“ You really do have such a pretty cunt”, he grunted against her mouth. She just sighs softly against them, closing her eyes and relishing in the warmth of his fingers.

“ I’ve been thinking about how it tastes ever since that night. I told you…there are so many ways to get my point across. You haven’t an inkling on what truly satisfies me. I can’t be satifised- won’t be satisfied, unless I can see you crumble in my fucking hands.” His tone was rough and sharper than usual. She didn’t mind it at all. He pulls back to gently but firmly slap her cunt and it ignites all of her pleasure centers. She gasps, Instinctively closing her legs. To no avail she remains wide open to him. Her back bends off the bed as he continues rubbing her clit.

“ Stay right there. You’re doing such a good job”, he whispered. She’s whimpering behind her hand now. He looks down to see a sticky arousal forming around his fingers.

“ You see, if you were in my bed you could yell as loud as you want. Think about that next time because I plan on doing this again”, he sucked her neck. Her eyes rolled around her skull as she gripped his bicep. She can feel her nails biting into his skin. It just makes his hand move faster.

“ Roman…sensitive”, she warned.

“ I hope you know that you’re not getting up from under me until you’re properly ruined”, he chuckles darkly. He flashes his teeth and he can see another dreadful wave of arousal come over her features.

“ You’re not ready to go all the way, that’s fine. I can take that. Take all the time you need but I will watch you cum. Whether I do it for you or you do it yourself. I will watch you shatter every single time Jane”, he murmured against her temple. Her brows scrunch and her lips tremble into a pout as she feels herself coming close to the edge. A true delirium was seeping in as she neared her impending climax. That stage where she’d do or say anything to cum. No matter how bat shit crazy it was. She’d recite the Spanish alphabet if it meant he kept going.

“ Yes ...yes only you—make me come”, she whined hazily. Her entire body had broken out into a light sweat. Properly wanton and consumed by desire. Not caring about her appearance. Raw pleasure.

“ Only me, yes. Say it again”, he says with another quick slap to her cunt.

“ Onl-Oh fuuckk”, she squeaked.

“ Tell me all the filth going on in your head right now. Tell me and I’ll lick you a bit. Tell me what you were thinking about before I came in here”, he taunts in her ear.

“ Y-your tongue. Your shouldersss-shit!”, she moaned.

“ What a good girl you are..”, he pulls away and laps at her clit. His tongue is pleasantly cooler than her heated sensitive skin, which gives her a gush of relief. Yet as quickly as she relaxed, she tensed up at the feeling of his tongue. It poked, flicked, lapped and dipped at the entirety of her cunt, pushing her closer to her release. She was seconds away from coming undone right then but he pulled away to watch her sex. She’s drenched down to the sheets. The longer he prolongs her pleasure the wetter she gets. He licks into her awaiting mouth.

“ You like my tongue?”, he mumbles against her lips.

“ Yes I love it I love it love it”, she chants desperately into the quiet of his mouth. His fingers become more frantic.

He shuts her up here and there with lip locks, sucking on her tongue to keep her at bay. Or he’d pull away just to rest his forehead on hers and watch the way her face breaks up and contorts. H finds her devastating in the height of pleasure—a feast for the eyes. He kisses her forehead as she hiccups underneath him, becoming desperate for reprieve.

“ More ?”, he asks her. She neither nods nor denies, just stares at him with pleading eyes. He pulls his hand away.

“ Open your mouth and say it”, he says firmly.

“ Yes please”, she gushes desperately.

She bucks her hips. He takes his thumb into his mouth, sucks it and places it right on her clit, swirling in fast circles now. Her pleasure becomes more narrowed and more precise. Her head falls back but he uses his other hand to pull the back of her head up, forcing her to look at him.

“ Right here. Right at me”, he says. Forehead to forehead she can see his pupils dilate.

“ I’m- I- I ”, she whimpers. Her words fail her. She’s so close she can taste it.

“ Shh. Just give it to me darling”, he soothed shushing her.

She felt it was her duty to describe to him how good this felt. How mad she was driving her. She almost pitied him for not being able to feel this intensely. So good so…

“ Look at that. So… wet. You see what happens when you keep from it. It’s weeping Jane”, he taunts.

God his fingers... Holy shit his fucking fingers. In her right mind she’d debate if they were better than his tongue. She can only nod as her eyes roll into the back her skull drunkenly. Just what he wanted.

She fists the front of his shirt stretching it towards her, closing the rest of the distance between them.

“ I’m going to cum”, she croaks out in a panic from the force of which she can feel her orgasm sprinting towards her. She imagines it like a train. This would be a big one —just as big as the party if not bigger. She holds onto his wrist in an attempt to brace herself. Eyes wide and filled with worry and desire. There were over 100 pirates just outside that door and the only thing on her mind was how hard she was about to come.

And then her orgasm briefly paused in it’s pursuit of her and she was frozen at her peak for seconds longer than she’s used to. She wants to screech at the intensity. It was agonizing. It was deliciously agonizing. Her climax had her by her throat and it was nearly unbearable.

“ Go ahead, Dove. Don’t need my permission”, Roman whispered softly.

And his words dislodge any delays and fuck her mind. What follows is nothing but pure ecstasy. She contemplates pushing against his chest or biting him to withstand the force. All she can muster up is the bend of her back off the bed. He smashes his mouth to hers but there’s no need. The release is so intense she can barely make a sound. Her hearing gives out and the room fills with dots.

“ Breathe”, he whispers. She goes limp from the lack of air she denied herself.Seconds later he pulls his hand away.

The moment a gust of air pushes past her mouth he eats it, swallowing it down for himself and pulling her into a dizzying sloppy wet kiss. She’s panting heavily looking at him like a crazed man. Then they both look down to see her drenched center glistening against the lantern light.

“ Inside, okay ?”, He asks. She nods.

He gently takes two fingers and pushes them inside of her, feeling her slippery release. The squelch of his fingers brings an inner warmth to her cheeks that thankfully can’t be seen. He then pulls them out and watches her intently as he sucks on them. He attempts to swipe at her clit with his thumb again but she bucks against him, shaking her head in warning. Too much.

He chuckles at her expression and looks down hungrily between her legs. He takes a moment to pull those lips apart to see the wet inside of her. She's pulsating, flashes of her climax still seizing her flesh. He pulls his hand away to grab her chin and kiss her. She groans, feeling the heat nearly return to her core from him.

“ Can you taste yourself on my tongue ?”

She nods almost dumbly. Did she have room for another orgasm?

“ I like the way you taste. If I was in a crueler mood I’d pin you to this bed and eat your cunt until you started wailing. Push you past the point of sensitivity. I’ll save it for another day.”

She’s gobsmacked. Center out and he just looks back down at her.

“ I’m just getting one last look before I go into my cabin and tug on my cock with my fingers in my mouth”, he says in the most casual tone.

She can still see a tint in pants. He begins to pull away.

“ You…you could do it here”, she pants. He pauses.

She leans forward and grabs him through his pants. His eyes closed slowly as if he was hoping she wouldn’t.

“ You said—.”

“ There are other ways, you said so yourself.”

“ Are you sure you’re ready for that ?”

“ I am.”

“ Absolutely sure ?”, he presses.

“ Yes I’m absolutely sure”, she drawls.

“Okay. If you want me to stop, just say the word.”, he slowly reached down to his pants and pulled them down to his knees. He was bare under his trousers which caused his length to pop out and hit his belly button. Her eyes widened.

The length alone was just as concerning as was the girth. She was happy to have chosen a patient man because she would need it. But it was perfect. Tawny colored, with a thick vein in the center underneath. The head was flushed and wet with his own arousal. He took off his shirt. She noticed a slight curve to it when she reached forward and pulled him towards her. His skin was hot and throbbing, twitching in her hand. It almost made her giggle with how reactive his body seemed to her touch.

She pulled her hand away, dipping her hands between her still soaked thighs and spread it onto the base of him. His head fell back, looking at the ceiling in restraint. “Christ, fuck”, he spat. She moved her hand up and down his length.

“ You can fuck my hand…”, she giggled. Something about the sentence seemed silly to her but he didn’t laugh. Instead, he eagerly took her invitation, drawing his hips back to his tip and pushing into her hand. His eyes moved back and forth, up and down her body. She licked her other palm and pressed it firmly around his base, allowing him to use both of her hands..

Truthfully she needed two hands for his length alone. He went faster, which caused the bed to shift resulting in her bouncing. Her breasts bounced up and down with each thrust which nearly sent him over the edge.

He became more eager. It was so obvious he wanted a quick release and she was happy to give that to him. She looked down to see the squelch of arousal in her hand as his cock appeared and reappeared around her fist.

She reached down carefully and cupped his balls. Roman took a fist between his teeth as she massaged them slowly. His composure broke.

“ Tell me where you want it”, he huffed, thrusting into her fist like a cunt.

“ You decide”, she grinned mischievously up at him.

He came with a grunt and settled for her stomach and breasts. His release shocked her. It was the most beautiful thing to see him come undone. It didn’t push her away, it drew her in. The way every muscle in his body seemed to get bigger, the way his stomach contracted, the way his mouth hung open, his eyes, the grunting. She loved every single moment of it. It took her a few moments to notice the wetness between her chest and on her breasts. She looked down and swiped his arousal off her nipple with her finger, placing it in her mouth. He visibly shuddered.

“ You taste really good”, she smiled up at him. He leaned down for another kiss.

She no longer needed any convincing.

————

Hey guys I’m back and feeling better. New chapter by Sunday at the latest.

#spotify #roman reigns #roman reigns x oc #roman reigns x reader #the tribal chief #wwe #wwe smackdown #pirate au #roman reigns au #the head of the table

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yeyinde · 1 year

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NEON MEDUSA | cyberpunk au

Captain John Price x Reader

"Make the smart choice, love." He doesn't give you anything else. The line goes dead with a click. Silence. Unbearable. Stifling. It permeates the air around you, buzzing like static. A disturbance in the airwaves. A rustle in the stagnant life you've been sloughing through for the last three years. A moment later, your phone chimes. A map appears. Some remote bar on the outskirts of the city—the only place Makarov's influence doesn't reach. Make the smart choice. It's your freedom or your head.

》 WARNINGS: THIS SERIES WILL BE 18+ | no smut; allusions to political corruption, moral ambiguity; standard Cyberpunk rules apply; body modification; technological supremacy; the existential crisis of questioning your humanity

》 WC: 11,1k

》 NOTES: Remember when I said I probably wasn't going to do a chaptered fic? Yeah, me too

SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT

PART I | STATIC IN THE AIRWAVES

He sits in the crowded bar with nothing to keep him company but a half-empty glass of scotch and a burning cigar.

He alternates between the two. A swallow of his drink. A sip of water. A drag of his cigar.

(Routine. Always in threes. Always with that same pinched look on his face, partially hidden in the shadows, concealed beneath a beanie, and shaded in smoke.)

The ochre tip flares to life when he draws it close to his lips, taking a harsh drag of nicotine. The flash of light, brief and evanescent, illuminates his face in short bursts of orange in a room bathed in indigo save for the stage, where his gaze stays, fixed, almost unwaveringly, on the dancers as they display the greatest feat of technological advancement to date: nanobots.

Their chromatic skin shifts into various hues to accommodate each request made by the patrons, their bodies morphing into something new with each token taken from the hungry-eyed viewers.

Despite the keenness in his sharp eyes, he makes no purchases of his own—seemingly content to just watch the hedonistic spectacle unfolding before him.

It is not uncommon for people to come here and just observe, happy enough to watch whatever the rest of the people—voyeurs—order, but there's something about him that stands out.

(Or maybe it's just you.

He piques your interest in a way most people just don't. Not here. Not in the gold-dusted cesspool of opulent depravity.)

And there isn't anything noteworthy about him. Nothing that stands out against everyone else.

He was easily swallowed by the curated tenebrous that leaked into the tight space of the auditorium—an artificial sense of seclusion and privacy in shades of shadowed indigo that means little when you can see everything from your perch in the observation deck. He isn't flashy in any sense—his broad shoulders are covered in a raw topaz corduroy jacket with tuffs of seashell white plumage around the collar and button lines, and he wears a simple pair of black trousers, and leather boots. A charcoal beanie sits low on his brow.

He's big. Bigger than most of the men in the room—both in width and height. He'd tower over them, and his broad shoulders and thick bulk would swallow them whole.

Your vantage point—a hidden nook in the upper deck known only as the observatory: a domed room completely opaque from the outside looking in with high, arching golden bars dividing each rectangular window making it look a little too much like a cage for you to ever find comfort behind its glass walls—gives you the perfect view of everything in the club. The circular, egg-shaped room with its glass floors and walls has an interface built in to spy on the patrons below.

It's a place where you spend most of your nights when you weren't wandering the alcoves in the underbelly in search of trinkets to sell, or money to make to somehow chip away at the insurmountable debt you owe the owner of the club for saving you, a price you'll never begin to pay back at your current rate.

You come here to watch the spectacle at one of the most exclusive clubs in the city.

(And—

Take notes.)

The bar is a hidden gem of the red light district, a place only known by reputation and hushed whispers in the derelict underground.

On its surface, it looks like any other staple of depravity that the sprawling steel metropolis tries to pretend doesn't exist when foreign diplomats venture close to the technological epicentre of human advancement. Another grim, ramshackle bar in a desolate sea of many. Dingy wax paper covers the floor-to-ceiling windows, giving the passersby a tantalising view of a dancing silhouette beckoning them forward with mechanical fingers, and a bright red grin.

It's only when they try to enter the establishment does the stark differences between every other brothel masquerading as a bar come to light.

A bouncer stands in the enclosed foyer covered in piss-stained cardboard, and a cracked comm with loose wires sparking on the wall. It reeks of stale cigarettes and mildew. For added effect, the shadow of a bug skitters into the fist-shaped hole in the wall.

"Password?" He barks, his hand curling, pointedly, over the handle of his gyrojet. A threat.

It deters most people simply wandering by in search of sin.

Except for the ones with an invitation. The password. That prized piece of information gets them access to a club funded by the Inner Circle.

Most of the clubs in this district are known for their loose morals and shady rules, but none are as infamous as the White Horse, who dabbles in more than just pleasures of the flesh. A place where shady deals are conducted in secrecy in the opulent booths overlooking the stage. Where the madams, and misters overseeing the dancers turn a blind eye to illegal requests that are made.

A den of sin and filth wrapped in decadence. A place where anything goes so long as you have the money, the power, the status. Where nothing is barred, and the beds on the upper level are never empty.

More money passes through here on a bad day than those living in squalor near the district will ever see in their extended lifespans.

Men spend impetuosity to drag the dancers away, the nanos shifting into something new, something garish, to their deviant delights.

And men like him are a dime a dozen. You can find one anywhere in the red light district, sipping on alcohol, and feasting on the libertine victuals offered for the taking. Nothing about him is particularly noteworthy. Another concealed face in the louche mouth of debauchery.

And yet—

He stands out.

The only vice he partakes in is a cigar and drink. He doesn't let his eyes linger on the soft curves of the dancers, or the bared flesh they offer up. He watches with a detached, almost clinical disinterest.

Maybe, then, it isn't so much of what he is, but rather what he isn't.

There is a wryness to him, a soft derision in his steel gaze that seems out of place in a seedy bar filled to the brim with licentiousness. Most men come to quench their lustful appetite on the display of grandeur in front of them, making demands with a press of their finger to shape the dancers in front of them to whatever matches their hunger.

None of them has ever looked so disgusted.

He tries to hide it, face folding into something passive, nonchalant, when he thinks people are staring, or when the barkeep makes his way over to pour him another shot, but it breaks sometimes. Beneath the rim of his odd bucket hat, startling blue eyes morph into contempt at the men around him. Even with the rim pulled down low over his brow, covering the colombina mask concealing the upper portion of his face, you catch the anger frothing in cerulean.

It's an odd look considering where he is, and the prestige, the importance (both financial and influential) that he must carry just to be let inside, and yet—

Scorn. Derision. Disgust.

None of it is directed at the dancers gyrating on the flashing stage, putting on a grand performance of a technological prowess yet to be made available to the general public. Their willingness to contort their artificial bodies into various forms—men, women, genderless beings, animalistic features, elongated limbs, and a whole host of pabulum effigies—just for the paying patrons' lustful amusement incites none of the blunt disdain he directs at the men and women around him.

It's not the performers, then, but the audience.

Some come here with their status placed upon their head like a crown, chin refusing to dip down an inch lest the artificial diadem slip from their clinging fingers. They wear their aristocracy like a perfume, letting it permeate in the air surrounding them for all to inhale, to notice. They like to pretend they aren't enticed by the display available to them and are often mockingly cruel to the dancers, and the workers catering to their paying whims. It's a game to them. Coming here is a sport. A fulfilment of a quota.

An invitation alone is worth more than the going price of most cities, and the opportunity to maybe rub elbows with the financier of the establishment is enough to make greed spin in their eyes.

As cruel as they are to the staff, and as much as they like to lift their noses high in contempt, it's a farce. They're posturing.

The intrigue in their green eyes doesn't mask their peacocking.

His, you find, is genuine.

But why?

It's there that he makes his fatal mistake.

A man, a regular from Verdansk, grabs a passing dancer a little too hard, jostling their shoulder until metal grinds together in a piercing whine that goes wholly ignored in the pulsing bass, and jeers from the crowd.

He pulls them down, a lustrous smirk creeping across his face, and whispers something in their ear before jerking his chin toward the upper deck where the rooms are.

The exchange, his rough treatment of them, goes largely unnoticed—or rather, ignored—by the crowd. It's hardly a spectacle—not worthy of their attention like the display on the stage.

But he catches it.

Amongst the vile sycophants and their greedy stares, he stands out in stark contrast when his eyes narrow in anger, knuckles whitening around the glass.

You've only heard of his type in passing. The kind that thinks they're sticking up for something greater than themselves.

A hero. A martyr. A saviour.

Muted whispers in shadows. Promises they'll never be able to keep burrowed into filament; sweet words laced with that detestable thing that rots your insides, and leaves you sick with apathy when it extinguishes. Jaded and wrong and—

His type poisons you with hope, and leaves it to crumble in the hollowed amphitheatre of your aching, mutilated chest when they realise it's futile and do the one thing they're best at: running.

For the greater good, of course.

The battered remains of love in shambles mean little to them when they place the world on their shoulders to absolve themselves of their sins. The weight of it crushes pity and sorrow and contrition and failure into a ground powder that they can sneeze away with—

I had no choice.

Heroes, you find, are usually just a pantomime of their internal ugliness. They lash out at what they name injustice but sometimes slip up and use their given name when calling everything wrong with the world, with them, into question.

It's a good thing that they usually avoid places like this.

One where the people who fight for good, for humanity—the ones who wave and blink and grin on the holographic advertisements on each major street corner, or wander around with their translucent skin and faux smiles as they shell out promises (and products) of a better tomorrow—let their faces twist in horrific depravity under the strobe lights and cover of darkness. Politicians. People in power.

It's enough to snuff out any sense of optimism.

This is a place where hope comes to die with a single press of a greasy finger against a holographic screen.

A man like him has no reason to tuck himself into the corner, eyes misting over in anger and contemptuous spite at the patrons who feed the rapid descent of mortality.

The sight of him gnarls a sense of unease in your chest. A burgeoning bloom of that poisonous seed they warned you to stay away from. The one that strikes like a cobra and burns like a molten rock against your skin. That leaves you a raw, gaping wound festering in the cesspool they make sanguine promises to pull you out of.

They never do.

They make grand claims about being given a prophecy of martyrdom, and how they must devote themselves, wholly, to a cause that never comes to fruition like it does in the aeons-old fairytale of a bygone era when romance meant something.

Your fingers curl over the golden bars of the gilded cage you've been left in, and you wonder through the raw ache in your chest as it splits open, another wound among many, who he's trying to save here.

Then, grimly, you wonder how long it'll take for him to give up like the rest.

Intrigue gnaws at you until the needling pinch of curiosity becomes too much to bear.

(Curiosity, and something you'd rather not think about—)

It's easy to slip away from your perch unnoticed. No one bothers with you much outside of bringing you to sporadic liaisons with the man who acts as a silent owner of the bar—among many, many other things—and you use that sense of anonymity to wander down to the ground floor, and toward the man sitting in the corner.

The difference between them and him is made more apparent when you move closer.

A cybernetic thumb and forefinger knead the skin over the bridge of his nose, eyes pinched shut in a passage of pain that flickers over his face. With him too preoccupied with his headache, he doesn't notice you sidle up, and you take the opportunity to study him with an eager gaze.

He's handsome.

Muted neon blue cuts through the skin of his cheeks, running over his cheekbones, and dipping down toward the corner of his mouth. A flash of metal on his temple peaks beneath the rim of his beanie, catching in the shadowed glow of the pink and purple strobe lights flashing through the dim room. The circular curve and the soft metallic give the impression of the beginnings of a cranial implant. One that costs a hefty price to upkeep, but gives the wearer unlimited access to information fed directly to their non-dominant eye.

It's something only issued to the military. To the police force.

But the shape of it is archaic, old. Something of a crest—a familial design unique to the big families, to the clubs, that run the city, or parts of it. Gangsters. Mercenaries. Merchants. Scholars. Politicians.

Nepotism, undoubtedly, shaped the enhancement, but the design is foreign to you. You think of the common ones—the local police force and security, Shadow Company; the innovative engineers of the Inner Circle; the Shepherd family and their long, and bloody, history of politicians, leaders—but none fit the intricate weavings snaking down his temple.

Another peculiarity to add to the growing list.

The limited light in the darkened auditorium colour him a chiaroscuro of light of blue and grainy black, and the way he keeps his palm positioned over his face as he rubs the tension from his brow leaves the rest of his face hidden from your prying gaze. A shame, you think, and make the mistake of moving closer.

Beneath a metal knuckle, his eye cracks open.

"I'm not interested."

The timbre of his voice is rough—a masculine rasp that's abrasive, and thick with something heavy in the back of his throat. It makes you shiver. You blame it on the noviceness of your incipient intrigue.

"Oh?" You mock, and offer back a shrug you hope is more blasè than perturbed. "That's kinda surprising in a place like this."

"I'm not here for that—" his words cut off with a sharp huff, voice tapering off as he digs his thumb into the divot between his brow until the skin is indented from the metal.

The way he says the word is full of an exhaustive sort of contempt: the kind that says he's tired. Of this, of the anger coursing through his veins.

A hero on the verge of cracking apart at the seams..

(It didn't take him long.)

He's a picture of bone-weariness when he bows his head over the table, elbows knocking against the surface with a harsh thud that makes you wince. He doesn't seem to notice it—or maybe he's so far gone, that anything that isn't bitter disappointment or the white-hot sting of rejection feels almost good to him. A break in the routine. A physical hurt in place of the emotional turmoil saviours like him must face.

If, of course, he even is one.

You question your original assessment of him when his wrist bends, and his long, thick fingers wrap around the rim of the glass.

A hero. Maybe you were wrong.

He looks like the same tired men who spend their waking hours working a job they hate, one that grinds against their skin until a hole forms and the wound begins to rot. Miserable. They reek of bitterness and discontentment. And when they're not being burnt out against the heel of a profession that doesn't even know they exist, much less care about the droop in their shoulders, the callouses, the ennui and megrim towards life, they combat the existential despair by saturating their organs in liquid formaldehyde to stop the slow, methodical rot of that pesky little thing called hope. Happiness.

You wonder if he came here for something different to numb the self-inflicted loneliness, or if all that anger he directs at the men is just a reflection of his desires that disgust him so much.

It's the crushing sense of disappointment that maybe you were wrong and, worse yet, maybe he was right.

(In this life, there are only idiotic hopefuls and those smart enough to know better.)

Still.

He's different in a way you're not used to. A man with rough edges and sour words; blunt and bludgeoning.

Interesting.

You wonder what makes him tick. What ugliness he's hiding, and what secrets he's running from.

His neck is thick, muscles tensing when he tosses his head back, and swallows down the last of his drink.

(You wonder what it would feel like to sink your teeth into his jugular—)

"I don't need another drink, either," he says, voice thick from the burn of alcohol, and little more than a growl.

You offer another shrug—one that he doesn't see when he bows his head again, palms scoring down his face.

"Again," you murmur, a fleeting tease. "Still not offering."

His thumb presses into his temple, index finger sliding over his forehead until it rests in his webspace. He inhales deeply in palpable exasperation, broad chest expanding and pulling the charcoal shirt taut across his shoulders.

"Then what the hell—"

His lids crack open, eyes sliding to the side as he stares at you, properly, for the first time since you wandered over.

The surprise in his gaze as he takes you in makes your heart jump, slamming harshly against its bone prison. His eyes—a deep, almost unending blue—are pretty. Piercing.

He swallows again, hand pulling away from his brow slowly—dazed, almost, as if he'd been expecting one of the dancers on stage instead of—

Well. You.

Human. Wholly.

It usually catches people off-guard to see someone so bare, so void of any visible enhancements or upgrades.

On the surface, anyway. The debt you wracked up from the man says something must have been done. That one day, you'll dig too deep into your tissue and find wires and cylindrical tubes instead of veins. A circuit board instead of a heart. An artificial stem instead of a brain.

More android than human.

Your teeth sink into the soft flesh around the corner of your mouth, and you brace yourself for it—for the—

"I didn't realise I talkin' to a bloody bot."

It doesn't prickle against your skin—one that bleeds red, and bruises in flaxen when you dig your fingers in hard enough. It doesn't.

"I'm not."

He blinks at you once, mystified, but then something in his gaze sharpens. A keen awareness, a spatial depth, that seems out of place on a mere man. You think of the holographic images of grizzly bears mid-hunt, stalking their prey through the thick furze, and then of the curiosity that dips from beady, ink-black eyes when they find something that disturbs their territory. An unknown thing—neither predator nor prey.

He turns in the seat, shifting until his body is facing you. His elbow rests on the table, hand dropping down again to hold onto the rim of his glass. The other drops to the back headrest of the seat.

He doesn't move over or offer you a spot to sit. A pointed gesture, you're sure. A sign of your disturbance. An unwelcome visitor.

You ignore it in favour of drinking in the display of his body, loose and lax in the seat with his knees spread, and the toes of his boots akimbo. His muscles flex under the tight, grey shirt, moving with each shuffle of his hips to get comfortable.

He's bigger than you thought. Threateningly so.

"That right?" He says the words slowly, and draws them out in that coarse voice of his.

His index finger taps a strange rhythm on the rim of the glass as he considers the weight of what you divulged, and your eyes are quickly drawn to his human hand—thick, scarred fingers; knuckles scabbed and cracked—and to his nails. They're short, and jagged. Grizzled. They're dirty, too. A fine line of dirt sits under the gnawed hyponychium, bitten down to the plate.

"Fancy that—a purist."

His words make you snort, and you tear your gaze away from his filthy nails—dirty hands—and shake your head in refusal. Dismay. Exasperation. Some amalgamation of them all.

He isn't the first to assume that of you, and you know he won't be the last.

Your physical appearance is startling to some who quickly think you're an android with your untainted skin, void of any visible enhancements like the ones cutting through his cheeks, etched into his temple, his chin. The entirety of his left hand.

Some consider the relationship between humans and technology to be almost symbiotic. After all, artificial intelligence, modern human evolution, and cybernetics wouldn't exist without the fundamental human imagination, nor their human hands to construct life into these grand things.

It usually falls into two categories—technological subservience: those who believe AI, androids, robots, cyborgs, and nanobots were created by humans and therefore, belonged to humans; and technological coexistence: the merger between us and them until the lines blur, and it becomes one and the same.

(Or, more extreme: technological dominance—zealots who believe that god exists in the mainframe of AI, and worship them like deities.)

On the opposite scale lies the purists. Those who believe that the relationship is not symbiotic, but parasitic. A curse.

"Hardly—" The defensiveness in your tone makes you wince, and you soften the edge of your words when his forehead creases, adding: "It's all internal."

"Internal, huh," his eyes dip, rolling down the length of your body as if confirming your claims. The weight of his gaze makes your skin burn, blistering under the intensity of his bold stare. "That's unusual, ain't it?"

"Not where I'm from."

"And where is that, hmm?"

The way his voice tapers off into a growl makes you shiver. Feverish.

Dangerous. This man is dangerous.

"I—" You swallow down the thick pool of anxiety that swells in the back of your throat. You're not afraid of him, but there's this overwhelming sense of intimidation that bleeds from the furrow of his brow, the unrelenting stare he fixes on you—almost as if you're being interrogated. Unease makes your stomach churn.

Maybe this was a mistake—

His eyebrows lift in a silent display of impatience.

It's not something you speak about openly—or at all, really—but the words brim on your tongue, as if pulled there by the magnetic draw of the man sitting in front of you, fingers tapping against the rim of the empty glass while the other reaches over his chest, torso twisting as he blindly pats around for the cigar burning away in the ashtray.

"I don't know," you murmur, letting the words puncture your chest when they slip past the seam of your lips. "Don't remember much of it."

He considers your words with a slight tilt of his head. Thick, metallic fingers draw the burning cigar to his full mouth, partially hidden behind the wry curls around his lips and chin. He settles in his seat again, eyes lidded, heavy.

"That so?"

The end burns orange when he draws in a mouthful of tobacco-saturated smoke, eyes creasing slightly as the endorphins bloom under the deluge of nicotine coursing through him.

The sight of him, thick thighs spread over the polymer seat of the booth, elbow resting on the table with his wrist bent, fingers still on the rim of the glass, cigar in his other hand, makes something warm fill your chest.

Trepidation, you hope.

You offer a shaky shrug in response, and nothing more.

He hums. "Unusual, innit? Not rememberin'."

The entire history of your life is a black hole until three years ago when you woke up in a luxury hospital room with an unplayable debt on your head and a body that has never really felt like your own.

(A man, maker, who called himself your saviour, and ensured you'd never really be free.)

You echo the words he said to you all those years ago when you asked who you were, where you came from, and why you didn't know—

"It must not be worth knowing."

It's a murmured echo not meant to be taken seriously. There's no deeper meaning behind the regurgitated words that ring out in your head; a quick response to those questions that rear late at night when you can't sleep, and your mind wants to torture you further.

It doesn't matter.

And really, it doesn't. You can't remember it, and in the three years you've been living, reacclimating to the idea of recall and recollection, no one has ever tried to find you.

There's no memo being sent out to the great beyond with your name or face attached to it. No one but him has claimed to know you. To care.

Whatever happened in that life is gone. Empty. A black void of nothing, not even embers or a crackling voice. It's a hole where your sense of belonging goes to rot.

It does not matter. Not anymore.

But the way he flinches at your words—a barely concealed jerk of his limbs, half-aborted when he realises he's doing it—makes you think, for the first time in three years, that it might.

It's swallowed down by a flash of teeth peaking through his amber beard. A rictus grin greets your words.

"That so?"

All you can do is nod.

"Doesn't help convince me you ain't a bot."

"I'm not."

His brow ticks up. "Do bots know their bots? Androids can be made to think, created with sentience, but they aren't. It's only when they hurt, do they realise—they were never human at all."

Your chest tightens. He didn't just strike a nerve, he bludgeoned into it.

"I am," you argue, but the words are less sure, firm, than you want them to be. They tumble out, shaky and filled with the fears that have been twisting inside your head since you blinked into existence, and read accounts of androids doing the same. "I bleed. I hurt. I feel. I think. I—"

He bites on the end of his cigar before drawing both hands up in front of him, palms open and facing you.

"Easy, there." He mutters, voice low and muffed around the stem of the cigar, and—

Soothing.

"I'm only teasin' you. If you say you're human, you're human. That's all that matters, mm?"

You shudder. "I am, I—"

"What's your name?"

You echo the name given to you when you woke up in a daze and were told to meet the man who saved your life. The one he greeted you with when he welcomed you into his luxury office of cut mahogany and reinforced carbon.

When it slips out, the pinch between his brow deepens.

"That's your name? Or is that just what they call you?"

"It's—" you flounder for a moment. "It's my name."

"You don't sound too sure."

"Can I be sure of anything?" You volley back, venom leaking into the words.

"You haven't gone lookin'?"

"For what?"

Where would you even start?

"You know…" he begins, shifting in his seat once more. There is a tension in his brow. An even curl to his lips, teeth still bared. "I try to find people like you. Bring them home. To justice—or whatever that might be. A lot of 'em claim to not remember, to not know what they did, or why they ran. You tellin' me somethin' similar, love?"

"I'm not missing."

His eyes are filmed with a facsimile of something placid. Even. But there is a current beneath the surface. A raging torrent of unsettled water churning up the seabed. It'll drag you to the bottom, and press you flat against the rocks as it roars above you.

You might be able to crack your eyes open under the swell, fingers digging into the murky sediment below your supine body, and vaguely make out of the rippling surface. A taunting mirage just within reach but the tumultuous waves would crush your fingers for even trying to grasp for it.

You shiver.

"You sure about that, love?"

Love. Love. The words stick against some part of your head, clinging to the fibrils and ringing across gyri until every synapse rattles with the heavy tenor splitting you apart.

"—Do you know me?"

The look surfaces.

"No." You seldom feel hopeful that anyone does anymore. Maybe on a distant planet, in a distant city, someone is still looking for you. "But I am lookin' for someone."

"Looking—" your brow furrows together as you eye him warily. Concern etches into your chest. Knotting tight like a spooled ball. "Looking for who?"

He shrugs.

He shifts in his seat, brings his hand away from the glass, reaches into the sherpa-covered folds of his jacket, and pulls out a small device. He proffers it to you, the design is reminiscent of a netphone, but—

Out of date.

You stifle a grin as you take it from him, but it's barely hidden, and he huffs when he catches sight of it. A soft chuff of mirth spilling from between full lips.

"Watch it," he mutters.

Your eyes run along the length of the thin phone—dark chrome, chipped in some places along the sleek, curved edges, but the screen is intact—and you marvel at the oddity presented to you. It's not like the netphones made by Four Horseman Corp., but the design is almost a replica.

The man reaches up, and presses his cybernetic finger against a small, concave placeholder near what must be the mouth of the device, and the screen flickers to life.

A man stares back at you. His hair is blond with the sides shaved, and the top long. Handsome, you think, with his full lips, and long nose. The light dusting of his beard around his cheeks and moustache—just as blond as his hair. He looks like the models that pose on the holographic glass of the boutiques downtown.

"Who is he?"

"Alex Keller. He's been missing for six days."

Six days.

Something ugly rots inside of you.

"And you think he's been here?"

"Last place he was."

"Couldn't be," you murmur, shaking your head. "I'm here almost every night, and I've never seen him before."

"Might not 'ave noticed him, bein' so distracted 'an all."

"Distracted?"

Your lift your chin, confusion etched into your furrowing brow.

When he catches your eye, he jerks his head toward the stage. "You work here, don't you?"

"Work—"

It never really occurred to you that he'd think you were a dancer. A working bot. An android. Pleasure Androids—a disgusting attempt at cheekiness from the makers; the slogan on the advertisement makes pledges and promises about the state of the art pleasure-bots designed to suit your needs, upgraded now with nanobots that change their shape, their anatomy, in the blink of an eye.

You exhale through your nose. It isn't the first time you've been mistaken as such, and maybe if you were, the debt would have some small indent in it by now, but—

"No, I'm not allowed." You murmur, shrugging. "I know the owner so I just come here sometimes to hang out. People watch." A wry smile twists at the corner of your lips. "You see all manner of things in a place like this. Kinda entertaining if it wasn't so—"

Disgusting.

"You know the owner?"

His words are careful. Concise.

"Do you?"

He shouldn't. He is many things, but stupid isn't one of them.

The man says nothing, and gives away little more than a slight incline of his shoulders. Neither agreement nor refusal. His prevarication worries you.

"Hey, who did you say you were again?"

He brings the cigar to his lips, eyes never wavering from yours, and draws in a mouthful of chemical fumes. It was that intense stare that drew you to him, but now that the weight of it is on you, you find yourself feeling like little more than a bug under a microscope.

His chest rumbles when he shifts, twin funnels of smoke flaring from his nostrils. It disperses into wisps, and quickly scatters when it meets the fur lining his jacket.

"I didn't," he mumbles, voice pinched in a low, airy growl tinged with smoke. More evocation.

"Well," you add, brows notching up in a pointed gesture for him to continue.

He doesn't, opting instead to bring the cigar back to his mouth. Ashes drop, landing in his umber beard.

He's messing with you. Drawing your discomfort out.

"Who are you?"

The demand comes out less forcefully than you intended, words trembling with your surmounting unease.

It would be all too in character for him to send someone to spy on you, to catch you unawares, and to feed the hungry with his secrets.

"Doesn't matter."

Your glare does little to away him. "I'm leaving—"

"I'm just lookin' for my friend."

"Like I said, he couldn't be here. I've been here every night this month. I would have seen him." Seeing the gnarled expression that slips over his brow, a broken anger tinged with equal parts frustration and, most breakingly of all, desperation, you add, if only to soften the blow: "I can ask around, maybe. See if the workers know anything."

"I've been," he rasps, words still bleeding with his frustration. "They don't know anything."

You huff, shaking your head. "Asking those kinda questions here is what makes people go missing in the first place. Is that what your friend did? Come poking around and—"

Balming one wound just to prick at it later. Your words, the bitter sting, get you a flash of teeth, bared canines in sharp indignation.

The man leans forward, eyes pelagic and fixed, unflinching, on you. It makes you squirm. Heat blooms under your cheeks. The rush of it makes you dizzy.

"And what makes you special, then?"

You shrug, and hope the tremble in your limbs goes unnoticed. "I get a free pass."

"Why?"

"It helps to know people."

"Like the owner."

"Yes," you murmur, voice laced with your hesitation. "Like him."

"Him, hmm?" His eyes narrow. "And his name wouldn't happen to be Vladimir Makarov, would it?"

"How—?" Then, hastily, you add: "No. The tech mogul? No. Why—why would—"

"Save it." He reaches into his breast pocket and draws out a sleek, black card. Cupping it in the palm of his hand, fingers curled over the edge, thumb braced against the side, he tilts the screen. Immediately, the black filmed surface under his thumb shivers, flickering into a shape. A logo.

The emblem makes your eyes widen. "Military police?"

He hums. When his thumb pulls away from the surface, it changes back to a blank, black rectangle. Void of any meaning. Any substance.

Your breath quickens when he slides it back into his pocket.

"Why are you—"

"Makarov's been naughty, hasn't he? The future Zakhaev promised is a bright one, isn't it? Better eyesight. Better sense of smell. New, indestructible limbs—" He rolls the knuckles of his cybernetic hand at you, appendages moving instantly. "Stop ageing. Stop getting sick. Everything that could kill us is no longer an issue, hmm? For a price, of course."

"Nothing in life is free—" the words are ripped from Imran's advertisement ages ago. Nothing in life is free, but sometimes a better tomorrow is worth the price of today.

"Yeah," he murmurs. "Just get a loan through the Four Horseman, hmm? Pay them back a paltry sum every month. Worry about the payment later—upgrade yourself now."

The new slogan. You try not to shiver under his abrasive, scorching stare.

"But," he continues, shrugging. "When you can't pay, is he the one who sends his henchmen after them? The ultranationalists. The ones that take back his tech through force and sell the parts on the black market. And—" his eyes harden. "The cycle repeats. People die, debts go unpaid, and yet—mysteriously enough, he grows richer. Now, why is that, mm? How can that be possible?"

"Makarov isn't connected to the Ultranationalists. He's—"

"A businessman? A pseudo-politician? A philanthropist just tryin' to make the world a better place, hmm?" He leans forward, eyes cutting into jagged ashlar. "Then why is the Horseman funding them?"

"He isn't. It must be some kind of mistake—"

"You say that like you know him. Know him personally."

"I don't—"

"Don't lie to me, love. Won't do you any good." He leans back, hand falling to the side of his glass. He taps out a strange rhythm with his index finger—the old tune of some forgotten song. Tap, tap, tap-tap, tap. "I heard about you."

His words are a strangled pressure around your throat. Heard about you. Impossible. No one has. No one ever does. You're as invisible as Makarov wants, followed around by his henchmen at a sizable distance. They never bother interacting with you. Never speak unless they have to.

You're a flea hiding in the soft coat of a millionaire. Unneeded. Unwanted. A burden.

Your circle mostly consists of people who frequent the underground. The black market where you can find almost anything for a price—even the age-old books about fairytales and fantastical adventures. Information, too, if you know what you ask for.

Your face has never shown up on a missing person bulletin. No one has ever asked about you.

(No one cares, no one knows—

—six days.

Three years.

It doesn't matter—)

In your crushing silence, the man's eyes narrow. There is no flash of victory in his gaze, but you scent the arousal of a predator stalking its weakened prey nevertheless.

"Heard 'bout your debt, too—" he tuts, a rasping coo that sounds how you imagine the bristled tongue of a big cat would feel shredding your skin. "He's the one who saved you, ain't he?"

It becomes too much. The pressure bubbles over.

All your meagre years of existence have taught you to quell the surge of fight or flight, to push it down and stand firm, stoic, amid the array of nefarious people who happened to cross your lonely path in the catacombs where they barter over lives, and makes deals with the devil for any number of precious commodities—even people. A person with a debt, you found, is worth significantly less than someone without. A truism you've heard hissed into your ears when you turned their offer of freedom down.

Handing the leash from one hand to another is hardly autonomous.

You know from these experiences that any sense of weakness or fear is blood in the water. A struggling fish on the verge of being eaten by the predators lured in by its futile struggle to stay alive.

In its effort to survive, it inadvertently signs its death warrant.

If you don't look like you belong, then you don't. A simple fact you've picked up from years of weaving in and out of Makarov's towering shadow.

It's easy to forge some sense of delusive confidence in the face of those people, the ones who clutch at your arms hard enough to leave an ache in your bones, but something about his composure, his gall, to approach you like this makes that carefully constructed mask crumble into broken pieces at your trembling feet.

His eyes, you think. They're not the flat, empty gaze of a predator sparking to life when a piece of meat is dangled in front of it, but something deadlier.

The assured placidity of a man who can play the long game; a hunter who is used to stalking his prey over long distances.

The look in his eyes says he can wait this out for as long as it takes.

Fight or flight. You've crushed the concept down to basal parts: a silly whim that will just get you killed. Fight and you'll be forced to contend with people who've been doing this a lot longer than you have. Flee and you'll never be allowed back inside.

You've never had any choice but to ride the high of adrenaline and paranoia out until they got bored with your vacant stoicism.

(Or—when in doubt—use your trump card of touch me again and do you have any idea what Makarov will do to you?)

Somehow, you know neither option will work on him.

And it itches under your skin. Hackles raising. Heart pulsing. Blood rushing with the heady cocktail of adrenaline.

You turn, ready to flee, but his hand lashes out through the shadows, catching your forearm in a tight grip.

"Look, love," he murmurs, words low, guttural, like he's speaking to a cornered animal. "This is bigger than you. Than me. Do you want that debt gone? To be free of 'im? Well, here's your chance."

A test. The information he knows is too much for any regular officer—even a military one.

"Makarov isn't like that."

There's a flash of something—disappointment, maybe; disgust—but it's gone in an instant. Hidden behind layers and layers of distance.

"Maybe not. But several of his companies showed up on someone's ledger. We know this person wasn't a partner in the Horseman. He wasn't one of the four. But he was collecting money from Makarov."

"It's probably through his charity fund."

"Don't you wanna know why your saviour is funnelling money to corrupt officials? Or why do people who can't pay for upgrades end up dead on the street? Stripped down like a piece of meat and sold for profit. Doesn't any of this concern you?"

"Makarov would never do that—he'd never stain his public image."

"He isn't the man you think he is. None of them are."

"Maybe you're not the man I thought you were. Maybe coming over here was a mistake."

An impasse. Uncrossable.

He's a rat, you think. A plant from Makarov to test your resolve. Your will.

The glare on your face hardens. Yuri must have told him your type. Must have let it slip the kind of man that seems to catch your interest. Broad shoulders, thick thighs. A tapered waist. Gruff, chiselled men with dirty hands, stained from hard work. Honest, good men.

Men who belong in fairy tales. Blacksmiths and forgers. Miners. Ironworkers. The kind who wants nothing in life but simplicity, a warm bed, and a hearty meal. Ones who stand up to injustices but would never, ever call themselves a hero.

A rough gentlemen that wouldn't even consider themselves as such.

Stupid. How stupid.

He was always too good to be true. You should have known better.

When the silence stretches on, pulled taut like a rubber band, he huffs. Shattering the icy tension with another roll of his massive shoulder.

"Here," he reaches into the folds of his jacket once more, and retrieves a new card. A chip. "If you ever change your mind, gimme a call."

Makarov is a smart man.

"I won't."

But he's raised you to be smarter.

Makarov is many things—a money-hungry monster included—but above all of that, he's a businessman with a reputation.

He's only one-fourth of a massive tech conglomerate that puts public relations and corporate profits over everything else—even personal gain. None of the heads makes any decisions without express permission from everyone who eats at the table. Doing otherwise would get you killed.

Have you ever heard the story of a hydra? That's what we are. Four horsemen. The heads might change but there will always be four.

To do something like this would put him at direct odds of everything the Horsemen, the Inner Circle, set forth to do. Risking it all to sell his own repossessed parts at a lower profit margin on the black market is absurd. Crazy.

He'll make more money on the interest each debt accumulates than he would having it paid off in full, or even wiped. It's an unspoken underline all the Horsemen profit from. Their own personal gain.

You can't see him losing that over a meagre payout in the black market.

And as a regular peruser of the market, you would have noticed him, or someone in his circle, down there.

(You know everyone down there.)

It's impossible.

And yet—

The run-in with the man rattles you still.

You're quick to deduce that he isn't a plant by Makarov. He'd never let one of his talk about him like that or accuse him of the kind of things that would bring the Horsemen together in a way that could only end with Makarov on trial.

It being Makarov is a gamble he'd never take.

But him not being on Makarov's payroll is equally risky. It's not exactly a secret that the Inner Circle runs around with shady groups—Ultranationalists., and Konni rogues being some of them—but nothing has ever been confirmed, and the Ultranationalists have never been loyal to anyone except their agenda.

People who tend to ask questions about the Horsemen are either added to the payroll or, if that doesn't work, silenced.

Military. They don't usually get involved in corporate affairs.

But you suppose a missing friend is enough to spur anyone on.

You should forget him. Should push him from your mind, and pretend he was just a figment of your imagination. Something that crawled from the foetid cesspit where hope rots, and stood in front of you offering sanctuary with hands that leaked pestilence down on the grungy floor of the club that bred and reared depravity.

What he was offering couldn't exist in the same space as that place.

But he knew you. Knew about your debt. The one thing you wanted more than anything else offered up in a chrome-plated palm. And—despite everything you've tried to erase it—the only group who'd have the ability to do so approaches you.

It's odd. This whole situation seems strange.

Offering up information on Makarov to the military in exchange for freedom. You know it isn't him. It can't be. The risks outweigh any potential money Makarov would make doing this. His life for a paltry sum when a single person's debt on their upgrades singlehandedly paid for several of his his penthouses in Al Mazrah.

Seems too good to be true, and you were taught to be wary of the hand that feeds you.

Logically, you know you should toss the chip away, and never deal with this again. Or, better yet, to hand it over to Makarov to deal with and bargain for a chunk to come from your debt.

If you were selfish, you would.

No.

If you weren't selfish, you would. But you are, so you don't. You don't because he didn't promise a chunk, he promised all. All of it. Gone. Erased. Voided. The balance on your head would be zero. Nothing. You'd be free of Makarov—a man who saved you only to imprison you in a gilded cage.

A man who is more enigma than you could ever begin to unravel.

Why he keeps you around on a short leash, content to let you weave in and out of his many assets as you please, only having to meet with him every few months in what feels like glorified check-ins to confirm you're still desperately seeking a way to sever the ties that are reinforced with steel.

The man is strange, but Makarov and his murky intentions for you are even more so.

It makes those needling questions rear again. Ones that can't help but wonder if Makarov keeps you around because you happen to be his greatest achievement: manufactured sentience.

After all, even the most sentient androids in the world know, fundamentally, that they are not humans. There is a categorical difference, and the idea of false humanity was deemed too cruel to bestow upon someone—android, cyborg, or otherwise—and so, telling you outright that your insides are an immaculately designed machine is not only illegal, but it's also the one thing he'll do anything to avoid—

"—a PR nightmare," he spits, words soaked in the same venom that leaks from his narrowed glare. You watch the implosion from your perch near the floor-to-ceiling window in his penthouse, eyes gazing impassively out at the technicolour city sprawling below. His voice carries through the room. "A fucking—"

Disaster.

In a stroke of unfortunate luck, someone in the local police department made a report on a man left for dead in the gritty downtown streets of the city—affectionately named Killhouse—after being stripped of all his implants with near-surgical precision.

No one ever reports on these specific cases because of how often they happen, and where. It's no secret the police keep a wide distance around the area that moonlights as a broken redlight district and the entrance to the black market. It's almost wholly under the thumb of the constantly warring Vanguards—the Hellhounds and the Tyrants are almost always in some type of civil dispute—and a very not-so-secret secret is that they pay the police to turn the other way.

This, then, is quite a deviation in how things are normally done.

His debt to Four Horseman Corp is made known to the world—an insurmountable number that never seems to decrease due to the exorbitant interest piled high.

It brings about uncomfortable questions, and the greedy outlets sink their claws into the morsel offered like starving rats scavenging for scraps. They plaster it everywhere until a discussion starts.

Why is interest so high?

The discourse surrounding the oligarchy on technology is not a new one by any means, but for the first time in a very long time, it doesn't feel like it's going to get swept away anytime soon. The launch of their new nanotechnology is halted until it dies down. Until the media circus has quieted enough not to let sales of a new product tank.

PR nightmare, indeed.

The timing is suspicious, but the cop who made the report is new enough that it doesn't raise too many eyebrows. Human error. A simple mistake.

You think back to the man, fingers idly running over the groove of the chip you told yourself you'd toss out nine times already, and wonder if it's connected.

Makarov's call wasn't too impromptu considering he regularly likes to check in, but he sent Anatoly instead of Yuri and something about the brutal man leering at you sets your teeth on edge.

His usual meetings mainly just consist of him lauding your neverending debt over your head, and reminding you he doesn't accept dirty money. And, of course, to gather names.

Your appearances at the White Horse are less about contemplating the depravity of the upper echelon, and assembling a list of men and women who visit, and what they purchase.

Makarov's greatest achievement—and his biggest spy.

"You hear anything?"

In the darkened glass, his reflection lifts his head from where it was bowed over a netpad, angry eyes skimming through the abundance of articles, and fixes themselves on you. Narrowing.

"Hear what?"

"What else?" He huffs. Wrong answer. "Anything about this when you were at the club."

You haven't been back since that night, offering excuses to your watchman, and glorified chauffeur as to why you couldn't go.

"No," you say and hate the way your mind immediately flashes back to that man. "Nothing really."

He stands up from his chair—throne, really—and lays his palms flat on the surface of his chrome-plated desk. It sparks to life under his fingertips, LED lights flaring through the wires embedded into the grain. A holographic menu in net blue pops up in front of him.

The glass inverts the image, but you could make out the familiar cage anywhere.

"You left your post for a while. Borodin said you slipped away from him."

It's not outright accusatory yet, but you catch the paper-thin wisps of suspicion in his tone all the same.

It doesn't surprise you when he follows it up with, "so, where'd you go?"

"I saw someone," you shrug. "Wanted to get a better look."

"Who was it?"

"I don't know." It's not a lie. Not the whole truth, either, and you think he senses that.

"It wouldn't happen to be a police officer, would it? This stupid shit—," he lifts his hand, sweeping it across the articles drifting by in the side of the screen before laying it over his brow. "—could end me. And the timing, too."

Words bubble in your throat. You don't know what compels you to speak them aloud—maybe the needle of humour weaving through the conflicting tangle of everything gnarling inside of your chest—but they tumble from your lips without any regard to who, exactly, you're speaking to.

"Maybe once you're gone, I won't have to worry about my debt anymore."

The hand rubbing his forehead stills.

You tense, teeth sinking into your tongue until you taste blood. Stupid.

"Is that what you think, kitten?" Slowly, he lifts his head, hand sliding down until it covers his jaw. His eyes are burning. "You don't owe a debt to me—you owe a debt to the Inner Circle. Not the Horsemen, not Zakhaev. But to us."

You turn from the window with a sharp jerk, eyes widening. Despair sinks its claws into your jugular.

"You're an asset. An investment. The technology used to save your life is unprecedented. Do you think we'll just let you go? Do you know how long it'll take to pay your debt off, kitten? Five hundred and thirty-six years—and you're barely paying off the interest as it is."

Makarov often has his lackeys do the intimation for him—Anatoly in particular—while he hides behind the mask of a charismatic innovator just looking to improve the world. It's rare he ever raises his voice, or his hand.

This, the picture of anger perched behind his chrome throne, is the closest to something true to his real self than you'd ever seen before. Anger. Bitterness. Contempt.

He moves slowly around the desk, and you feel every second of it like a blunt stab to your chest. Trepidation, fear.

You've become so complacent with what Makarov pretends to be that you forget who he really was.

When he finally reaches you, the storm cloud in his gaze clears into something like sadistic victory. Vindication.

He leans down, his chin brushing over your cheek.

"You better hope nothing happens to me. I'm the only reason you're not being made to work for us as well. You like your freedom, yes? Then I suggest you pray I stay alive, kitten."

You stare at the image on the screen, and try not to let yourself weep at the sight of it so bluntly looming before you.

A debt owed to the Inner Circle.

A contact promising payment in addition to employment to them. The handler of the current account is Vladimir Makarov.

Maybe it's naïvety, ignorance, but you've always assumed the loan was only to Makarov. He was the first person you saw when you woke up—the first real one, anyway—and something about him seemed almost too big for the small room you were housed in. Too surreal. Everything felt new and strange and familiar and old and comforting and—

And then he said:

You know how this works, don't you?

You didn't. Or maybe, once upon a time, you did, but everything inside of your head was scraped clean with a scaple until the walls were barren and empty. Void of any substance.

Who you were was a black hole. A vaccum.

Makarov was the one who filled the vacant space with purpose. With meaning.

And you hated him for it.

Made to pretend to be whatever he decided fit his needs; a puppet for his amusement.

He owned you.

Made you whole again.

In that, you just assumed that he was the one who footed the exorbitant bill to resuscitate you from whatever hell you clawed out of, narrowly avoiding the gnashing maw of death. It made sense.

And in many ways, you just assumed that he would die.

A corrupt CEO. They're rampant here. Heads roll all the time, and you were content with waiting it out until someone put the barrel of a gun to his forehead and told him his tyranny was up. Freedom drenched in the blood of your financier.

Fitting, isn't it?

You were pulled from the blood-soaked cobblestone, and given a second breath of life by his hands.

Born in blood.

(Born in blood. Died in blood. Born in blood. Freed.)

You slip the chip into your phone, breath held in your throat as the calling card loads.

It's archaic. No one uses these chips anymore except old people, and the government. Untraceable. It's good for a single contact number only. The sight of it makes you huff—a shaky bloom of mirth in your chest.

It feels out of place. You trample it down, hiding it behind a mask of indifference, nonchalance. The same veneer Makarov glues to his own.

(Something you'd rather not think about.)

The screen idles for a moment. No answer. A sham call. A fakeout. A—

He doesn't appear on the screen. It's blank. In the black surface, your sallow face stares back. Traitor.

"I was wonderin' when you'd call."

"You expected me to?"

"If you were smart, you would have."

"If I was actually smart, I wouldn't be calling you at all."

"Mm, I'm glad you did," he murmurs, voice tinny and thin through the speaker. "A debt that big won't just go away…"

It stings. You swallow it down. "Yeah. Guess you got that right."

"What's wrong?"

"Aw, do you care? That's sweet."

"I've been called many things, love. Sweet ain't one of them." He shifts. You hear the clink of his metal fingers tapping over the ancient phone in his hand. A surly old man with an old chip. You stifle a laugh. It's ridiculous. You're ridiculous. This whole thing is—

"—Important that we find the link between the missing parts and Makarov. It might lead us to Alex, and—"

"Huh?" You blink. "I never said I'd—"

"Go see what you can dig up for me. I need something—a paper trail. I can't get into the black market, but you can."

"How do you know what?"

"Know a bit about you, love."

"How?"

"You ain't the only one with friends in high places." Another shift. The grind of metal against metal. "Now, are you in? Or are you gonna try and pay this debt off on your own, hmm? How long will that take you? Few hundred years?"

"Makarov will kill me if I do this—"

"And how many people will be killed if you don't?"

You don't answer. Can't. That responsibility shouldn't be on your head.

He sighs. A rough huff of static through the line.

"If you want that debt gone, meet me at the location m'gonna send you. You called for a reason. Makarov can't touch you if you owe him nothing. Their ship is sinkin', love. You gonna go down with them? Be a prisoner your whole life? Or are you gonna be smart an' abandon ship while you still have the chance, because once I leave that place, m'not gonna answer again. You'll be on your own."

"I'll think about it."

"Make the smart choice, love."

He doesn't give you anything else. The line goes dead with a click. Silence. Unbearable. Stifling. It permeates in the air around you, buzzing like static. A disturbance in the airwaves. A rustle in the stagnant life you've been sloughing through for the last three years.

A moment later, your phone chimes. A map appears. Some remote bar on the outskirts of the city—the only place Makarov's influence doesn't reach.

Make the smart choice. It's your freedom or your head.

#captain john price x reader #john price x reader #captain price #john price #captain john price #captain price x you #captain john price x you #finally #she's here #and she is a behemoth #price cod #cod but make it Cyberpunk #cyberpunk au #cod au #cod cyberpunk #captain john price x cyberpunk au

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mustachrryluvr · 2 years

Text

Reward

Word Count: 5.0k

Warnings: smut, oral (m and f receiving), spanking, Daddy kink, slight degradation, praise

a/n: this is my first one shot so.. plz let me know what you think! (also i like never post on here so if this is all formatted weird… i’m sorry! i’m learning!)

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“Can I please have my reward now, then? I just want to please you. Make you feel good….You make me so happy, bunny,” she said as she sat back on her knees in front of him with the sweetest look of adoration adorning her soft facial features…

The one where Y/N is just absolutely horny for MSG Night 6 Harry…

— — — — —

Harry had just finished the sixth night of his scheduled 15 night residency at Madison Square Garden in New York City. Y/N hadn’t tagged along to this show because, as much as she would prefer to be able to give her unwavering attention and time to him all the time, she had some work she needed to focus on finishing before the day ended. She had gotten behind on some things at work since she had been following Harry to all his shows, so she needed to take a day to force herself to get things done that she had been putting off. Being able to do her job remotely was a blessing and a curse.

Y/N loved being able to work while simultaneously being able to travel the world with Harry, but she definitely got caught up in all the fun and wouldn’t care much about her responsibilities.

Harry had noticed that Y/N hadn’t been putting too much effort into getting her projects done for work, so he told her if she stayed home from the concert tonight to work (since there would be plenty more to attend), then he would reward her with a surprise after. NYC was one of Y/N’s favorite cities in the world. She had gotten to see a lot of places while traveling with Harry, but there had always been something about NYC that made her feel most herself.

The first time they ever visited the city together, Harry couldn’t get over the amount of happiness that radiated off of Y/N. He had never seen her more at peace, it was such a pure form of happiness, watching her walk around the city with a soft smile and big eyes.

So, knowing she would be a good girl and spend her day finishing up her work, Harry had already planned out the reward he was going to surprise Y/N with. One of the first things they had done together in the city was visit the One World Observatory deck. Y/N had visited New York once before and that was her most favorite place she had visited, so she was absolutely appalled when she learned Harry had never been in it.

“You’re kidding…right?”

“Why would I have a reason to lie to you about that?” Harry laughed. Simply gauging by the face Y/N was making, you would’ve thought Harry had just told her that he killed puppies in his spare time, not that he hadn’t been up on the One World Observatory deck.

“Harry. I promise. You have NOT experienced New York until you see it from there.”

“I’ve been up in the Empire State Building, it can’t be that much different of an experience, Y/N.”

“God, you have no idea! We are going. Today. No arguments about it,” she said with a stern look on her face, pointing at him (in all reality, she just looked like an angry kitten to Harry. Still adorable).

She had been right. He hadn’t experienced New York in that light until they made it to the highest point of the tower and looked out onto the city below. The view was beautiful, but being able to experience it with Y/N made all the difference for him.

The surprise he had planned for her was to go back to the observatory. They hadn’t gone back since that first trip, but he knew Y/N missed the feeling she got when she was above the city, and he missed the feeling he got when he saw her so happy. It was a special kind of happiness, and he dreamt of seeing her live that blissfully all the time.

Since Harry just finished up with a show and it was getting late in the night, he planned to take Y/N for her surprise tomorrow morning. He didn’t have a show for the next few days, so he figured they could take some time retracing the first steps they had ever taken in New York together without any strict tour schedule to follow.

However, when he returned to the hotel room, he quickly learned that Y/N expected her reward right then and there.

“Y/N? Lovie?”

As Harry made his way through the threshold of their hotel suite, he had expected to see Y/N curled up on the couch watching TV as she usually is at this time of night. Even if she was still working on her project, he still assumed she would be doing so in the living area as she had been when he left.

With a confused look on his face, he made his way to their bedroom. Since she wasn’t in the living room, he thought, maybe she tired herself out and will be snuggled up in bed. The thought made him smile softly. The simple idea of coming home to her in a warm bed relaxed his whole being. He couldn’t wait to get in there and cuddle his girl to sleep.

When he opened the door, he was confused again. This time his eyes shot up in surprise to find Y/N in the state she was… On the floor, naked, on her knees, hands in her lap, with a soft adoring look on her face.

Softly, he sat his bag down on the floor, closed the door behind him, and walked over to where Y/N was, joining her on the floor in front of her.

“What are you doing on the floor, bug?” Harry quietly asked, not wanting to startle her by being too loud. He brought his hand up and ever so gently touch her cheek which she immediately leaned into.

“Just waiting for you, H,” she responded just as quietly as him, still looking up at him with what he could tell was all the love in her heart. Now that he was this close to her, he could tell her eyes looked a little far away. Y/N wasn’t fully in subspace, but she definitely wasn’t in her normal headspace.

“Well,” he sighed, “I’m here now. Why don’t we get you off the floor now that I’m here? Then we can get all cozy in bed, how does that sound, love?” he said, still gently cradling her face, brushing his thumb along her cheek, trying to slowly bring her out of the floaty headspace she was in.

Y/N wasn’t usually one to enter any form of subspace without being provoked by him, so he just wanted to make sure she was safe since she had gotten this way without him there.

As he finished his sentence, Y/N’s face dropped into a pout.

“No, bunny! I’ve been a good girl like you told me to be and got all my work done,” she said quickly, with a sense of urgency in her voice. “You said if I was good, I would get a reward, right?” She tightly and hurriedly grabbed onto the arm that he had brought up to her cheek, almost as if she was afraid he would break away from her and leave.

She started to get up from her place on the floor in front of him, “I promise you I got everything done, I was such a good girl for you. Let me get my computer and I’ll sho-”

“Lovie, lovie,” Harry said, cutting her off and grabbing her cheeks with both his hands to keep her still. “I trust you, I swear I do. I know you were a good girl.”

“You do?” she asked with genuine concern.

“Of course I do,” he said with a soft smile. “You’re always such a good girl for me, that's why I already had your reward all planned out before I even brought the idea up to you,” he said gently, hoping to calm her brain back down and keep it from going into panic mode.

“Can I please have my reward now, then? I just want to please you,” she contently sighed. “Make you feel good….You make me so happy, bunny,” she said as she sat back on her knees in front of him with the sweetest look of adoration adorning her soft facial features, a great contrast to the worry she was showing on her face just mere moments ago.

Harry wasn’t stupid. He could tell that the type of reward she had been expecting wasn’t as innocent as the one he actually had planned. He wasn’t going to take advantage of her being unaware of what the real reward was and give her the reward she thinks he was about to give her. So he chose to be honest with her, and allow her to make the decisions about how the rest of their night would play out.

“Can I be honest with you, bug?”

“Always,” she responded, with a curious look in her eye.

He loved how no matter what headspace she was in, she always gave him her most undivided attention.

“The reward I have planned for you is actually something that we have to do tomorrow. It’s a surprise, but I planned for us to go somewhere. It isn’t something we can do tonight, though,” he tried to keep his explanation as simple as possible in hopes of not giving too much away about what they could possibly be doing tomorrow.

Her whole being deflated following his words.

“So, I can’t make you feel good tonight? Since that wasn’t what you planned?”

“That isn’t something I had planned, but if that’s something you still want to do tonight, then we can,” he stated, trying to make it clear to her that she was in complete control of the situation. He removed his hands from her cheeks and sat them in her lap with hers. Her hands immediately moving to play with his fingers.

She looked down at their conjoined hands as she spoke, “I think I would like that.”

He moved one hand in order to gently grasp her face and tilt it up so he could see her eyes. “You think, or you know? I need you to be sure, Y/N. Whatever you want to do, we will.”

She firmly nodded her head and smiled, “I know that I would like that. I’ve missed you today.”

He smiled back at her, “I’ve missed you too.” He paused. “Would it be okay if I made you feel good tonight, too, love?” He wanted her full consent before they moved forward, considering she had only expressed how she wanted to make him feel good.

Y/N was very much a giver when it came to their sex life. She worshiped every inch of his body with absolutely no shame, she loved every piece of him so completely. Sometimes there were days when she wouldn’t want to be touched, but she would beg and beg to be able to touch him in any way. As long as Harry was satisfied, so was she. So, Harry just wanted to see what exactly she was feeling today.

“That would definitely be okay, bun,” she responded confidently, but with a contrasting shy smile appearing on her face after the words had slipped out.

He leaned forward and nipped at her bottom lip which made her giggle, and in turn, made him laugh and smile even harder.

“Well, why don’t I get you off this uncomfortable floor since we have a perfectly good bed to take advantage of, hmm?” he said, already moving to stand and hooking his arms under hers to pick her up with him.

He stood with his arms wrapped around her, and then carefully placed her on the edge of their bed. He stayed standing in front of her, hands placed on the bed next to her thighs as he looked at her with an excited look in his eyes. She peered back into him with equal excitement and curiosity for what was to come.

He chucked, dropped his head forward, and shook it before gazing back at her face. “What got you all worked up tonight, my love? All floaty without me even being here?” He was genuinely curious about what had brought this on for her, he couldn’t imagine it was just completely random.

A blush rushed up through Y/N’s cheeks as she moved her stare from his intense eyes down to her less interesting hands that were laid in her lap. “I just…I saw some photos and videos of the show tonight…” She shyly glanced back up at him. With a small nod of encouragement to continue talking to him, Y/N continued, “Your outfit looked really pretty. Made you look extra extra pretty tonight.” She had focused her eyes on his t-shirt covered chest that was before her, thinking back to how it looked with only that denim vest to give his body any form of coverage.

Harry stood up from his leaned position over her, letting his hand rest on his hips. “You thought I looked pretty tonight, love?” he asked, testing to see if she would remember to use her words. He was slowly but surely allowing himself to enter his dominant headspace. Y/N didn’t seem to be in any rush, so he wanted to take his time and work his way up to complete dominance so he wouldn’t make her feel small or inferior. After all, no matter how dominant he portrayed himself to be, Y/N knew that she was the one with complete control of any situation they found themselves in.

To his surprise, she accompanied her excited nod and spoke up, “Always, H. You always are pretty…but that outfit tonight just enhanced you in a way I’d never seen before.”

With a smirk on his face and his eyebrows slightly raised, he couldn’t help but feel proud of how his girl didn’t hesitate to use her words and told him what she was thinking. It had taken some time to get there, Y/N used to be very shy when it came to their intimate moments (and sometimes still is), but they had worked really hard to try and overcome that in order to have complete openness and to feel safe with one another.

“Thank you for using your words to tell me that, angel. I’m proud of you,” he praised, wanting her to know that her speaking up didn’t go unnoticed.

“Now, can you tell me what it was about the outfit that made me so pretty?”

Y/A paused before answering, taking a look up and down Harry’s body. “Can I show you instead?” she asked, reaching her hounds out to lightly grasp the bottom of his t-shirt.

Taking her hint, Harry removed his shirt and threw it on the floor next to him before responding, “You can do whatever you would like to do, love.”

Since he was still standing tall in front of her as she sat on the bed, Y/N’s face was even with the butterfly tattoo that adorned his torso above his belly button. Leaning forward she placed a soft, gentle kiss on his skin, watching as the goosebumps scattered across his skin. Keeping her face near his body, she tilted her head slightly to look up at him. “That vest put all the attention right…here,” she said as she traced one of her fingers from his collar bone down to where she had placed a kiss right above his belly button. “It just all reminded me how much I adore you, just want to make you happy,” she said in a sultry tone looking back up into his eyes before she lowered her head to place a kiss below his belly button.

Harry’s mouth parted at her words and her actions, slowing his breathing as his heart rate picked up. He brings a hand up to the back of Y/N’s head and keeps her close to the skin of his torso.

“You always make me happy.”

“Maybe so, but let me make you happier… let me make you feel good, Daddy,” she said with a slight smirk and a look in her eye, telling him that she was fully immersed in the situation and was ready to pick up the pace.

Harry closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath before looking back at her, “And how would you like to do that, baby, hmm? Got anything specific ideas floating around in this head of yours?” he asked as he bent down to place a kiss on the top of her forehead and placed his hand cradled under her jaw.

Instead of responding right away, Y/N reached her hands up to the waistband of Harry’s sweatpants in a silent plea to take them off. He nodded, “Go ahead, love, do whatever you would like to me.”

With that, she swiftly removed Harry’s sweats and underwear and discarded them with his shirt.

Harry grabbed his shaft and gave himself a few pumps to ensure he was rock solid.

“Where would you like me, love? I know you’re dying for a taste,” he said, looking down at her. Her gaze was locked on his cock, it was taking everything in her to keep herself from pouncing on him. With a brief glance at his face, she asked, “Would you be okay lying on the bed? Keep us both comfy, spent too much time on the floor already.” She giggled as she finished speaking, just now noticing that her knees were actually really red from the time she had spent on the floor waiting for Harry. “Of course that's okay,” Harry said, moving to climb onto the bed.

Harry sat up with the headboard as Y/N crawled her way to sit in between his legs. Without even thinking, she bent over to press a soft kiss to the shaft of Harry’s cock.

“Eh eh eh, did you ask if you could touch?” Harry asked, with an eyebrow raised as he pulled Y/N back from his body.

She pouted and shook her head, “No, I’m sorry. I-I just got excited.” She paused, “Can I please touch you now, Daddy?”

“That’s my precious, good girl,” he responded, “It’s okay to be excited, go ahead.” He leaned back on the pillows he propped up against the headboard behind him and waited to see what she had in store for him today. Some days Y/N is soft and slow with him, but other days she goes right in for it. So, Harry was always excited to see what path she chose as he was going to be very happy with either option.

As Y/N gently wrapped her hand around him, he thought she was taking the soft and slow route and relaxed his body into the bed and closed his eyes, waiting to enjoy his time with his girl softly sucking on him. But when Y/N licked a long, wet stripe up the side of his cock, roughly spitting on the tip, and then taking him in her wet mouth, he knew soft and slow was out of the equation.

The sudden feeling cause Harry to let out a guttural moan, “F-fuuuuck, Y/N.” He panted, screwing his eyes shut as she hummed around him, adding to the pleasure coursing through him.

He opened his eyes the little he could and about came the second he saw Y/N’s face. She had her eyes closed, bobbing her head up and down his cock, continuously swirling her tongue around the tip. She was absolutely devouring him. Hungry for him as if this would be her last meal ever.

Focusing on his breathing in order to keep himself from coming too quickly, Harry moved one of his hands to pull Y/N’s hair from her face so he could have a better view of how good his girl was being to him.

“So so good for me, angel. Al-always so good,” he panted out. “Gonna come so hard down that tiny little throat of yours.” Y/N moaned around him at his words. “Hmmmmm,” he hummed out. “You like that, huh? You’re just a little cockslut for Daddy, fuck.. that’s all you ar- shit sh-shit SHIT!” he stammered out as Y/N reached up to play with his balls.

She lifted her head up from his cock, making eye contact with him while spit stringed from her mouth. She was panting, catching her breath as she continued to play with his balls in her hand. Harry looked back at her with his jaw slacked and eyes heavy. She giggled at the state he was in as she moved her hand back from his balls to his shaft, as her other hand softly stoked up his leg trying to ground him a little. “Tastes so good, Daddy. I love you like this so much,” she hummed.

“I love how easily you get me like this love,” he responded while throwing his head back as she continued to stroke up and down his cock with her hand.

Once she felt like she had caught her breath enough, she ducked down and brought her lips to suction around his balls.

“FUUUCK!” Harry screams out in a moan. She popped her mouth off of him, noticing that he was on the edge of an orgasm and desperately wanted to make sure he did so in her mouth.

“Please Daddy, give me all of it. I want your come dripping down my throat so bad,” she whined before she replaced her hand that was gliding up and down his cock with her mouth. She pushed her head as far down as she could, feeling her nose brush against the sparse hairs at the base of his cock.

“Just like that,” Harry rushed out, lightly adding some pressure to the back of her head to feel her throat contract around him just a bit more. “God, Y/N. You’re so good for Daddy…sh-shit fuck I’m coming bab-Fuck!” he yelled and squeezed his eyes shut as he felt his orgasm rush over him.

Y/N hummed in satisfaction around his cock as she felt his come shoot in ribbons down her throat. Greedily, she kept sucking, trying to milk every last drop out of Harry.

“Babe, baby, fuck,” Harry lazily spoke, trying to get Y/N’s attention as he was becoming too sensitive for her to keep sucking on him. As he lifted her head off of him, she whined in protest and pouted towards him. “Too much, baby. I love the way you love on me, but just a bit sensitive right now,” Harry said as he tried to catch his breath, feeling a wave of calmness crash over his whole body.

As much as Y/N wished to keep sucking on Harry, she never wanted to hurt him. She would keep his cock safe in her mouth all day if he would let her.

As Harry continued to catch his breath, Y/N leaned up and planted a gentle kiss to his parted lips. Still panting, Harry suddenly slid down to be lying completely flat on the bed and grasped Y/N’s hips to bring her center directly above his head.

A squeal and a giggle emerged from her by the sudden movements, but quickly settled in her place above him gripping on to the headboard in front of her.

Harry let out a deep groan at the sight of her center in front of him. “This fucking pussy is all mine, right?” he asked, using one hand to hold onto her hip and the other to give a harsh slap to her ass. She jerked forward at the feeling, mumbling a “shit” below he breath.

“Yes, Daddy. All yours. Always yours.”

She looked down at him below her and saw the fire burning in his eyes before he responded, “Forever my pussy to use.”

And with that, he immediately began devouring her.

Y/N was so wet from getting herself so worked up while waiting for and sucking off Harry, so he was already drowning and moaning at the feeling.

“Fuckin’ hell, love. Soaking me already, so goood to me,” he said, his voice slurred as if he was drunk on her. He softly nipped at her outer labia and gave her ass another hit, eliciting a scream to erupt from her.

“O-oh God, Daddy, please please keep going.”

Y/N was holding on to the headboard with so much strength that her nails were digging divots into the wood. Harry never was one to hold back when it came to eating her out, and today was definitely no different. If anything, he was going at her like a man starved for 30 years.

She began rocking her hips against his face as he continued swirling his tongue around her clit. He would dip down and place his tonuge at her entrance which would cause his nose to poke against her clit, creating a wave of immense pleasure continuously flow through her.

“Yeah… tha-thats so so good…good Dadd-OH,” she breathlessly spoke until she was cut off by his fingers slipping up to enter her. His two fingers penetrated into her roughly, not giving her anytime to adjust. She was so turned on though, that she could barely feel a stretch, just a wave of more pleasure.

Harry could tell she wasn’t going to last much longer by the way she was completely soaking his face, so he wasn’t shocked that after just a few hits of his fingers against her g-spot she was coming undone on top of him.

Y/N’s orgasm washed over her so suddenly that she didn’t even have time to get a scream out. Her mouth was open in a silent scream with her eyes closed, as her body convulsed above Harry’s mouth that was delicately working her through her intense orgasm.

She finally was able to take a deep breath, and basically collapsed off Harry’s face onto the bed beside him. With her body still shaking and her eyes still closed, Harry quickly moved her into a comfortable position onto the bed and cradled her to his chest, rubbing his hands against any skin he could touch in order to ground her a bit.

“You’re okay, angel. Breathe for me, okay? You did so good for me,” he continued to whisper reassurances in her ear, hoping that would start to clear her mind some of the fogginess that was left from her orgasm. As her breathing began to settle, she snuggled herself closer to Harry’s chest. “There ya go, lovie. Just relax.”

After a few minutes, Y/N finally looked up at Harry with sleepy eyes and a small smile. He smiled back and leaned down to press a gentle kiss to her lips.

“Hi again, bug. How are you feeling?” he asked her, still continuing to rub his hands up and down her body.

“Hi, H. Tired,” was all she was able to mumble out before closing her eyes again.

Harry smiled and chuckled, knowing she would be completely useless for the rest of the night as that orgasm took everything out of her.

He glanced at the clock, seeing as it was nearing 2am since he hadn’t even gotten back to the hotel before midnight. Looks like he wasn’t getting his 10 hours of sleep tonight. Y/N always called him an old man for going to bed early to ensure he gets a good nights rest, but she also admires how much he tries to care for himself and his body while touring.

With that, Harry got up to retrieve a wash cloth to clean Y/N up before getting back into bed to cuddle her to sleep.

Before he could doze off, Harry heard his phone go off from his bag that he had dropped by the bedroom door when he arrived. He wasn’t sure who would be messaging him this last at night, but decided to check just in case it was an emergency.

Once he grabbed his phone from his back and sat back on the bed to see what the message was, he couldn’t help but let out a laugh as he read it.

Harry Lambert: Sorry. I know its late, but I’m working on some new ideas for the added shows… any ideas you want me to incorporate? Xx

And Harry had the perfect response…

Harry Styles: Definitely more vests. Thanks Lamb xx H

— — —

“Harry, take this fucking blindfold off of me or I will casterate you.”

“That is an empty threat and you know it,” Harry responded before he whispered for only her to hear, “You’re too much of a cockslut.”

To which Y/N promptly hit Harry’s chest in response while saying through her teeth, “Shut up.”

“Okay, okay, you can take off the blindfold now.”

Y/N ripped off her blindfold ready to scold Harry for making her wear it, but before she could, she saw the view infront of her.

Absolutely shocked by the sight of New York, without looking at Harry she said, “Wh-why are we here?”

“Told you I had a reward planned for you, bug.”

She moved to look at Harry, with a shine in her eyes as if she was about to cry. “You make me so happy, bunny.” She smiled at him as he pulled her infornt of him and looked out onto the city together.

— — — — —

AHHHHHH omg this was the first blurb/smut/one shot (whatever you want to call it) i’ve EVER written but I had so much fun doing it.

I saw Harry’s outfit at the MSG N6 show and just…. couldn’t help myself.

Anyway! Enjoy!

also that photo of NYC is mine from when i went to the One World Trade Observatory deck 🤭🤭

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hrodvitnon · 3 months

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Woe! Another SIGNALIS fic preview be upon ye!

---

"Noooo," Ariane whines.

"You don't have to do it right this second, but it does need to get done."

"I don't wanna."

"Not right now, I said. Also, it is your turn."

"I'm doing a thing."

"Okay, but consider: it's still your turn."

"Okay, but consider this, and you may take it as an order, LSTR-512..." Ariane stands at her full height as imperiously as possible even with Elster half a head taller than her, fists haughtily planting themselves at her hips in a show of establishing dominance.

The scout officer squares her shoulders, puffs her chest out and looks her Replika subordinate in the eye, stating with all the authority her position affords, "Bite me." She tops it off with a self-satisfied lift of her eyebrows, an unspoken 'whatcha gonna do about it?' hanging in the air.

Elster stares at her for all of three seconds, long enough for one to reach multiple ideas of what she will, in fact, do about it. Repeatedly prod at Ariane's defenses over how it's her turn and it wouldn't be fair for Elster to do the dishes twice in a row, simply stand silently in a staring contest until Ariane gives up, or hoist the woman over her shoulders and carry her kicking and screaming to the appliance in need of emptying. What Scout Officer Ariane Yeong does not consider is the etymology of her Replika's namesake and how that will unexpectedly be made manifest.

Elster means magpie. Magpies are corvids, like ravens and crows. Corvids are intelligent, resourceful, and mischievous.

The instant those blue eyes narrow fractionally, the corners of her mouth ever so slightly curving upwards, Ariane realizes her mistake.

Elster lunges forward with teeth bared to snap at Ariane's neck. The petite Gestalt shrieks and dodges out of the way; Elster clearly doesn't mean to actually bite her, but the suddenness of it has her heart hammering and a breathy, startled laugh bubbles out of her. Elster locks eyes with her, crouched slightly like a predator about to spring an ambush.

"You wouldn't dare!" Ariane gasps.

"Just following orders," Elster quips and clicks her teeth.

Ariane eyes the door just behind Elster and feigns a step to the right, the Replika copying her movements. Now she rushes to the left, ducking over Elster's grabbing arms and makes a break for it, smacking the door panel so escape opens itself to her. Metallic hooves stomp after her and Ariane bursts into laughter, skidding right towards the ladder and sliding down it to lower deck with a dogged technician bolting after her. Oh, this is new! This is exciting! She rushes for the stern observatory, looks behind her and Elster is scurrying low to the floor, invoking a schlocky monster flick they'd riffed to hell and back the other cycle, eliciting more cackling as the chase goes on. Ariane should be a pain in Elster's ass more often if she has this to look forward to!

The plan is to use the chairs in observation to place a barrier between them so she can double back in search of a hiding place, but Ariane has never been athletically inclined and she's being hunted down by a scouting Replika. The observatory door only barely opens before she's caught, strong arms locking around her middle and pulling her off the floor, Elster barking out a victorious laugh. Ariane laughs with her, feet kicking and only halfheartedly trying to squirm away.

"Okay, okay! Mercy! I'll do the—"

The word dishes is just on the tip of her tongue when she feels Elster's teeth on her neck.

Ariane suddenly chokes into a gasp that morphs into something else. She freezes, face burning, sucking her lips between her teeth. Elster locks into place, her jaws releasing the spot where she'd nipped pale skin. Ariane musters the bravery to look over and sees their faces close together, close enough to touch. Elster's eyes wide, a flush growing on her face. She didn't know Replikas could blush. If this were a scene in her books, this would be the prelude to a heated kiss. Ariane glances down at Elster's lips, recalls an indirect kiss from some time ago, and licks her own; Elster leans in a fraction of an inch, eyes half-lidded. Ariane holds her breath. She turns her head just so.

#signalis #preview

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vacationguidesblog · 11 months

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urlocallesbiabs-reblog-sideblog · 1 year

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so, i remember seeing a red dwarf tumblr post about how if you leave your universe, it's almost impossible to go back, because there's trillions upon trillions of them, and every minute decision branches off a new one

so what if our original rimmer spent maybe a few months genuinely being ace and enjoying the hero status, then decided it's too dangerous and scary and tiresome and wanted to go home, and spent the entirety of those nine years (between s7 and s9) looking for his home universe?

and he kept saving people along the way of course, ace duty is ace duty (half of those heroic acts were accidents anyway), but his heart wasn't in it anymore; he's found many a universe where there were still people, where he could theoretically fit in and settle and live as close to a normal life as he could hope for, but he could never stay for long, he longed for *his* home, for lister, *his* lister

and wise people told him "you'll never get there. there are too many universes, and every day that you wake up and make a choice to continue looking for home, that choice creates a new one, setting you back. you're dooming yourself.", and he answered "shut up, you stupid goit, you don't get it! get smegged to hell!"

and i imagine a scene:

it's close to the end of the 9 year gap, kochanski's already gone, lister's Not Doing Well, and it's another monster-of-the-week life-or-death situation aboard the red dwarf, a particularly nasty one: all is shit, end is near, how will our heroes get out of *this one!* this is probably it! this is it! they're all gonna smegging die! and then outta nowhere ace pops out, hair billowing in the air and all, shoots some bullets that bullshitly ricochet and perform miracles, and saves the day

after that he asks to spend the night there, because even heroes need to sleep a bit, and of course he's welcome!!

lister doesn't quite know how to approach the subject, so he goes for subtle bordering on undecipherable: asks how long has it been since this ace got the flame passed on to him? what was it like? ace deflects with a charming non-answer and a fun adventure story, and lister thinks well, that's not him, then. must be a new one. that means that his rimmer passed on the flame, that he... died.

lister doesn't know how to process the idea, so he doesn't.

he tries to stick around and listen to the stories that's gotten kryten (and even cat, a little bit!) enthralled, but quickly grows bored and goes off to wander the ship and entertain himself on his own. at some point few hours later, he notices ace out and about as well, measuring doorways with tape, comparing wall paint with color swatches, counting the rooms and making notes in his little notebook; ace doesn't notice him. kinda sketchy behaviour, lister thinks, but doesn't confront him just yet. who knows, maybe the guy just went a little bit space crazy, maybe he's preparing for some impending disaster; would be rude to accuse him of nothing, wouldn't it?

as lister returns to his quarters in the evening, he sees ace briskily walking out from about the same corridor that lister is headed to, throwing him a shining, but somewhat strained smile; ace is going to the room he's claimed for the night, which is on the officer's deck, literally on the other side of the ship (makes sense to lister that he doesn't share the room with him, since this isn't really his bunkmate. smeg knows him, maybe in his universe he actually was an officer and slept alone, not like lister cares). this feels *really* sketchy, but none of lister's things seem to have been messed with on closer inspection, so he can't really prove shit. he feels kind of paranoid, but also tired, and decides he'll talk to ace in the morning.

lister sleeps badly and fitfully, and wakes up in the middle of the night. he can't fall asleep again, and decides to go and grab a bite; maybe visit krissie in the observatory, watch stars together, have some time for himself.

the lights are on in the drive room. ace is there, talking to– *interrogating* holly and kryten, swiveling on a chair back and forth to face either of them, whisper-barking rapid-fire questions; lister is Alarmed (what is this? mutiny? a hostage situation? a threat?), so naturally he hides and eavesdrops.

ace runs them through a bunch of questions that vary wildly in immediately obvious importance, seemingly nonsensical (what fuel does this ship run on? when did the leak happen? who was assigned to fix it? how many irradiated haggies were in the ship's hold at the moment of disaster? has lister ever passed an officer's exam? on what day and what ship did they find kryten? and so on and so forth), growing more and more agitated and focused, determination so passionate it's almost angry. at last, he takes a deep breath, clenches fists, and says "now, i did notice this ship's crew lacks a usual, i'd say indespensable member, namely one arnold judas rimmer. where, pray tell, did you put the bugger?"

"arnold died in 3,002,386 from a vending machine related incident, arnold," says holly.

ace's face falls, and he laughs like someone died. "ah, of course it's like that, of course. it's always like that. well, good chat, gentlemen, thank you for humoring me." he gets up, even though it obvious his legs are weak.

noticing his distress at the information, kryten hurries to clarify, "it was the second one, though! the first one died a few months before that!"

ace falls back into the chair. "what do you *mean* the second one?!"

"the one my nanobots ressurected!" kryten clarifies with mostly pride, partially guilt.

"what smegging nanobots? what on io has happened here?" ace rimmer has to forcibly hold his horses, pulling a palm down his face. "no, forget it, doesn't matter, not right now. the other one, the first one — how did *he* die?"

"well, physically it was the cadmium 2 leak in 2181" holly helpfully explains. ace rimmer makes a dying groan. "but his hologram form was destroyed by an escaped knight from an AR camelot game."

the man perks up. "was me — well no, not exactly me, but — ugh, was ace rimmer there?.."

they confirm that yes, even though he left soon after. rimmer goes slack in his chair and puts a hand over his eyes. "so this is it?" he whispers. "so many years, and... this is it. i'm here. i can't believe it."

after a minute in weird silence, he gets up and staggers out.

lister's a few paces down the corridor, having been unsettled by the exhange and made the decision to leave.

rimmer calls out to him, loudly, with intense gravitas, "lister!"

"rimmer," he responds, shocked and disbeliving, eyes open.

"lister!" he exclaims urgently, desperately.

"you're my rimmer, aren't ya," lister states a question, incredulous.

"of course i'm yours, you stupid git!" rimmer cries out and lunges at him, crushing him in a hug. "you gimboid, you imbecile, you smeg for brains smeghead," he chatters on, out of breath, cradling him.

"i've missed ya," lister sobs. rimmer doesn’t manage to respond, only hugs him even harder.

(rimmer didn’t want to throw himself at the guy until he'd made sure it's *his* guy, didn't want to make himself vulnerable only to later make a fool of himself; too many times he let himself hope and get drunk on that hope and then had his stupid heart broken by some tiny little thing being off, inviting a flood of other little things, suddenly finding himself in an embrace with a stranger wearing his best friend's face. he just couldn't bear it anymore, not again. he needed to make sure first.)

however, this headcanon poses a problem of reconciling this with late series rimmer claiming to have saved red dwarf from the corrosive virus back then. because if our rimmer only returned during the 9 year gap (closer to end of it), he couldn't have been there at the end of s8, right?

to which i propose this: the alternative ending to "only the young" is canon, and it was nanobot rimmer who saved (or rather tried to save) the day; then he was killed by a rouge vending machine. they couldn't bring him back as a hologram though, because the holo-suite was heavily damaged by the corrosion virus and they didn't have the intricate spare parts needed to fix it. so, his memory disk stayed unused, carefully kept in the hopes of someday fixing the holo-suite (never found a suitable derelict though, not with their shit luck). then our rimmer came along, learned of the entire situation, fixed the suite using details taken from wildfire, and asked holly to merge the info from this disc onto his (because for smeg's sake, it's at least 1 year out of those hellish 9 that he can remember having spent home; he can Not pass it up). the merge was successful, but majorly jittered his vibes (since he remembered two different versions of being 32, and in one of them lister was 8 years older than in the other, and he became aware that in the same year as he was 32 for the second time he also was 40 and in another universe) and gave him lifelong memory issues. he's still happy as a clam about the result, though!

that's why other's disagree when he claims having saved the day back then — he figures that if he has that guy's memories, he *is* that guy, because that's how holograms work, but others want to argue that the alive nanobot rimmer technically wasn't exactly him; you Don't wanna be there for all of the smeg-throwing that occurs during the argument.

it all could be a fake episode (or maybe a fake two-episode special), where the first half's main gag/storyline would be lister slowly growing convinced that ace is actually evil and is in the process of brewing some Sinister Plans, and the second would be about rimmer going peculiar from the merge and randomly glitching between various remembered stages of his life (thinking he's still ace and this is isn't his lister; thinking he's nanobot rimmer and wondering what happened to the crew; a throwback to an early episode or two; thinking he's a fresh hopeful enlist on red dwarf [kinda painful in a hindsight way, but also pathetic and hilarious]; thinking he's a small child [very silly and funny, mostly cute even if a bit weird because that's a grown man's body, also an epic Rimmer Trauma Lore moment as usual]; etc), to the point that lister worries they've smegging broken him and he'll never be alright, only for him to finally cope and appear sane, only to reveal last second that parts of his memory are still kinda jumbled.

i'd call that fake episode:

"H Stands For Home"

and i imagine a scene from the second half:

rimmer sees the destroyed holo-suite (god, i really can't leave you bastards alone even for a day, let alone a decade), and finds the memory disc for the other him (wait, what is this? i clearly remember taking mine with me when i left...), and gets filled in on the whole nanobots, ressurected rimmer, corrosive virus debacle (he needs to sit down.)

naturally, he decides to fix the hologram-projecting hardware (obvious turn of events) and merge the discs' data together (man, what??)

he pops out, promises to be back in a jiffie, and returns from the hangar with a bunch of circut boards, unconneted wires and the likes, immediately getting to work

"whatcha doing?" lister asks, clearly entertained but also genuinely curious

"having a smegging picnic, what does it look like?!"

"...can you fix it, though?"

"i've serviced my own ship for a decade straight, i've prevented all kinds of disasters on dozens of red dwarves, i've saved countless city-states from technological ruin, of course i'm perfectly capable of fixing this ship's holo-suite!" (this very moment, he connects something wrong and gets a shower of sparkles right to his face, which startles him and causes him to bang his head rather hard against an open latch)

when lister's done laughing, he asks "where on smeg did you even get the details? i've meant to patch it up all these years, but just... never could find 'em." (here his voice voice grows distant and sad; he had lost rimmer *twice* in one year, and it was just unfair. it just hurt.)

"good ol' baby racehorse wildfire," rimmer slaps one of the circuit boards with pride; something falls off of it. "presume it got the upgrade sometime since the original ace kicked the bucket; something needs to keep all of us holograms going."

"wait, you tore these from your ship?"

"what, was i supposed to pull them out of my arse?" rimmer is getting annoyed by the pointless conversation

"it's just... how will ya fly it, then?"

"it's still perfectly spaceworthy, i'll let you know!" rimmer preens. "sure, no more having my arse fall asleep after one week straight in the cockpit, hauling vaccine to pluto or some such (would not recommend), but i can still give it a good run as long as my lightbee's got charge! not all that different from our other off-the-ship missions — now what are you, stupid?"

"you won't be able to travel for long," lister clarifies apprehensively. "you won't be able to have your... space smeg adventure. you won't be ace."

rimmer looks up at him like he's crazy. "of course i won't be ace." he gets up, walks weirdly close to lister. "i'm not leaving. what — what did you think this was? that i'd spent all these years looking for you, for this dimension, only to have some tea and smeg right back off?!"

"...i don't know what i thought," lister admits, half-laughing and weirdly upset and relieved.

rimmer gripes him by the shoulders very, very hard. "i'm not leaving. never."

also, he wears his hair in the classic long and free ace style until the proper Reunion, then as soon as he fixes the holo-suite and hookes his projection to red dwarf he asks holly to chop it all off (he wanted to do that immediately after confirming that this is his home universe, but he was still connected to wildfire's holo-hardware and the ship's ai wouldn't let him bc ouughhh houghhh ace but your hair is So Beautiful, i simply Can Not); between the two points, he wore a tight neat ponytail to keep all his golden locks out of his smegging face, and he looked Hot doing it

***

and another thought, that isn't directly connected to this imaginary two-episode special, but still has to do with rimmer, lister, and the 9 years gap:

(though i'm not sure if it's canon to my personal headcanonverse [...i'm not even sure i've got a personal headcanonverse here. i love the idea of them getting together in early series when he's still soft-light, or later when he's hard-light and they can touch, or after the reunion, or post-tpl; too many possibilities!] because i feel like it gets rimmer off the hook of his internalized homophobia way too easy, but anyway, just imagine.)

it's rimmer's ace years, and it's not only beautiful young birds throwing themselves at him for his sexy heroics, but beautiful young studs as well; he switches many a dimension, and what happens in a reality stays in that reality, right?; he meets many a lister, some of them openly queer, some of them in a relationship (past or ongoing) with their rimmer; he sleeps the night away with some of them. long story short, 9 years of both excessive human attention and crushing loneliness are ample time to confront one's sexuality. he's still got his hangups though, so in his mind "i am gay" and "lister is my best ever friend whom i miss terribly" don't quite cross together, not immediately.

either way, he finally gets back, they have their happy reunion, and then rimmer learns while he was off adventuring, lister had a wife and a child and loved her deeply and then she died; obviously, lister still needs some space to process all that. rimmer will talk to him about his soul-search some other time (no, he doesn't feel like he'd been replaced, he's not jealous, jeez!). lister just needs some time to move on, yea? and then it'll all be back to how it used to be, just the four of them.

and then s9 happens, and lister is obsessed with getting kochanski back, and rimmer feels as insecure as in s1 but ten times worse — there's the woman who'd been by lister's side for the last decade, there's his wife, there's the love of his life, and there's, well, just some guy. there's rimmer.

he longs desperately to be the most important person in lister's life, but he just isn't, and that's driving him mad. that's what (partially, together with all his lifetime-accumulated trauma) fuels his tpl insistence that nobody aboard red dwarf (read: lister) likes him: he knows lister doesn't love him back, and that is killing him.

#vikarambles #long lost #LONG FUCKING POST #red dwarf #rimster #arnold judas rimmer #dave lister

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