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write-ur-wrongs · 3 years

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Nature’s Nurturing Ways

Hi y’all! This pandemic has really taken the wind out of my sails these past few weeks (maybe months? Time is completely untraceable right now). This piece is born out of a lovely anon’s request, bolded below. As always, I haven’t proofread this mess, so please forgive the typos! I’ll do my best to correct them post-publishing. I seriously can’t thank you enough for taking the time to send me your ideas, and I promise I’ll get better at writing actual drabbles LOL. I hope you enjoy :)

Hii can you write something abt Geralt being w a plant-based reader where she loves animals and nature? Tysm

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Geralt and Jaskier had been travelling for hours when the beating sun finally wore them down. There hadn’t been a breeze in days and the hot, stale air was starting to suffocate the uncharacteristically quiet bard, who wouldn’t dare compete with the surrounding cicada’s symphony.

“Geralt,” he rasped, “do you hear any running water? Drips or gurgles? I’ll take anything.”

“Jask, it hasn’t rained in days and it’s hotter than the depths of hell,” the Witcher sighed before continuing, “I said no yesterday, the answer is the same today.”

“Euughh!” Jaskier threw his head back in despair before hanging his head in exhaustion. “Geralt, I don’t want to be dramatic -,”

“Ha!” Geralt twisted in his saddle to look back at his friend with a quirked brow.

“- but I will fall off this horse and die of exposure if we don’t find water soon.”

Shaking his head, Geralt knew that despite the bard’s tendency to embellish, the situation was getting dire. They’d traveled this way dozens of times before and had always relied on the steady creek that ran alongside the trail for water. The region wasn’t known for dry spells and while Geralt was sure he could manage either way, his companion on the trail was not so durable.

They wouldn’t arrive at their destination for another three or four hours, at his level of dehydration and with probable heat exhaustion, Jaskier might not have that much time.

With another gruff sigh, Geralt pulled back on Roach’s reins and redirected her off the road and into the forest, turning back to ensure Jaskier’s horse would follow.

Geralt knew that there was a small clearing off the road where the thick leaves from the old trees made a lush, and shaded, canopy. He’d been there before a handful of times. It’s where he shared a tender first kiss, where he’d laid his head on Y/N’s chest before falling asleep feeling the cool, lush, grass cradling his large frame. It’s where he first said I love you.

Shaking his head slightly to pull himself from his memories, he dismounted and grabbed both sets of reins, leading the horses into farther the clearing. Once they’d reached the middle of the small field, Geralt released Roach’s lead and gave her a neck a scratch before leaving her to graze.

“Come on Jaskier,” he said, reaching into the gelding’s saddle bag for some food, “get off your horse and lay down in the grass.”

The bard fell out of his saddle with a thud while Geralt continue to root around the bag, huffing as he kept coming up empty.

“Did you eat the last of the cheese?”

“Mmpft,” Jaskier replied incoherently, face down in the grass.

“Hey –”

“Oi! You kicked me!”

“Where is the food? We had bread, cheese, and meat left over last night. Did you fucking eat it all?”

“No, you oaf,” he said, rolling over onto his back, “we ate the rest of it this morning.”

“Fuck!” Geralt cursed under his breath, pulling his hair up off his neck to cool off. He could barely remember what they’d done earlier that day. The heat had been unbearable all evening, and the rising sun only made it worse.

“Don’t worry about it Geralt! No need to apologize for accusing me so harshly.” Jaskier said, words dripping in sarcasm.

Geralt merely looked down at the bard with disdain and rolled his eyes, refusing to admit the sun might be affecting him too.

“Shut up and take off your shirt –”

“Oh-ho!” he laughed weakly, wiggling his eye brows at the witcher. No matter how beaten and battered the bard may be, he’d never miss an opportunity to tease Geralt.

“No, Gods! Fuck,” Geralt went on, flustered, “the grass will cool you down a hell of a lot faster if you’re in direct contact. And besides, Y/N will kill me if I let you die of exposure.”

“Always so serious, eh Geralt?” Jaskier chided playfully, pulling off his tunic before laying back down onto the grass, “Oh-ho-ho-ohhhh yes… Sweet merciful goddess of all that is good, this feels amazing! Yes, yes, yes!”

While he was sure the bard was still mumbling gratefully, and disgustingly, at the feeling of the cool grass against his skin, Geralt’s mind was elsewhere. Somewhere in this clearing, wild heliotropes had bloomed and the sweet, almondine scent was pulling him into a memory.

“Geralt! Witchers use herbs, mushrooms, and flowers in all kinds of magic,” you said, your hands resting high on your hips, “I find it incredibly hard to believe that in all your years and extensive travels, you’d never learned to forage?”

“All my years, eh?” he’d replied, cat-like eyes gleaming back at you.

“Well of course,” you teased, “I mean, unless you mean to tell me that silver head of hair is a choice born out of vanity?”

“I’m going to make you pay for that later, Y/N.” He laughed, taken aback and a little impressed that you felt so comfortable with his mutations as to mock him playfully.

“Ha! Me and what coin?” you reply with a light laugh, bending over to collect the generous mushrooms growing through the bed of leaves and needles.

Geralt turned his head towards you to hit you with a winning comeback, but found himself lost for words when his eyes failed to meet yours.

You get up slowly, peering over your shoulder to find your witcher’s eyes on your backside. Smirking to yourself and quirking a brow flirtatiously, you toss a handful of dirt and wet leaves his way, hitting the poor soul right in the chest.

“Distracted, Geralt?” you said, tossing your hair over your shoulder as you straightened up.

Geralt swallowed thickly, desperately trying to string together at least a couple words – witty at best, coherent at least – when he heard a twig snap in the surrounding forest.

Quick as a flash, he drew his sword and his attention towards the source of the disturbance, a large boar. Chest already swelling with pride at the thought of providing you with a hearty meal, Geralt prepared his attack on the creature before him.

Seeing that the “threat” in question was nothing but a passing porcine, you dove before him with a shout, dropping the mushrooms on the way. Your scream coupled with your sudden movement startled the beast, and it dove deeper into the brush to escape.

“Geralt, no!”

“Damn it, Y/N,” he swore, “I could’ve had it! We could have had a decent meal! We – we would have been set for days!”

“No, Geralt! We have food, right here in this clearing. We needn’t take lives from the forest to eat.”

“Gods, Y/N,” he sighed, dropping his sword to the ground in frustration, “do I need to remind you of the cycle of life? Creatures live, they die, and they get eaten so others can live –”

“Yes, and by leaving that gentle giant to its ruminations, we’ve allowed it to go on, to feed its young, or hell! By leaving that boar to live, we might have secured a lifeline for a fellow wolf or fox. Geralt look around you; mushrooms, flowers, these thick leaves, those berries? You see that tree there? At its roots there are nuts, and over there? Those flowers? Means there is garlic. The forest will feed us with ease if we simply care to drop our weapons, and look.”

Geralt looked at you and with soft eyes, he took in the way your eyes burned with passion, the way your chest rose and fell with every energized breath. He looked around you and really looked at the plants around him, beyond scanning for any toxic or dangerous herbs, he did his best to see the forest through your bright eyes.

Looking at you he felt his chest swell once more, but this time the feeling was warm, grounding.

“I love you, Y/N,” he said quietly, pulling you into his arms, “so, so much.”

You looked up at him with tears in your eyes. You knew he loved you. You had known for months, but you’d made peace with the fact that he loved you however he could, and that that would have to be enough, even if it meant you wouldn’t hear him say it.

“Oh, my sweet, sweet dove,” you murmured, reaching up to lay a soft kiss on his forehead, “I love you too.”

Geralt was wrenched from his thoughts by a swift kick to his shin, courtesy of the bard.

“Shhht!! Geralt!” Jaskier shout-whispered, still kicking at the witcher’s shins. “A deer! A d- dinner! Food! Geralt!”

Side-stepping out of the bard’s frantic little kicks, Geralt looked around him in a quick movement, spotting the deer with his hand primed above his sword’s hilt.

The world seemed to go quiet and still when his eyes met the doe’s. Despite himself, he could hear your voice in his head telling him that she’s a young, vibrant member of this forest’s population. That at her age, she’s likely a first-time mom or about to be. That she has more life to live and more to give to the land than be a poor man’s meal.

Jaskier watched in hungry-horror as Geralt waved his large hand at the creature, turning his back to it before looking down to meet his shell-shocked gaze.

“What the fuck, Geralt!” he spat, “what happened to “Y/N would kill me if I let Jaskier die”? What the fuck! That was food! Survival!”

“You’ll be fine Jask, shut up and lay in your grass.”

“As long as you don’t make me eat it.” He grumbled, not quietly enough.

A laugh rumbled through him as he walked towards to forest line, spotting thick dandelion leaves, mushrooms, and bushes ripe with nuts. He might not necessarily need to feed Jaskier the grass beneath his feet, but he was going to make him eat his words.

***********************************************************************************

“There you are my intrepid explorers!” You damn near squealed at the sight of them, dropping your basket of recently-purchased produce as you ran towards them.

At the sight of you, Geralt dismounts and runs to meet you in a tight embrace. You hold each other tightly, breathing in each other’s scent; his cedar, damp earth, and cut grass, and yours sweet almond.

You pull back just enough to look him over quickly and, spotting no fresh injury or new scars, pull your brows together curiously.

“Did you get lost?”

“Not at all,” replied Jaskier, clapping Geralt on the shoulder, “You’d be impressed, madam Y/N! Our dear witcher made quite the feast. Pulled me right out of the greedy jaws of death, he did!”

“Oh?” You said, brows furrowed in a silent question. Knowing what you meant, Geralt shook his head and kissed your temple to reassure you.

“Picture me this, Y/N,” Jaskier mused as he untacked his gelding, “I’m wilting away, inches from Death’s grip, and Geralt sweeps me under a lush canopy of trees and lays me in the grass…”

“Lays him in the grass? Should I be jealous?” you whispered.

“Never my love,” he replied softly, his forehead against yours.

“… then our honorable friend bid the deer a fond farewell, letting him get away! Yes, Y/N, there I lay, starving, thinking the sun must have cooked the sense right out of him when he marches out of sight only to emerge moments later with a bounty!”

“A bounty?” you mock-gasp, egging the bard on to Geralt’s great displeasure.

“Yes! We ate like kings in that forest, Y/N. All we did was eat but I felt hydrated and renewed! Truly a culinary delight.”

“A delight, Geralt!” you giggled, giving his waist a squeeze.

“Gods, won’t he ever shut up?” he grumbled, ghost of a blush creeping up his collar.

“Oh hush, my love,” you cooed, “without Jask’s bragging, I’d have never known what a big softy you’ve become.”

Wordlessly, Geralt looked down at you in mock-contempt, unsure that this wasn’t a veiled insult. He was instantly reassured though, when his eyes met yours.

“You left the deer.”

“I did.”

“And you foraged, found just what you needed.” You spoke softly, admiration and love rounding your features out beautifully.

“That’s right.”

“Now where did you pick up skills like that, my dove?” You chanced another tease, twirling a lock of his white, dust-packed hair around a finger before giving it a light tug, your head cocked to the side.

“Oh, I had an exceptional teacher…” he said, wrapping an arm tightly around your waist and bringing his other hand up to cup your face, pulling into a deep kiss.

#geralt of rivia #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher x reader #the witcher fandom #geralt of rivera #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt x reader #Jaskier #fanfiction #fanfiction requests #fanfic #geralt imagine #anon

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valentineforlemonandcherry · 3 years

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Foxtail & Wolfsbane Part 4

Summary: Your lifelong obsession to hunt down the Nine-Tailed Fox has not gone as expected, and seventeen years later, you find yourself coming back to the place where it all started: Hogwarts. However, with Sirius Black’s escape from Azkaban and Headmaster Dumbledore’s hire of a certain Professor R. J. Lupin, you suddenly find yourself intertwined in the fates of those with whom you thought you had parted ways with long ago. [Multi-Post Story] [Rowan Scamander x Reader] [Remus Lupin x Reader] [Young Sirius Black x Reader] [Tristan Graves x Reader] [Severus Snape x Reader] [Warning: Story Contains Explicit Smut.] [Warning: Mention of Rough Sex.] [Warning: Non-Consent.] [Warning: Reference to Bullying.] *Note: Rowan Scamander and Tristan Graves are OC characters. *Please do not repost or copy my work without my permission. Thank You!

☾ Click Here for Foxtail & Wolfsbane Home Page (All Chapter Links) ☾

In fact, you got a rather wicked revenge on Sirius only a few days after he’d attempted to “negotiate” with you. Once Sirius had landed himself in detention (two of them), which was quite easy for him (a ‘stray’ Dungbomb here, an immaculately thrown crocodile testicle at Snape there), you approached Slughorn and apologized profusely for your behavior– profusely enough to get out of your own detentions.

Thus, two days later, when Slughorn called, “Mr. Black, stay so I can inform you of your detention time, and everyone else, you may go,” Sirius turned and looked at you with wide eyes.

“Have a good one,” you told him, flashing him a bright smile as you left.

* * * * * * * * * *

To your surprise, Remus showed up later that evening to your hiding spot.

“Remus?”

“Hi,” Remus replied. “It’s just me. Well, obviously, because here I am... Um.”

You couldn’t help but be amused as you cocked your head to the side slightly and agreed, “Yes, here you are.”

Remus paused and awkwardly ran his tongue along his upper lip for a moment before asking you, “I’m not being a bother, am I? I thought you said I could come here whenever, so…”

“No, you’re fine,” you responded. “I wasn’t expecting you today, but truly, you’re welcome here whenever you want.”

“Yes, well, I did mean to come up every month or so, but I read something today that I wanted to tell you about.”

You looked up curiously at Remus. “Is it about the Nine-Tailed Fox?”

“Er – no, not that. Sorry,” Remus answered. “Rather, it’s about our fox.”

Our fox. You knew that you called the fox ‘our fox’ too, since you and Remus had managed to bring it down to Hagrid’s together, but somehow, hearing Remus say it made you tummy feel a little warmer...

Remus sat down next to you on the floor, cross-legged, and he flipped open the book he was holding in his hands. It was a book titled: “Greek Mythology Reimagined into Magical Myths.” Remus showed you a page featuring a woman holding a glowing bow, with an arrow expertly notched against the line. The book was magical, and the image showed her moving, running lithely through the woods with a sleek silver wolf at her left side and a majestic stag leaping forward before her.

“This is Artemis, goddess of animals and wilderness, and of hunting,” Remus explained. “And I thought that maybe we could name our fox ‘Artemis.’ That way, it’d be a sort-of blessing for when you start your real hunt for the Nine-Tailed Fox.”

“Remus, that’s perfect!” Your eyes lit up. “Artemis! I love it. Can I read more about her?” Without waiting for an answer, you instinctively scooted closer to Remus and you leaned over towards him to read the page.

Remus was still holding the book in his lap, and when you leaned towards him, your shoulder touched his. Instinctively, he looked over at you, with his gaze now falling onto your face, and he watched you as you excitedly read the page before you.

“Artemis… goddess of the hunt, animals, wilderness, chastity, childbirth, and of the moon,” you recited. “Wow, the moon, too. I love the moon.”

“You do?” Remus murmured. “Why?” He hated it. It was his worst enemy, his worst fear…

Still reading the page, you explained distractedly, “Because it has to borrow light from the sun. Unlike the stars, the moon can’t produce its own light, and yet its this bright, singular thing in the sky, right? It’s kind-of touching. Although I’m probably just reading too much into it…”

You finished reading the page a few seconds after you stopped talking, and it suddenly hit you what you’d said out loud. You hesitated, a bit embarrassed, as you looked back up at Remus.

Remus was looking at you with a slightly awed expression.

“Sorry,” you mumbled. “That was a bunch of nonsense, wasn’t it?”

Remus merely shook his head at you, and you assumed it was his attempt to be thoughtful with you. But in truth, Remus was praying hard in his mind, wishing, I hope not.

* * * * * * * * * *

Seeing how much you liked it, Remus let you borrow his book for the evening. You preceded to devour the entire book with such intensity that you skipped dinner. Remus, who was casually studying next to you, felt it was his duty to bring you dinner up from the kitchens to make sure you were fed properly.

You thanked him as you stuffed your mouth full of food, but your eyes never left the book in front of you. Once Remus had settled in (in the corner opposite yours), he found himself watching you thumb through page after page eagerly. Sometimes, you’d blurt out a fact that you found interesting, and Remus would give you his full attention, even though he knew that book front and back by heart already. Remus couldn’t quite explain it, but seeing you so excited about things like the Nine-Tailed Fox and Greek mythology made him feel lighter, somehow…

* * * * * * * * * *

When you finally finished the book, it took you a minute to realize how late it was. Remus was quietly yawning behind his hand. You pulled out your pocketwatch and looked at it.

“It’s midnight? Oh Merlin, I’m so sorry for keeping you up!” You quickly gave Remus back his book, apologizing and berating him all at once. “You should have said something! I could have finished it tomorrow, instead of keeping you up so late.”

“I didn’t mind,” Remus replied, even though dark circles were appearing beneath his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you said again. “I tend to get lost in things, so…”

“I know,” Remus responded.

You paused. His voice was all sleepy and soft, and…

Before you could take that thought any further, Remus stood up, though he had to hunch over to keep his head from making contact with the ceiling. He tucked the book underneath his arm.

“Will you be all right going back?” you asked him, worried. “I mean, Ravenclaw Tower is right there so I never get caught even if it’s past curfew, but Gryffindor Tower…”

Remus waved your worries away with his hand. “I’ll be fine. Really.”

“Okay…”

Remus looked like he was going to go, what with his books tucked underneath his arm and his chocolate wrappers stuffed all messily in his cardigan pocket. But he simply stood there for a moment longer, head now cocked to the side a little as he looked at you.

“Yes…?” you asked. You reached over and casually poked back in a chocolate wrapper that was starting to fall out.

“Well,” Remus said slowly, gazing down at your hand poking at his pocket. “I was just thinking that I actually have a lot of books on Greek mythology. Would you… If I were to bring you some tomorrow, would you…?”

“Oh yes, please!” you said quickly. “I was going to go to the library to see if they had anything on Greek mythology, but I’d much rather read your collection, if you’d let me.”

“All right then,” Remus replied, giving you a soft smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

You waved at him as he went down the stairs. As his head disappeared from view, he reached up and stuck his hand through the entrance hole to give you a quick wave.

You laughed a little, and you found yourself waving back even though you knew he couldn’t see you anymore.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Traitor.” Sirius glowered at you as you sat down in your seat for Potions the next morning.

“Ah, and how was ol’ Slughorn last night?” you asked him, smirking.

“You know what?” Sirius said peevishly. “I don’t think I want your forgiveness anymore. I try to be nice to you, and you - ”

“Sirius,” you interrupted him out of the blue, breaking the rhythm of his rant. “Hm… Sirius.”

Sirius frowned at you. “What?”

“Your name. Sirius Orion Black.”

“Yes…?”

But you didn’t say anything more, and Sirius was left completely confused by your strange antics. Still, he was quite mopey and irritated with you all throughout class.

* * * * * * * * * *

Later that evening, when you and Remus were curled up in separate corners of the small attic-like room, each reading a book on Greek mythology, you took it upon yourself to search for the word “Orion.” You thought you’d seen a reference to it yesterday when you read about Artemis.

Flipping to the relevant page, you began to read:

“Orion is a famous Greek hero, who is often referenced as the godfather of hunting. His loyal hunting dog was named Sirius. Orion is the lover of the goddess Dawn, and Orion’s constellation setting and rising with the sun is often used to mark the days and nights of the year.

Orion’s hunting skill was said to be such that he could hunt any creature in existence successfully. However, such ability became problematic when Orion hunted with the goddess Artemis and her mother Leto, and in their hunt, Orion threatened to kill every creature on earth. Apollo objected and sent a giant scorpion to fell Orion. The scorpion succeeded, and Zeus memorialized both Orion and the Scorpion in the night skies as constellations.”

Reaching the end of the page, you found yourself mesmerized by the deep tragedy of the story. Slowly, your eyes left the page, and you looked towards the window, beyond which the sun was setting over the Forbidden Forest. You gazed out of the window for a long time, and the deep orange sunset filtered in through the dusty window to lay across your face and shoulders.

You sighed softly, and then you made to look back at the book, when you suddenly caught a pair of hazel eyes staring at you. You turned your head towards Remus, who abruptly started. A watercolor tinge of pink began to wash over his cheeks, and spread up onto his ears, but you couldn’t quite tell that he was blushing – first because of the strong sunlight coming in through the window, and second because Remus snatched up his book and furiously stuck his face in it before you could so much as blink.

* * * * * * * * * *

When Slughorn reminded Sirius at the end of class that his second detention was that evening, Sirius positively glared at you. You pretended to cower, but then you winked at him and left the dungeons. Still, you couldn’t deny that you actually felt quite bad about what you’d done to Sirius.

But you couldn’t find it within yourself to be too empathetic at the moment because you were somewhat distracted by the morning news today. Featured in today’s Magizoologists’ Digest, Rowan and his father, Newt, were congratulated for having made a breakthrough discovery about how to heal hippogriffs. Your heart clenched when you saw the photograph of Rowan, beaming and waving at the camera. He seemed to have grown quite a bit, though it was hard to tell just from the photographs. He was taller, certainly. And all the while, you felt like despite your best efforts, you’d shrunk inside of yourself a little. You hadn’t made any breakthroughs on your singular project on tracking down the Nine-Tailed Fox, and you suspected that part of your lack of focus lately was due to how distracted you’d gotten since Rowan had shown you how much you cared for him, and then just… left.

Deep down, you knew that you couldn’t blame Rowan for what you were going through right now. It was your fault for not paying attention to your own feelings, and it was your fault for being so closed-off to everyone around you. In truth, you were angry at yourself. Still, at this point, you wished you could forget about Rowan, and all of the insecurities that he had opened up for you by making love to you in that train compartment and taking all of your firsts before suddenly disappearing from your life… And to be even more truthful, it wasn’t even that you regretted making love with Rowan. Not at all. Rather, the truth was that you just… missed him.

As you left Slughorn’s classroom, you crumpled up the newspaper in your hands and tossed it into the garbage can besides the door. Let’s hope Professor Slughorn Evansecos that, then, you thought, and you walked out of the room.

* * * * * * * * * *

However, that gnawing guilt you felt for tricking Sirius into two detentions would not leave your conscience alone, and when six o’clock, the time for Sirius’ detention rolled around, you made your way down to the dungeons. Sirius had been given the task of cleaning out old student files from who-knows-how-far-back, and Slughorn sat at his teacher’s desk, grading papers.

You entered the room and knocked on the doorway brightly.

“Hi, Professor Slughorn!” you chirped, in a manner most unlike you.

Professor Slughorn looked up at you. “Ah, if it isn’t the other delinquent. What may I do for you?”

“Well,” you said, with a seemingly innocent smile, “Peeves the Poltergeist is making a right ruckus of your Potions stores, sir - ”

“What!?” Slughorn leapt out from his seat and barreled down the hallway.

Sirius watched you warily as you sauntered over to him. “What?” he grunted at you. “Why’re you here? To get me a third detention?”

You dropped your innocent-student act and went back to your normal, matter-of-fact self. “No,” you stated. “I came to give you a prize.” You held out a dangling keychain. It was a cheap piece of paper cut out in the shape of a heart, taped on both sides to “preserve” it, and best of all, it was a ghastly pink color. Written in ugly red crayon, it read: “FOX-STEALER-AND-DUMPER.”

“There you are,” you announced.

Sirius’ expression clearly said to you, “fuck off.”

“What?” you asked, as you watched his mood sour. “You don’t want to wear it? But I worked so hard on it.”

“You didn’t work hard on shit,” Sirius growled at you. “This is – what? Paper, tape, and crayon?”

“But you promised me you’d wear it,” you reminded him.

“That was before you abandoned me in detention.”

You tsk’ed at Sirius. “Abandon? But here I am.” You lifted yourself back on your feet and slid back onto the desk behind you, just besides Sirius.

“Yeah, but Slughorn’s going to come back any second now, and you’ll have to leave again. Then, it’ll just be me and ol’ Sluggy,” Sirius grumbled.

“Not for a while,” you said honestly.

Sirius paused. “What d’you mean ‘not for a while’?”

“I really did have Peeves mess up the Potions storage cabinet a bit,” you admitted.

Sirius gazed down at you, not sure whether to be impressed or terrified of you. You were sitting on the table, leaning back on your palms, and with your legs spread as if you were a carefree teenage boy.

“I do have to pay Peeves for his help tonight,” you were saying, sighing a little. “And I asked Peeves not to go too far. I really don’t mean to be such a pain in the ass to Slughorn, but…” Your voice trailed off as you realized where Sirius’ eyes had fallen to.

“Eyes up here, Black,” you said suddenly.

Sirius looked up at you to see you smirking at him.

“Don’t get the wrong idea,” Sirius warned you.

“Me? The wrong idea? Never,” you replied cheekily.

Sirius scoffed. He crossed his arms, and then he bit on the inside of his cheek for a moment, as though weighing what to say. Finally, he asked you, “Why’d you let me do that anyways? If you hate me so much.”

You raised your eyebrow at him. “Do what?”

“You know perfectly well what.”

“Oh, up against the window?” you said, rather bluntly.

Sirius nodded. “Yeah. That.”

You shrugged. “I don’t know.” You looked up at him, locking eyes with him. “But don’t worry,” you reassured him, “that will never happen again.”

“No?” Sirius smirked, for as you’d been discussing all this, he had ever-so-subtly pressed his palms down on your thighs and slowly been inching his fingers up towards the hem of your skirt.

Feeling the warmth of his palms sliding up your skin, you looked up at him suspiciously. “What do you think you’re doing, Black?”

“You’re smart,” he murmured, with his hands now disappearing under your skirt. “Smart enough to put me into two detentions all by myself. So, you figure it out.” But Sirius paused when his fingertips met fabric sooner than he expected. Sirius looked down at you and said gruffly, “Still wearing boyshorts, I see.”

“Of course. I’m not going to start changing what I wear for you, Black, and certainly not my underwear.”

“Mm, in that case - ” With a deft tug, Sirius ripped open your boyshorts.

You gasped, and you quickly closed your legs apart. “What��re you -?”

Grasping your thighs, Sirius impatiently yanked them apart. Then, he pushed your legs up onto the desk, and suddenly, you found yourself exposed to Sirius. He was gazing down at you hungrily.

“Black, I can’t believe you just - you - you ass!” you berated him, while you furiously pushed yourself back up so that you were sitting with your feet up on the table and your hands out behind you.

But as soon as you came back up, Sirius reached down and gently ran his finger along your clit. You suddenly shivered. And of course, Sirius noticed. His eyes flickered up to your face and he murmured, “Let me make you feel good, to make up a little for all the times I made you feel bad.”

You stared up at him in disbelief. It was only your second time being touched like this. And Rowan, well, he had been your best friend for six years, but what was Sirius Black doing, touching you between your legs?

What right did he have to - ? Uhn! Your thoughts jolted to a stop, and for a moment, only that pleasant, fuzzy sensation of a man’s warm, strong, fingers slipping between the folds of your tender heat to give you pleasure occupied your mind.

You blinked furiously, trying to steady yourself, but it was too late. You were biting down on your lower lip, holding your breath, and your toes were clenching in your worn-out sneakers. And Sirius was whispering to you, “There you go…”

“Ah…” You breathed out, as you squirmed atop the desk.

“Fuck, you’re way more sensitive than I thought,” Sirius murmured, almost to himself.

“Everyone is more sensitive than you, you unfeeling b-bastard,” you managed to choke out, as Sirius’ fingers rubbed your bare pussy so good, so incredibly good.

Sirius could see you melting, though, and his eyes flashed victoriously down at you. “Mm, maybe,” he considered. “But it makes me a good giver, if you know what I mean.”

“I doubt you’re – Ah!” You gasped loudly when Sirius suddenly slipped a finger inside of you.

“Fuck, that’s tight,” Sirius realized, slowing down immediately when he felt your pussy clench around his finger at once.

“Oh, God,” you breathed out. “I can’t – I can’t - ”

“You’re all right, love,” Sirius said to you, watching your chest rise up and down and the sharp line of your jaw trembling as your head slowly fell back on your shoulders. While Sirius’ voice was firm, there was a gentleness there that surprised you. He promised you, “We’ll go slow, and I’m not going to fuck you.”

Your eyes flashed open, and your head came back up. “What?”

“I don’t plan on being inside you at all. Since you hate me and all.” Sirius flashed you a mock-innocent smile. “I’m trying to be a good boy for you, if you can’t tell. And that’s not usually my style, I’ll have you know.”

“No, it’s not,” you agreed. “And you can’t just pretend like you’re not a jerk now that you get to ‘apologize.’ You’re an asshole, Sirius, and I do hate you and… and… Oh… ”

* * * * * * * * * *

Five minutes later, your arms were locked around Sirius’ broad shoulders, and you were moaning into his chest. Your shoes were up on the edge of the desk, knees bent, skirt hiked up to the very tops of your thighs. Yes, your boyshorts had been ripped open, courtesy of Sirius Black, and as his reward, his thick, long, handsome fingers were buried deep inside of your tight little cunt.

A soft little grunt escaped your lips as you had them pressed together, not wanting to give Sirius the satisfaction of knowing how deeply he was affecting you just yet.

But Sirius knew better. As he kept pumping three of his fingers in and out of you, Sirius taunted you by leaning down to your ear and whispering knowingly, “You’re about to cum. I can tell.”

Your arms broke apart from around his neck. With one hand, you gripped hard onto the front of Sirius’ shirt, and with the other, you grasped onto his hand, whether to stop him or encourage him in finger-fucking you so roughly, you weren’t sure. Sirius smirked and kept going, knowing that he was pushing you closer and closer to you cumming right here on top of this desk for him.

Sirius was thoroughly enjoying the view, thoroughly enjoying seeing your perfect little pussy all laid out for him, with your ridiculous boyshorts finally ripped open for him to take you as he wished, your school skirt flouncing ever so slightly around your hips as his fingers pulled out of you only to greedily plunge back into your warmth and wetness, and your dumb little sneakers (with the soles all worn-out and your shoelaces frayed, thanks to your frequent nightly romps in the Forbidden Forest) struggling to keep their grip on the edge of the desk as he fucked your pussy good with his fingers.

And now, Sirius wanted to see you cum for him. He wanted to see your cum gushing from your little hole and drenching the tabletop below you, until you’d flooded the cute little indents and scratches in the wooden desk saying things like “L + N” and “M loves R” with your cum. So, he pushed you hard, not letting up even when you were clearly breathless, with your breasts now straining at your cute school blouse, and your thighs beginning to shiver.

“C’mon. Let yourself go,” Sirius coaxed you. “You’re getting all slick on my fingers, love. I know you need to moan. Let me hear it. I swear I won’t tease you for it… much.” He laughed lowly as he finished taunting you.

“S-Shut up, it’s not because of y-you,” you stuttered out at him.

“You sure about that?”

You bit down hard on your lower lip, trying your best not to make any noise, but it really was getting so hard, what with the intense pleasure starting to build inside of your throbbing pussy…

“Uhn…” When you finally surrendered a bit of ground by letting out a low moan, Sirius said to you, with an arrogant smiirk plastered across his face, “There it is. That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

Then, Sirius reached out with his other hand and ran it up your body, passing his warm, large hand over your sweet breasts, before finally finding and grasping your throat. You gasped slightly as Sirius abruptly pushed your head back by tightening his grip on your throat, until he was holding you in a slightly slanted sitting position, with your head and torso leaning back, but your knees bent and your sweet, glistening pussy now facing up for him. Both of your hands flew up to grip onto his wrist, even as Sirius squeezed your neck in his hand. By closing up your airway a little while continuing to piston his fingers roughly into your wet little hole, Sirius was forcing you to pant out loud for him.

When Sirius started to hear your soft, but ragged little pants consistently fill the air, he finally looked up from your pussy to smirk once more at you. “Knew you had it in you,” he said meanly, with a glint in his eye.

You glared at him as you choked out, “E-Eat shit, Black.”

Sirius grinned back at you. “Good one. Very original insult,” he said carelessly. “But I think I’ll pass. I might, however, eat out this sweet little pussy of yours – if you beg, that is.”

You meant to let out a “pshaw”-type of noise to indicate how fucking ridiculous he was being, but all that escaped you was a soft, traitorous, “Ah…!”

Oh no, I’m losing it, you realized. I’m so close, so fucking close – No, actually, I’ve been close this whole time. Oh, God, I almost feel like I need to – to go to the bathroom – Nngh… Fuck, how do I hold myself back? It’s too early to cum. Right? Right…?! Uhnnnn…How fast do girls usually cum when they’re being finger fucked? How fast did I cum for Rowan? Shit, I can’t remember. There was no – no sense of time in that train compartment when we – when we… made love…

“Hah… Ah… Hah…” You panted out, blinking furiously. Did it feel like this with Rowan? Did it? I can’t remember now.

But a moment later, Sirius’ fingers thrust back into you, and your thoughts went awry, leaving you vulnerable to your deepest thoughts, the one you wouldn’t admit to even yourself. No, yes… Yes, I can, you thought miserably. The truth is that I can remember everything – his kisses, his touches, his cock thrusting so heavily inside of me… I remember it all.

“Ah…” you whispered out a moan as Sirius continued to stretch you out on his fingers. In your mind, you thought blurrily, I wish I could forget.

Sirius’ eyes traced your body for a moment, noticing your tight abs rippling softly under your shirt and your breasts stretching out at your buttons as you fought to breathe. Sirius swore that he heard you breathe out under your breath, “Make me forget,” but he couldn’t be sure…

Sirius then looked back up at you, and for a moment, his gaze held yours in an unexpectedly tense way. Because Sirius was beginning to catch on. Staring at you, Sirius realized that while your eyes were fierce and your nails were digging into his wrist mercilessly, your body language clearly denoted that you didn't know what to do with yourself. Your thighs kept stuttering, as if you weren't sure whether you wanted to close them or open them even more, and instead of chasing your climax by rutting your hips back against Sirius, you kept shifting, almost sliding back on the desk, as though to get away from your own pleasure. But you always came back, because you missed his fingers as soon as you’d moved even a little bit away from him. Still, it was telling that you weren’t sure how to respond to something as simple as his fingering you. You obviously hadn't receive this kind of pleasure often, and you clearly hadn't yet figured out what to do with all the tension building up inside of your tight little tummy.

So, Sirius told you simply, in a neutral voice that was neither coaxing nor dominant, but simply matter-of-fact, to help you: “Cum. Let go. It’ll feel good, I promise you.”

With his palm against your throat, Sirius felt you suddenly still and hold your breath. You pants cut off, before the softest little “nngh” escaped from somewhere deep inside of you and then –

“Oh, fuck,” Sirius whispered, surprised. “You’re so wet. So wet. You’re gushing.”

You turned your head away, refusing to look at Sirius, though there wasn’t much to hide anymore when he could already feel for himself how wet you were, how you were cumming for him.

After a moment, Sirius pulled his fingers out of you, causing your pussy to clench hard one last time before – “Ah.” A little whimper left you, and you couldn’t help but look down at yourself, and both you and Sirius watched as, without his fingers plugging you up anymore, your slick, sweet cum began to steadily drip out of your throbbing cunt, until it was pooling on the table underneath you.

“S + L” disappeared first, and then “D hearts M”… Cum slowly overfilled these indents, and then began to drip off the edge of the table.

“So. Turns out you can be a good girl.” Sirius reached back out with his hands and spreading his fingers into a V shape, he pressed his fingers down on you and stretched out your pussyhole even more and watched it throbbing as you finally came down from your high. “Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, and he felt his cock throb in response to the vision of your dripping wet cunt. “Look at you, puppy… All wet, and so sloppy all over, mmm.”

You lay there, watching Sirius watch you. You didn’t know what to do with yourself. You just knew you were a mess, all sopping wet between your thighs…

Just then, a bright voice interrupted the two of you. “Excuse me, Professor Slugh -? Oh!”

You and Sirius both jumped, with you jumping hastily off the desk. Unfortunately, your legs weren’t as steady as they usually were, and you stumbled, tripping over Sirius. He instinctively caught you in his arms. Although you were caught in his arms, you still quickly turned around, praying that it wasn’t a professor. It wasn’t. It was Marlene McKinnon, a sixth-year Gryffindor. You only knew her by sight and name; that was all.

But upon seeing her, Sirius suddenly became very fidgety, hastily stepping away from you and then anxiously pushing his hair back from his face.

“Marlene,” Sirius said. He cleared his throat. “Um, Professor Slughorn, he – ah – that is - ”

“Had a quick errand to run,” you completed for Sirius, as you eyed him curiously.

“Oh.” Marlene blushed when she looked at the two of you. Clearly, she had realized that she’d caught you two in a compromising position. “Well, I’ll be - ”

“No,” Sirius said quickly. “Don’t go.”

He wouldn’t look over at you. Or Marlene.

That was what gave it away for you. Since when has Sirius ever been shy about eye contact? “Yeah…” you said slowly, thinking it through. “Actually, Sirius has to stay and finish his detention.” Turning to Marlene, you asked her, “If you’re not busy, would you be so kind and stay with him?”

Marlene hesitated. “What about you?”

“Me? Oh, I need to go pay Peeves.”

When Marlene cocked her head at you in puzzlement, you waved it off and said coolly, “Don’t worry about it.”

With that, you left the room.

* * * * * * * * * *

You held onto that nonchalant feeling all the way back up to Ravenclaw Tower. But once you got back, upon realizing that the dormitory was empty because everyone was at dinner, you stood in front of the body-length mirror and dragged up your skirt.

You took in the state of yourself in your reflection: boyshorts ripped wide open, cum drenching your thighs, thighs still trembling slightly…

This is me, you thought to yourself, and that realization stunned you.

* * * * * * * * * *

When you came into Potions the next day, you quickly discovered that Sirius was mad at you once again. After you had left, Marlene had pointed out that Sirius had a gaudy little pink heart right over the back of his black jeans, dangling over his arse. Sirius had been adamant that she was wrong, until she reached over and unhooked your ridiculous handmade keychain from his belt loop.

Marlene had been very confused as she asked him what “FOX-STEALER-AND-DUMPER” meant. Sirius had blushed – blushed, and stuttered through some nonsensical explanation in front of her.

“Hmpf,” you said, “you must have some speck of conscience, then. Since you felt guilty enough that you couldn’t tell her straight-up what had happened.”

“That’s hardly the point! When did you even put that stupid thing on me anyways, huh?” Sirius asked you indignantly.

You leaned close to him and whispered, “When you thought I was losing my mind from having your tiny fingers stuffed inside of my pussy.”

Sirius’ mouth dropped open.

Falling back into your seat, you smirked and continued, “I told you, you overestimate yourself, Sirius Orion Black.”

You giggled as Sirius growled at you, as he was wanting very much to rip your head off in that moment.

“I’m sorry,” you said, half-sincere and half-teasing him. “My intentions were pure. I meant to give you time with McKinnon. You like her for real, don’t you?”

Sirius was quiet. About a minute later, he muttered, “Well, now you know how I feel. Having good intentions, only to figure out that you messed up.”

“This doesn’t even compare to what you did to me,” you said flatly, not having it.

Of course, you didn’t know for how long Sirius had had his eyes on Marlene, how he felt so vulnerable in front of that sweet, kind, and yet spunky sixth year Gryffindor, that he hadn’t even told the other Marauders about it (though they all suspected, of course), and how seeing the way Marlene’s face fell when she realized the keychain was from you hurt him badly.

At the same time, he knew that he didn’t have a shot with her. Marlene McKinnon was a Muggle-born, and if news got out that Sirius was dating her, the Slytherin purebloods would give her hell to no end. Sirius might be able to protect her for the rest of this year, but when he graduated, and she was still here, the abuse would continue, and Sirius couldn’t let himself do that just for his own happiness. So he played the “big brother” role to her and she played along in her “little sister” role, but it wasn’t that at all. Or at least, Sirius didn’t want it to be just that.

But Sirius would never admit all this, not in a hundred years, to you or anyone else. In fact, he was pretty sure he didn’t even know how to explain what he was feeling. All he knew was that it hurt – hurt bad.

And of course, what Sirius didn’t know was the sense of relief you felt when you figured out that Sirius was deeply in love with Marlene, because it meant that whatever had happened between the two of you wasn’t love at all. I want to seek out that meaningless physical touch with Sirius deeper, you thought to yourself. It feels like the only way to forget about Rowan. The deeper I fall into Sirius, the more Rowan fades away, because I can convince myself that sex is just sex. Rowan never loved me. And, when I’m with Sirius, and he’s just having me however he wants, without a care in the world for how hard he’s grinding against me, or how much he’s stretching my cunt out with his fingers to make me cum all over the desk, I feel like I’m myself again – indifferent and uncaring, which was the way I was before Rowan, before I opened my heart just in time to fall down a horrible rabbit hole I wish never existed.

* * * * * * * * * *

You went to the next Hogsmeade trip. You usually didn’t participate in Hogsmeade trips, preferring to make use of your time in the Forbidden Forest instead, but you had run out of standard parchment, and you knew full well that Slughorn would be looking for any excuse to give you another detention.

So, off you went, trailing after the others, intending to go down to Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop. However, as you passed Quagley’s Quidditch and Other Sporting Goods, you happened to notice James and Sirius through the large store-front window. They were laughing and joking with each other as they examined different gloves. Behind them, Peter had gotten his head stuck in a Keeper’s helmet, and Remus was doing his utmost to get his friend out. You paused and started to laugh at the sight of Remus huffing and puffing, with his hands around the helmet on Peter’s hand, and his foot braced against a nearby shelf.

Finally – pop – and Peter was out. With a yell, he fell backwards onto the floor. James raced forward to help Peter up, and that was when Remus unintentionally caught your eye through the window.

You blinked, surprised by the sudden eye contact.

Oh bollocks, what do I do now? Clearly, I’ve fully stopped and am staring through the store window. You bit your lower lip for a moment, thinking. Well, nothing for it now, I suppose. With a sigh, you walked forward and entered the store yourself.

Unfortunately, you opened the door and went in right as Remus had raised his hand to you, and you didn’t see him wave to you. Sirius, seeing Remus’ hand go up, looked over his shoulder and out the window, but there was nobody there.

“Moony?” Sirius asked. “What are you doing?”

“Oh… Um, nothing.” Remus awkwardly let his hand fall, and he tried to play it off by nonchalantly brushing his hand through his hair.

“I’m starving!” James exclaimed. “Let’s get out of here and head to the Three Broomsticks, yeah?”

Peter chirped enthusiastically, and they began to set off.

Sirius paused. “Moons, you coming?”

“Yeah, but just… go on without me for a moment,” Remus said.

Sirius’ brow furrowed. “You want to stay here? Since when have you played Quidditch, Moons? Been hiding your secret talents from me, eh? Other than sock-folding, I mean.”

Remus wasn’t really listening to Sirius. Though he couldn’t actually see you through the shelves, he was busy watching your soft shadow flicker against the wall. You seemed to be pacing back and forth, thinking hard about something.

“Er – yeah, sock-folding, right,” Remus murmured vaguely. “I’ll catch you later, Pads.”

* * * * * * * * * *

You were pacing back and forth in the shelves, hidden from view, and wondering what the hell had gotten into you. What the hell am I doing? I’ve never even played Quidditch, let alone perused a shop for Quidditch equipment. You groaned softly to yourself, thinking, idiot, idiot, idiot, when suddenly –

“Hello.”

Startled, you jumped a little.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you,” Remus said, his gentle smile falling quickly from his now-anxious face.

“No,” you replied at once, shaking your head back and forth. “You didn’t… Um…”

Remus looked over at the shelves you were facing. “Having trouble picking out a bat?”

“Hm?” You looked up to see that you were, in fact, standing before a row of bats.

Remus came and stood next to you. “I didn’t realize you were interested in Quidditch.”

You remained silent, not knowing what to say.

Remus paused, wondering why you were being so quiet. Does she not like me talking to her in public like this? She doesn’t seem to want me to be around her right now. Did I say something wrong? Remus wracked his brains as to what he’d just said to you, but it only made him more puzzled. It wasn’t offensive to ask you if you liked Quidditch when he found you shopping in a Quidditch store, right? That didn’t breach any rules of etiquette… right?

Meanwhile, you were wracking your brains as to how to reply. Finally, not wanting to dig your own hole any deeper, you confessed, “I don’t know anything about Quidditch, actually.”

“Oh.” Remus paused. “Then, can I ask what you’re doing here?”

No, you thought bluntly. But after a moment, you mumbled, embarrassed by your pathetic lie, “Buying a gift.”

You were one hundred percent sure that Remus was going to catch you on your lie. He knew, after all, that you didn’t have any friends to buy gifts to. But he simply said, “Oh.”

Before you could stop yourself, you asked, “Will you help me pick something out?”

Remus looked over at you. “Well, I’m not that knowledgeable about Quidditch, either, to be honest. James is the Quidditch Captain and Seeker, and Sirius is a Gryffindor Beater. I figure they’re better suited to help you.”

“No.” You shook your head firmly. “I’d rather you help. It’s all right if you don’t know much.”

Remus hesitated. Then, he shrugged and said, “All right. So, what are we looking for?”

“I don’t know…” You walked forward and picked up a bat. “What’s this for?” You gave a mighty swing, and Remus leapt backwards.

“Merlin!”

“Sorry!” you said hastily. You made to put it down quickly, but the way you tossed the bat back onto the pile made the bats underneath start to slide… right off of the platform that they had been stacked on.

“No!” you cried, and you raced forward and put your arms out to stop the impending cascade. But you could feel the bats starting to fall, anyways. In particular, there was one bat starting to slip out just past your fingertips. My arms aren’t long enough, you realized.

“Shit,” you cursed.

“Wait!” Remus called to you, and a moment later, you felt his chest press warmly against your back, and his arms reached over yours. As his arms were clearly longer, he helped you from behind to hold up the bats, stopping them from falling.

You let out a sigh of relief. But just then, Remus remarked, “Er – don’t think we’re out of this yet.”

Famous last words, you thought wryly, for the pile of bats collapsed on top of both of you just then.

“Ah!” you cried out, throwing your hands up over your head as you and Remus fell down onto the floor. But to your surprise, nothing came clonking down on your head or even glanced off your arms. Instead – “ow,” Remus whispered, as the whole pile came down on his shoulders and back.

“Remus!”

“I’m okay,” he reassured you hurriedly, as he finally removed his arms from around your head (he’d tucked you into his chest to shield you) and scooted back on the floor.

“That was… incredibly stupid on my part,” you apologized sincerely. You felt humiliated. “Remus, I’m so sorry.”

“What are you talking about?” Remus asked you, with a soft chuckle. “Those bats were made to be swung. You weren’t going to buy a Beater bat without trying it out, were you?”

“Remus, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you sighed in exasperation.

“Ah, well, ask Sirius sometime,” Remus said, still smiling at how funny and cute you looked sitting on the floor, surrounded by bats, and looking both confused and grumpy beyond comprehension.

At that moment, however, the store employee came running over. “What’ve you done? What’s going on here?”

You hastily got to your feet. “Don’t worry! It was a mistake, but - ”

“Did you break anything?”

This store employee’s very excitable, Remus thought to himself, as he awkwardly got to his feet. He’s practically yelling at her.

“No, look!” you said loudly, trying to calm the man down. You whipped out your wand, pointed it at the pile of bats, and murmured, “Accio!”

The first bat that you’d picked up flew back to your hands, and you caught it, surprised, but the rest of the bats re-stacked themselves into a perfect cube, balancing amazingly well back atop the platform.

The store employee fell silent. Then, he turned a suspicious eye on you and said gruffly, “Well, all right. But you better buy that bat you’re holding.”

You looked sullen and pissed-off for a moment, but then, you reluctantly nodded.

Remus waited for you to buy your bat. Then, when you two stepped out of the store, Remus remarked, “You know, that was pretty brilliant magic. How’d you get a Summoning Charm to organize the bats like that? I’ve never seen Accio used that way.”

You paused, clutching the bat a little harder in your hands, as you replied, almost in a whisper, “Oh… I suppose it’s all about the intent. At least, that’s what a friend of mine taught me.”

Remus hesitated, not sure what you meant by that. Finally, he cleared his throat and said, “Listen, I have to meet the guys at the Three Broomsticks - ”

“Oh! Right. I’m so sorry for holding you back. Yes, you should go.”

Remus stared at you, slightly open-mouthed, for he had just been about to invite you to come along with him. But you were already gone, having given him what was ironically the cutest little wave with the beater’s bat, and now you were nearly sprinting down the street back towards Hogwarts, still clutching that Beater’s bat in your hands. As Remus watched you running off without him, he wondered absent-mindedly what you intended to do with that Beater’s bat you’d bought.

* * * * * * * * * *

As you ran off – or more accurately, away – from Remus, you found yourself what the hell you were going to do with this Beater’s bat that you’d bought.

What am I doing? I spent all of my allowance on this dumb thing that I’ve got absolutely no use for. I even admitted that I don’t know anything about Quidditch, and I still ended up with this stupid thing. Why’d I let that happen?

But you already knew exactly why: you had wanted to have an excuse to spend time with Remus. You liked him besides you. You didn’t care that he didn’t know anything about Quidditch. And you had kept wanting to prolong your time with him, doing increasingly stupid things until… you’d knocked over the entire display and ended up with this worthless bat.

Reaching Hogwarts, you sighed and fell back onto one of the stone benches in the courtyard. Seriously, what were you thinking?

You leaned forward and buried your head in your hand, ashamed of yourself.

* * * * * * * * * *

The following Monday, you trudged into Potions with the bat sticking out of your satchel. Class had not yet begun, for Slughorn wasn’t in the dungeon yet. Everyone knew Slughorn liked to spend a long time at breakfast, so class often started a few minutes late. Turning to Sirius, you said grumpily, “I might have something for you.”

Without any further delay, you pulled out the bat.

Sirius immediately put his arms over his head. “Don’t hit me!”

“Shut up!” you hissed. “Do you want Slughorn to put me in detention again?”

Sirius paused. Then, he deadpanned, “Well, yes. Yes, I do.”

“Fine then,” you said irately. “Never mind. I won’t give it to you.”

Sirius paused. “You were going to give it to me?”

You reluctantly nodded.

Sirius looked at you with a skeptical look in his eyes. After a moment, he asked you, “Why?”

You huffed out impatiently. “I don’t know – I just – Listen, d’you want it or not? ‘Cause I’m about this close to giving it to the Slytherin Beater - ”

Sirius’ eyes widened. “Zabini? No, you can’t! That’s a good bat, and we’ve got a match coming up and - ”

“Did somebody mention me?”

You and Sirius turned around to see none other than Malik Zabini standing behind you both. However, he seemed to be staring at you.

Sirius bristled. “Get out of here, Zabini. No one wants you here.”

Malik’s lip curled up in a cruel smirk as he said, “Or what? Will you run away from your Potions class to avoid me, just like you ran away from home?”

Sirius’ large, bear-like form was suddenly shivering all over with intense fury.

“Sirius.” You kept your voice low in warning. You could tell that he wasn’t just irritated, but actually infuriated. You quickly turned to Zabini and said sharply, “Get out of here. We were having a private conversation.”

“A private conversation?” Zabini repeated suggestively. “Speaking of, now that your loyal lapdog Scamander’s not here, how about you and I go somewhere private? I wouldn’t mind giving that blue hair of yours a tug, if you catch my drift – Hey!”

You shoved Zabini hard in the chest, pushing him away from you. He stumbled back and nearly fell. Holding up the Beater’s bat to shoulder height, you said, “Beat it, or I will.”

“Fuck,” he cursed. “You are as crazy as they say you are.” Then, hitching up his bookbag back onto his shoulder, Zabini moved past you both and to his own desk.

Ignoring the blood pounding through your veins at his insult, you sat back down next to Sirius. Sirius’ jaw was still clenched quite tightly. You sighed quietly. Well, this got out of hand. I’m not sure what Zabini meant when he talked about Sirius’ running away from home, but clearly, it went way too far.

“Merlin, relax,” you said thinly to Sirius, a moment later, trying to break the suddenly harsh tension in the air. “Of course it’s yours. I was only joking.”

Sirius was quiet for a long moment, trying hard not to let his anger get the best of him. Finally, he managed to wag his finger at you in a somewhat playful, if not forced, fashion as he chided you, “You don’t joke about Quidditch, love.”

You snorted. “Figures. The one thing you’d be serious about is a stupid sport.”

“You hardly have the right to talk,” Sirius retorted, “when you entire life mission is about a fox that doesn’t exist - ”

Your eyes flashed in fury. Without realizing it, you stood up from your seat as you said to him forcefully, “Take it back. It does exist! The evidence shows that - !”

Sirius was now fully laughing at you. He loved riling you up. He always had. You knew this, and you hated that he could send you into such a state.

Why do I ever take him seriously? you wondered to yourself.

“Shut up!” you snapped at him.

But he only laughed harder.

With a growl, you snatched up the nearest flask and smashed it down on his head. It didn’t hurt him in the slightest, you knew, but the glass gave off a pretty shimmering effect, and Sirius looked so surprised that for a moment, you could just imagine that you’d finally shown up Sirius Black, except – except Slughorn decided to walk in at that very moment.

You silently sank down into your seat again, accepting your fate as Slughorn yelled at you and assigned you another detention. Meanwhile, snickering joyously, Sirius subtly reached over and snatched away the Beater bat from your hands. “Thanks, love,” he whispered. “I’ll make sure to get good use out of this. I’ll take on Zabini for you.”

I’m a fool, you told yourself, barely hearing Slughorn’s rant at you. I’m a fool. I’m a complete and utter fool.

* * * * * * * * * *

Remus had stayed in bed that morning. It was the two days before the full moon, and he could sense the tingling in his blood. The days leading up to the full moon were always incredibly strange. At the same time that his human body felt exhausted, his werewolf senses were beginning to wake up, so that despite his tired body, he couldn’t help but react to nearly every single scent, sound, or vision that came his way.

So, when the other boys returned to the dormitory, James’ loud whispers of “Shut up! Moony’s sleeping!” caused Remus to instinctively jolt upright in his bed, though he winced when he did.

But as he blinked awake, he realized that his three friends seemed even more rambunctious than usual – and then, he saw the bat in Sirius’ hands.

Remus paused, mind not really very coherent, as he struggled to sort through his memories with you at the Quidditch supplies store. Wait a minute, Remus thought, so the reason that she was in there, trying to buy a Beater’s bat even though she didn’t know anything about Quidditch was because she wanted to impress Sirius? Something inside of Remus’ deflated, making him feel even worse than he already did. Well, she certainly wasn’t in there for you, Remus said bitingly to himself. You don’t play Quidditch, Remus Lupin. You can barely keep your limbs together as it is. He let out a soft sigh, and he tried his best to go back to sleep.

But the image of your soft shadow pacing up and down between the shelves had shown a softer side of you, as opposed to the normal spunky, feisty, and strong-headed you (which Remus admired, too, of course), and the contrast made Remus feel like he knew you better. But realizing now that it was all for Sirius, that you had become shy in your own way and willing to branch out to suddenly learn about Quidditch for Sirius, left Remus feeling distinctly… uncomfortable.

* * * * * * * * * *

Remus didn’t come up to your spot at all this week. Not that it bothered you… in the slightest. No, not at all. It wasn’t like you raced up to your hiding spot, hoping to see Remus sitting there, looking up at you curiously and kindly as you plopped down next to him to update him on your theories on the Nine-Tailed Fox or Greek mythology. No, of course not… You sighed. A small voice in your head whispered caringly, hope you’re okay, Remus.

Tagged Users: @areomalfoy

#fanfiction #fanfic #harry potter smut #harry potter imagine #foxtail and wolfsbane #marauders era #Marauders #rowan scamander x reader #remus lupin x reader #sirius black x reader #sirius black smut #Sirius Black #young sirius black #young sirius x reader

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frostmarris · 3 years

Text

Jailbreak

KakaSaku, KisaSaku, ShikaSaku - Fantasy Au

summary: A witch, a knight, a dog trainer, and an apprentice mage. Great minds think alike.

notes: gift fic for petrikore for the Sakura Haruno discord server's 6 month anniversary exchange!

there's uh,,, a lot more lore and world building that I thought up that I didn't end up including in the fic lol. Maybe I'll continue one day?

Enjoy!

: :

The hall is silent except for the crackling of flames and the whispers of onlookers. The torches perched equidistant along the polished stone walls of the grand hall hold their flickering fires behind fine metal cages, twisting and curled in elegant loops that glow red when kissed by the flames. The court is full, fine silks and satins and lace and pearls crowded together between the towering columns that lined either side of the main path from the entrance to the throne. The noblemen and women keep clear of wide path, necks craving to see over each other and the occasional muffled tap of tailored shoes against marble floor joining the crackling and whispers. Royal guards are placed periodically down the sides of the wide walkway to hold the line, either to keep the members of the court back or to protect them from something else.

All eyes are on the pair of grand doors opposite of the throne, the carved wood aged but well-maintained and the metal lining reflecting the light of the torches. Dancing shadows are cast over the painted carvings of forest creatures - foxes chasing rabbits, a mother doe grazing with a fawn, wolves running as a pack, birds soaring overhead, a hunting party on horseback following a lone stag. In the center, standing atop a green hill, every blade of grass meticulously carved, is a white silhouette of a strange beast - the single horn in the center of its forehead pointing to the heavens and touching a fallen star. The paint and carvings mimic the light radiating from the star, stretching out over the other creatures and bathing them in its ethereal glow.

A chorus of footfalls grows steadily louder from behind the carved wood and the whispers fall silent, leaving only the crackling flames to accompany the low groan of the old doors as the unicorn is split in twain.

The metallic ringing of armor scraping against armor and the sturdy thuds of leather boots against the marble floor soon drowned out the flames, but the entourage of royal guardsmen is ignored in favor of the woman trapped in the center of the pack. Two men stand on either side of her, just a step behind, with their hands on their hilted swords and their keen gazes never leaving her profile. Ahead of her walks the Captain, holding the iron chain attached to the heavy shackles encompassing her delicate wrists.

Her skin is rubbed red and raw under the sharp edges of the cuffs and her gown is torn and stained along the hem. A long sleeve ripped up to her bicep and a straight scratch along her left cheek, but she might as well have been dressed in all the finery and jewels of a queen with how the court stares in awe.

She radiates… something.

Something unseen and powerful and glorious that has breaths caught in lungs and eyes unblinking as she strides forward, the chain slack and her back straight. She stands with all the power and regal air of a royal lady of the court, as if she were here as a guest rather than a prisoner in chains.

The deep green of her gown, velvet and hemmed with silver threads, sweeps over the marble like a curtain of moss, silent compared to the footsteps of the soldiers. Beaded starlight dappled lightly over her skirt gathers together in larger clusters towards the bottom hem, gradient of silver and white sparkles that catch the crackling flames with every movement. Her skirt trails behind her, tattered and torn, and the guardsmen take care not to step on it.

They keep a wary distance from the woman, even though they must remain close - as if afraid to touch any part of her.

Hair the color of flowers only found in the royal garden cascades down the open back of her dress, brushing over unmarred skin and twisting in loose curls. Her head is held high and remains facing forward even as her eyes pass over the awed faces of the court. Eyes like the emeralds lining the King's crown and a face that is both hard edges and gentle curves, her stern expression unwavering and the smallest downward tilt to pink lips is the only inclination to her thoughts as she is led towards the raised dais of the throne.

The guardsmen and their charge stop at the first step of the platform and the hall falls silent once more, except for the soft rustling of fabric as the King shifts in his throne. Hard, aged, brown eyes stare into sharp green and the hall is filled with bated breaths, no person daring to speak or draw breath too loudly lest they draw the ire of either the King or the woman.

She stands tall and unwavering, refusing to break her gaze from the King's. Neither of them speak and the tension in the air grows heavy and thick, the crackling of the flames falling to a soft hush as well.

Then, her eyes flicker upwards and green-stained fingertips curl as her hands fist against the fabric of her gown.

The flames lick and rage against their delicate metal cages, growing bigger and brighter and hotter as her gaze falls on the single opalescent, spiraling horn mounted at the top of the King's throne, the jagged ivory base still stained red.

: :

Kakashi sees a ruby.

It is placed in the center of her forehead, pressed into her skin rather than the metal of a circlet or crown, and it catches the flickering flames of the torches as she passes by.

The Guardian of the Forest, he'd heard them call her - a strange woman inhabiting the mysterious woods just at the edge of the King's claimed land. She kept the creatures of the forest safe, allowing neither hunter nor soldier to enter and discover its secrets. Tales of magical beasts mingling among common animals and an ethereal being dressed in leaves and moss who wandered its hidden paths.

They were bedtime stories and lullabies that all children who lived near the woods grew up hearing, their dreams filled with creatures of legend and fae that would whisk you away into the darkness if you walked too close to those tall, tall trees.

He couldn't recall any mention of pink hair and eyes like green fire, however.

Kakashi stands at the edge of the crowded court, one of his hounds sitting obediently his side while he stands mesmerized, catching glimpses of the strange woman as she is led towards the throne.

He rarely ventured inside the castle anymore, preferring to spend his time in the kennels where he trained and tended to the royal hunting dogs. He'd had his fill of the court and politics and retired some years ago from his position as the Captain of the Guard. No more bloodshed, no more fighting - Kakashi had seen enough battles and men dying to fill several lifetimes.

Now, he took his place as the kennel master, making sure the hounds were kept happy and healthy between hunts and training pups for their eventual roles in the King's hunting parties. He spent a fair amount of time in the woods, but specifically those near the castle that were used for game and sport. Occasionally he ventured to other forests where townsfolk and noblemen hunted for their meals, but never to the great forest to the West, where white stags and black wolves and something otherworldly roamed.

Kakashi had been checking up on an order for new leather leads for the pack when he'd heard the whispers amongst the castle servants.

"A strange woman in chains caught by soldiers."

"A witch was being bought to the castle."

"The Guardian of the Forest had been captured."

So, he'd slipped into the throne room and kept to the edges of the great hall like many other curious members of the palace staff, unable to resist.

And he sees the woman, standing so tall and strong despite how the shackles dwarf her wrists and she barely reaches the shoulder of the guard next to her, soft and lovely and out of place in the court, and Kakashi insists to himself that there must be some mistake.

But then his hound whines and cowers and the flames lick at the metal cages of the torches, nearly grazing him as they seem to reach out in their rage, and the air grows cold, heavy and thick in his lungs.

And he knows that a mistake has been made, dire and dreadful.

: :

Kisame sees a sapphire.

It reminds him of his homeland, where the sea met the land and great waves crashed against towering cliffsides, carving back the rock and stone as it tried to reclaim what had once been under its care. Ocean spray and salt on his tongue, weathering his skin well before calluses and scars from training and combat. His gaze reading the horizon and tides and stars and the grand forests to the West only a legend for the children of seafarers and fishermen.

He'd always wanted to see those green, green woods and trees as tall as cliffs, even though his heart sang for the water and seafoam.

Kisame trained and worked and eventually found his place in the castle guard for the royal palace itself, his ocean home and those rocky shoals seen now only in his dreams. His heart yearned for both the sea and the woods he'd yet to witness, caught between both and unable to choose whether to return or venture onwards.

Now head of the King's personal guard, he dreams of both the past and the future - of before and more.

The Lady of the Woods, he'd heard whispered.

First as a story-creature when he was a child - a magical woman who'd never seen the ocean or horizon or sky, only trees and their reaching arms that hid away the stars and clouds with their canopies of leaves and vines. A being that spoke to the forest and bade the plants to follow her commands. Both a prisoner and a warden, where life was so unlike that of the coast and the inhabitants sounded alien and strange.

And now again, as he stands at his post to the right of the dais, armor glinting under the flames and his hand resting at his side, always just a moment away from reaching for his sword.

Kisame sees her as the grand doors open and the procession of guardsmen enter and his heart stops.

He sees the sunsets over the horizon that he misses, pink and lovely and breathtaking, and the greens of the great forest he yearns to see, cloaking a body with pale skin that had never known ocean spray or the harsh coastal sun.

Her eyes are more green than any leaf and they travel over the staring faces as she passes, unreadable and intense. The sapphire in the center of her forehead seems out of place amongst the greens of her eyes and gown and fingertips and the pinks of her hair and lashes and lips and Kisame stares like everyone else, something thrumming in his chest and in his ears.

Her eyes meet his own and he takes the smallest, sharpest breath, holding her gaze for what feels like hours, but he knows is only an instant, before her attention is turned to the King. Her anger is palpable and sweat beads at the nape of his neck and he doesn't dare take his eyes off of her.

Kisame is privy to more information than most, as he is always at his King's side, and he knows this woman has been brought here for heinous crimes - murder of soldiers, destruction of royal property, defiance against the King's will - but he finds himself unable to believe it.

She seems so delicate and frail, despite the strength behind her gaze. How could one small - lovely, beautiful, otherworldly - woman destroy an entire battalion? How could this woman have possibly uprooted a small fortress and crushed stone into rubble?

And then her gaze moves away from the king and to the horn mounted overhead and Kisame feels a chill unlike anything he's experienced in years.

The bite of ice in his veins and the suffocating pressure of water and drowning, no air left in his lungs and his heart heavy in his chest.

His hand is on his sword before he even realizes it and he's stepped forward, just the same as all the guards and soldiers present. The flames behind him grow wild and unruly, but he feels no heat from their lashing tongues.

Kisame's hand is on his blade but he can find no true desire to draw it, lost as he is in the Lady's gaze.

: :

Shikamaru sees an onyx.

He'd been restless all morning, a heavy pressure at the back of his skull and an unsettling feeling under his skin. He knew what would be happening today, had known for the week leading up to it, but he had no idea what to expect. And not knowing is one of his least favorite feelings.

The Witch of the Moors.

She was a legend - an enchantress, a sorceress, a shapeshifter - who had only ever been glimpsed through trees and branches of those daring few who entered her woods. Ruby hair, onyx eyes, golden hair, topaz eyes, diamonds and sapphires and pearls and emeralds and so many conflicting stories that encompassed years and years and years. Wearing the forest like a gowns and cloaks and hallowed by starlight, the very earth listened to her command and the creatures of the forest both feared and adored her.

She wasn't supposed to be real.

If anything, it was just some reclusive witch hiding in the great forest to the West, driving away people who tried to enter.

But then the King had taken a hunting party to the forest and returned with the most glorious trophy, exposing his sins to anyone who looked upon the opalescent horn he'd mounted.

Shikamaru had been on edge ever since he'd seen the horn, still bloody and shining though slowly dimming as the King laughed and regaled his grand story. He'd wanted to leave, to lock himself away in his study and beg for forgiveness as he knew there would be dire consequences. But his teacher had a place on the King's council and, as his apprentice, Shikamaru must remain at his side. To learn and listen so that one day he'd be able to take his place as a royal advisor and mage to the King.

His fingertips were numb and his shadows restless, flickering at the edges and twisting underfoot as he stood perfectly still, hands clasped behind his back and his expression tired and every fibre of his being screaming for him to run.

The first omen came the next morning, a dark storm reaching across the sky like a clawed hand, the castle its final mark. Reports claimed that the storm stretched across miles and miles, no break in the black and charcoal clouds. Lightning crackled just under the surface, never striking the ground but filling the air with static and energy.

The storm originated from the great forest, with its massive trees and otherworldly legends, and reached all the way across the kingdom for the King himself.

He had the horn mounted to his throne that evening.

And during the night, he claimed someone - some thing - had slipped into his bedchamber and tried to kill him.

(Reports from the guards claimed that they had rushed to the King's chamber at the sound of his screams, to find him waking from a nightmare and a manic look in his gaze.)

The next day, he sent a small battalion of soldiers to the forest.

Only one man returned, half dead upon his horse with reports of a bloodbath and screams and a witch standing on the rubble of what had once been an ancient watchtower.

The King consulted his mages and magical advisors and they came back with a potion, iron shackles, and a plan.

And now the Witch of the Moors had been brought to the castle to answer for her crimes and, again, all Shikamaru wanted was to run away.

The air is electrifying in the hall well before the doors finally open, the hair on his arms standing on edge but no one else seeming to notice the unrest in the atmosphere. Shikamaru stands to the left of the dais, at the back of the council and behind his teacher but with a clear view of the path to the throne.

The grand doors open and his blood sings.

A powerful force rushes through his veins, both chilling and burning all at once, and he hasn't seen her yet but he k nows she is there. There are whispers and hushed voices calling feather-soft into his ears, drawing patterns against his bare skin under his clothing and making him tense. His shadows writhe and twist and it's the only movement from him as he finds himself standing frozen-still, gaze straining as he waits for her to come into view.

Shikamaru finally, finally, sees petal-pink hair, green eyes brighter than any gem, and an onyx stone in the center of her forehead and he tries and fails to breathe.

Something is so terrible wrong and he can tell that his teacher feels it now as well as he tenses and inhales sharply through his teeth, but Shikamaru doesn't dare look away from the woman - he never wants to look away.

He feels her anger under his skin and in his veins and he knows she has every right to tear the castle itself down around them and rip apart anyone who stands in her way. He knows the only crime committed has been against her and, then and there, he resigns himself to whatever destruction she desires and knows that he will be leaving the castle by daybreak.

The flames roar and scream and rage and after things are calmed to simmering rather than overboiling and the woman is led away in her iron shackles, three minds simultaneously come to the same conclusion.

Tonight is the only night she will spend as a prisoner.

: :

Kisame brings her food.

He swipes the meal meant for her from one of the prison guards to hand-deliver it himself, using his authority as the head of the King's personal guard and claiming he wants a closer look at the witch, sharp steel in his gaze and his jaw tense.

The hardness of his expression melts away as he faces the door to her cell, high up in one of the tallest towers and far away from earth and soil. He meets her with a hushed voice and light steps as he enters, finding her still shackled at the wrist and kneeling at the far edge of the dark room. There is a single hole high above her, allowing a single ray of light from the setting sun to enter the cell.

She pauses in the midst of singing in a language Kisame doesn't understand and looks up at him, those emerald eyes practically glowing in the dark.

He carefully approaches her and slowly lowers to one knee, setting the food in front of her. Though her meal had originally only consisted of stale bread and water, he'd added a few fresh pieces of fruit that he'd swiped from the kitchen to the platter.

She meets his gaze and Kisame feels as if she is staring into his very soul, reading every thread of his being and slowly taking him apart, piece by piece.

And then her stern, indecipherable expression melts away and she offers him a near-smile, reaching out to touch his arm with her cuffed hands. He's never felt such soft skin against his own and he freezes, breath caught again before he bows his head in reverence and promises his return. Kisame unwillingly backs out of the cell and and doesn't look away from her until the door is closed.

He swipes the spare ring of keys mounted at the guard station after passing the original back to the prison guard, already making plans for a pair of horses and supplies.

: :

Kakashi brings her a blanket.

It's old and from his own home, so he's inwardly apologetic for any lingering dog-smells, but he would rather she have something of his than something belonging to the castle.

It's still fairly early in the evening and he distracts the prison guards with Pakkun, the small dog grabbing their attention as he makes off with someone's coinbag and they chase after him. Kakashi slips through the shadows, unseen and unnoticed and well practiced at getting where he wants to go without being spotted.

He curses as he finds the spare ring of keys missing from its usual spot in the guard station and resigns himself to picking the lock, using skills that have gone unused for some years.

The sound of muffled singing stops just as he manages to unlock the latch and carefully push the door open.

She's kneeling in front of the far wall, hair he longs to touch and run through his fingers cascading down her shoulders as she watches him warily. Still slightly crouched, Kakashi stares at her for a long moment, forgetting why he'd come, before he's startled by a soft bark in the distance.

Pulled from his reverie, Kakashi glances over his shoulder before silently slipping into the cell. Her eyes narrow and he holds up his hands as a show of peace, smiling behind the cloth covering the lower half of his face. Green eyes stare and stare and he holds his breath for almost too long, relaxing when she finally seems to find what she's searching for in his gaze.

Kakashi speaks, softly and lightly and her tense shoulders lower, her head tilting and sending those soft tresses in further waves down her arm as he procures the blanket from under his belt. He holds it out to her and she hesitantly reaches for it, his boot brushing an apple core as he takes another crouched step forwards.

Soft, delicate hands touch his rough, weathered fingers and she gives him the smallest smile as she accepts his gift.

His heart is pounding in his chest and he nearly lets out a small laugh, but then he hears more barking in the distance, grimacing behind his mask. Kakashi promises to return and slips back out of the cell, listening to the click of the lock and casting the door one last look before disappearing into the shadows.

: :

Shikamaru brings her a candle.

He stashes it away in his pocket and heads towards the tower used as a secondary prison with a lie on his tongue and conviction in his veins. He claims that the other mages sent him to see the witch, showing off a vial filled with shimmering black liquid that, in reality, is just metal shavings and ink.

He's led to her cell and watches as the door is unlocked for him, one of his shadows slipping into that of the prison guard to inspect the key as he enters the dark room, the sound of singing suddenly stopping. The sun has set and the sky has been dark for some time now, with the only light coming from the torches lining the hall outside the cell doors. The guard places a torch temporarily in one of the wall sconces and closes the door behind him, leaving Shikamaru with the woman.

She's bundled under a blanket and watching him with curiosity, something tickling the edges of his awareness and making him shiver, a buzz of energy under his skin. He stands there for a moment, holding her gaze, before walking forward and slowly dropping to his knees in front of her. Removing the candlestick from his pocket, Shikamaru gathers some of the energy in the air into his hand and passes his fingers over the wick, a flame lighting to life and flickering between them. The light dances across her face, catching in her eyes and the onyx on her forehead, and he waits with bated breath.

Then she chuckles and Shikamaru finds himself smiling, holding reaching to her left and using some of the melted wax to anchor the candle to the stone floor. When he looks back up at her, he's caught off guard by warm lips on his forehead and a spark of energy that rushes through him and makes his hair stand on end, his blood racing and roaring.

With hushed whispers, Shimamaru promises to return, retrieves the torch from the wall of the cell, and returns to his room to pack only the most important of his possessions.

: :

The next evening, after a tense day full of anxious thoughts and restless bodies, the commander of the King's personal guard, the kennel master, and the apprentice mage return to the prison tower.

Kisame and Kakashi arrive at the same door at the same moment.

They balk at each other, both searching for their next course of action and unwilling to harm each other. Kinda-sorta-friends and all that.

"Commander Hoshigaki…" Kakashi says, shuffling awkwardly with his lockpick hidden behind his back.

"Hatake…" Kisame answers back, just as stiff and tense.

A long stretch of silence passes between the men, muffled singing heard from behind the door next to them, and Kisame just barely shifts, the ring of keys hidden under his coat jingling at the movement and slipping out of their place in the picket he'd hurriedly stuffed them into. They hit the ground with a dull thud and both men look down, sweat beading on Kisame's brow as Kakashi’s eyes widen.

The knight grimaced, wondering if it would be quieter to knock him out by punching him in the face and knocking his head against the wall.

"...So that's where the spare keys went." Kakashi mumbles after a moment and Kisame's confusion is just long enough for the silver haired kennel master to sheepishly hold up his lockpicking tool and let out a nervous laugh.

Kisame opens his mouth to speak but is too dumbfounded to find words. They both silently shuffle their feet for a moment before a tired groan from the shadows has both men suddenly turning towards the source, a sword raised and a knife in hand within seconds.

Shikamaru steps out of the shadows, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand and holding up the copy-key he'd made with the other.

"Man, did we all have the same jailbreak idea..?"

The three would-be rescuers all stare at each other for a moment, Kisame resheathing his sword and Kakashi slipping his blade back into its spot on his belt as there's a chorus of awkward grunts and murmurs.

"One horse or two..?" Shikamaru asked after a moment, looking up at the much-taller Kisame. He'd only been able to get a single stallion, since he rarely left the castle anyways, and he doubted Commander Hoshigaki would be as unlucky.

"Two," Kisame admits, scratching at his cheek. "I've, uh, got them saddled and ready over by the West wall."

Shikamaru nods in approval but then Kakashi lets out a tired chuckle.

"Cart for me."

At their stares he sighs and shrugs.

"I've got dogs I'm taking with me, alright?"

The air is eerily quiet for a moment as the three men discuss their plans in hushed tones before Shikamaru suddenly tenses, static under his fingers as he sends the door a startled look.

All at once there's a rumble and a crash, the ground shaking and the sound of thunder filling their ears, coming from behind the cell door. The three men share startled looks before scrambling forward to unlock the door, a rush of fresh air meeting them the moment they throw it open.

The far wall of the cell has been blown apart, tree roots and branches digging into the floor and reaching into the room while the light of the moon dappled the darkness through the leaves.

Kneeling on the thick roots with one leg outside of the tower is the witch, who looks back at the men for a long moment. Then, she grins, waves, and hops off the ledge, sliding down the length of a massive tree that had reached up toward the tower, branches and leaves curling away from her as she makes her escape.

Kakashi, Kisame, and Shikamaru stare at the place she'd been for a long moment before the latter finally speaks up.

"S-so, uh… do we follow her or take the stairs..?"

#kakasaku #kisasaku #shikasaku #multisaku #sakura centric #Sakura haruno fic #Thirrinwrites #Thirrinfic #sakura haruno fanfiction #Sakura haruno discord server 6 month exchange #Shdkdjsk witchy sakura fic cause I can't help myself

109 notes · View notes

wiypt-writes · 3 years

Text

Stark Spangled Forever

One Shot: More Cushin’ For the Pushin’

Summary: Steve is starting to see the effects of the serum depleting. Can Katie convince him that, well, she doesn’t give a shit?!

Warnings: Bad language and a heap of smut! (NSFW, no under 18s.)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Rogers (Stark)

A/N- So you all got @sweater-daddiesdumbdork to thank for this…. and yes, this is utter head cannon about the serum but, indulge me!!

If you are currently reading Stark Spangled Banner for the first time as it reposts, then this contains MAJOR spoilers and you might want to wait until you’ve finished before you start Stark Spangled Forever.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Stark Spangled Forever Masterlist // Main Masterlist

“Sweetheart…” Steve sighed, gently catching Katie’s hand as it snaked over his belly under his Henley. She stilled and looked at him, her eyes narrowing slightly as he shook his head “I’m not feeling it tonight, I’m really tired.”

Katie sat up from where she’d been tucked under his arm as they sat on the sofa and flicked her pony tail back over her shoulder. “Alright. I’m gonna go up.”

“Honey…” he began to protest but she stopped him.

“Stevie, its fine. You said you’re tired so...” she gave him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes “I’ll see you upstairs.”

She curled her legs out from underneath her and stood up, padding from the room making sure to keep her face straight as she left. As she climbed the stairs, that horrible cold feeling washed over her from head to toe as she blinked back tears. Tears she felt pathetic for. This wasn’t a big issue…she got tired sometimes and pushed Steve away. Granted, that had happened like 4 times in the entire time she had been with him, but still…

Despite her self-reassurances, deep down she couldn’t help that little stab of insecurity in her brain. Steve had been acting off for the past 5 days. They’d had no fun of that nature whatsoever. Whilst his affection in general hadn’t particularly waned she’d noticed he wasn’t as handsy as he normally was and he hadn’t tried anything with her of that nature at all. He’d even taken to wearing a t-shirt in bed, which was basically unheard of, and it was almost as if he didn’t even want accidental skin contact with her.

Katie had brushed it off as him merely being tired. She knew he’d been reading through a lot of papers from his students, the first semester of the year was ramping up meaning Emmy was asking for his help too. Jamie was also excelling at his baseball which was taking up Steve’s entire Saturdays as he took him to practice, assuming the proud dad role from the side-lines, Rori was attention demanding as ever and Harry was teething....

So yeah, this was totally down to Steve being tired. Nothing else.

At all.

Nothing to do with him going off her.

Nope.

Katie took a quick glance in the mirror, her hands smoothing over her hips and stomach which had taken a battering from 3 children, before she shook her head and headed into the bathroom.

Whatever…

Downstairs Steve was cursing himself. There was no mistaking the flicker of hurt that he’d seen in Katie’s eyes when he had pushed her away. He hadn’t meant to be so abrupt but he had been grappling with something internally for a few days now that he didn’t particularly know how to deal with. He ran his hands over his face before he stood up and turned off the TV. He let Lucky out for a pee before he made sure the doors were locked and headed up the stairs. He looked in on all his kid in turn, knocking lightly on Emmy’s door as she was home for the weekend, and when she told him to come in he poked his head round finding her led in the dark, her face illuminated by her phone.

“Going to bed Em.” he said gently “Don’t be on that all night.”

“Yes dad.” she rolled her eyes and he arched an eyebrow at her.

“You might be 20 but less of the cheek.” he teased as she flashed him a smile.

“Love you pops.” she grinned cheekily.

He snorted “You too, sleep well.”

With that he shut the door and headed into the bedroom. Katie was in the en-suite, he could hear the tap running. Taking a deep breath he moved to stand in front of the mirror, gently casting his eyes over his reflection. At first glance he didn’t look that different but hitching his top up slightly he glanced at his torso, and there was no mistaking it. The definition in his abs had definitely decreased and the hard plane of muscle seemed to be giving way to something less toned.

The door to the bathroom opened and he let go of the hem of his top, just a little bit too late and Katie paused, looking at him.

“Everything ok?” she frowned.

“Yeah.” he nodded, brushing her concern off. “I’m going for a shower.”

He headed to door of their bathroom, and then she spoke softly, her voice cracking and her words made him stop in his tracks.

“Stevie, you’re scaring me.” she said gently and he turned to face her. The utter hurt on her face made him want to die, as she blinked and looked down at the floor .“Why are you pushing me away all of a sudden? We haven’t had sex in 5 days now. Don’t you…” she trailed off, not looking up, her words catching in her throat as she struggled to voice the question she was petrified of hearing the answer do “Do you not want to or something? I know I’m not what I used to be Steve, but…”

Steve felt his chest contract as he looked at his wife, his heart breaking that she could even think that he didn’t find her attractive. He hadn’t up until then given a second thought as to how his actions could be making her feel as insecure as he was and right now he hated himself for that.

“No, honey…it’s not that. God, it’s nothing, like that, at all.“

“Then is it someone else?” she cut him off quietly, raising her head to look at him, her eyes swimming with tears.

“What?” he looked at her, utterly stunned.

She swallowed, “I asked if there was someone else.” she held his gaze

“Jesus, fuck, no!” he shook his head, appalled at the mere mention of such a thing “Of course not.”

“So it is me.”

“Katie…stop…” He stepped forward and took both her hands in his “You’re beautiful. I swear this isn’t you-“

“Oh, don’t you dare give me the this isn’t you, it’s me line or I swear to God…” Katie glared up at him and he gave an exasperated groan.

“Honey, I swear…this has nothing to do with you.” he tried to assure her, pulling her in closer and wrapping his arms around him but it didn’t work.

“Then what is it?” Katie whispered into his chest and he pulled back to look at her, his hands cradling her face “Baby, talk to me.”

With a loud sigh he moved away, sinking onto the foot of the bed, He reached out, his hands on her hips and he pulled her in between his legs so she was stood looking down at him, her hand resting on his shoulders.

“I noticed a few things recently.” he said, his head looking down at the carpet. “About me…” he glanced up “You know how Bruce ran all those tests on me after I came back after those 15 years?”

“Yeah.”

“Well he said then that the serum wasn’t infallible. And that over time it would most likely work itself out of my system. But the older I got the faster that would happen.”

“I know Steve.” Katie frowned, “We went through all this.”

“Well I guess I just wasn’t prepared for how fast that was gonna happen, that’s all.”

“What do you mean?” she pressed “Are you sick?”

“No.” he shook his head “Nothing like that. Just…” he shook his head and snorted “God this sounds so vain but I guess I’ve gotten that used to looking in the mirror and seeing myself in such good shape, spotting that I’m changing…well, it was a bit of a shock and I was worried…”

“About what?” “That you might not…” “Oh, Stevie…” Katie blinked “That’s what this is about? Your stomach?”

“You noticed?”

“Well, yeah.” she shrugged, her hands rubbing his shoulders “I’m your wife…it hasn’t happened all of a sudden, it’s…” He groaned “I knew you’d seen…”

“Yeah, and I don’t care!” she sighed, shaking her head “Soldier,I know as much as anyone how hard it is coping with changes to your body. And so do you, it must have been a shock when you actually had the serum in the first place…”

“It’s not just the muscles.” he sighed, waving a hand to his beard. “This is going grey, my hair is too. My knees were ever so slightly aching after my run the other day…”

“Ok, first off…this…” she reached down, her nails scraping through his beard “This is hot. There’s a reason Brooke calls you the silver fox… and why half your students write that they want to do very rude things to you on twitter, which by the way really grosses Emmy out…” Steve chuckled a little, his hands sliding up the back of Katie’s thighs as she cocked her head and looked down at him. “And as for the rest of it, so what if you’re going a little...soft...around the edges.” “Soft?” he looked up at her, a small smile curling at the edge of his mouth.

“Well, it’s not like you’ve gone fat Steve.” Katie shrugged, “But whatever, the point is you’re hot and you still turn me the fuck on, maybe even more so now than when you were that pristine, fresh faced Brooklyn boy I first met in that Boxing Gym all those years ago.”

He looked at her, studying her expression as she cupped his face in her hands, keeping his gaze on her.

“And don’t tell me you don’t believe me because if you do that means you’ve been a big, fat liar about the fact you tell me that you find me even more sexy now than before we had kids.” she arched an eyebrow and he snorted a she moved to straddle him where he was perched on the end of the bed, her knees falling either side of his thighs.

“You’re the man I wake up to every morning, the man that kisses me fucking senseless, the man that’s helping me raise our children, the man who can still bring me straight to me knees with a single look my way.” she smiled.

“A single look?” he quipped.

“Yes, and you know it.”

He shook his head before he sighed, his hands resting on her hips. “I guess I’m just worried that one day…it’s all gonna be gone and…” “Remember what you said to me when I had Jamie?” Katie cut him off “When I was struggling with how I looked and to try and make me understand you asked me how I’d feel about you if we woke up one morning and the serum effects had all gone?”

She held his gaze before she continued “I told you then that it wouldn’t change a thing about how I felt about you. Did you believe me?”

Steve was silent for a second before he nodded “Of course I believed you, Doll..”

“So why on Earth would you suddenly think any of that has changed?” she looked at him “Serum effects or no serum effects… I don’t give a fuck Steve, you’re mine.”

Steve believed her, of course he did. He knew all this was in his head, but fuck if it wasn’t hard to let it take over, thinking back to being that little kid from Brooklyn that no one gave a second glance to.

“I got one word for you baby.” Katie said softly, her hands gripping at the hem of his Henley “Dumbasses.”

And jesus, suddenly he was catapulted back to that moment some 15 years or so ago on their first date,

“Well, personally, I think all those girls that picked Bucky over you were dubmasses. I’ve seen the photos of you before all this happened…” she raised her free hand and held out her index finger, and gestured up and down his torso “You were sweet”

He chuckled and took a drink of his beer “You know I heard that a lot…you’re really sweet and all but…“

“Like I said…”she leaned back in her chair slightly, “Dumbasses”

He shook his head as he peeked up at her, “Fucking hell I swear to God you can read my mind at times.”

“Nope…”she said, pulling his top up “I just know you. Now take this off.”

He arched an eyebrow but didn’t protest, instead he held his arms up so she could pull his henley over his head before she pushed him back, making him lay flat. He easily shifted them both, so they were a little further up the bed as her fingertips gently traced down his biceps.

“I love how you can wrap me in these, keep anything and everything from hurting me.” she looked at him, her eyes locked onto his as she started shifting slightly, her hands continued down his forearms before her fingers found his, lacing them together. “How your hands can be so gentle and soft yet also hard when I need them to be, how they’d kill for me, for any of us.” she raised his left hand to her mouth and brushed her lips over his platinum wedding band “A soldier, a man made for fighting yet who’s been nothing but gentle and loving with me and the kids…” she moved his hands to both her hips before she leaned down and pressed her lips to his, before she pulled back and smiled at him as she started sliding down his chest, peppering kisses down his sternum, the kisses punctuated by her words “my husband, my best friend, my lover, my baby daddy….”

Steve’s breath hitched a little as she moved downwards, lips gliding over his treasure trail and she peeked back up at him with those lust blown pupils and bit her bottom lip “You know how good this makes me feel, when you press against me over and over when you’re making me yours.”

She moved back so her hips were once more straddling his and Steve flexed underneath her. All that rubbing and brushing against him with every move she made had gotten him hard as fuck. He was aching for her.

Feeling him she looked at him, grinning. “And there’s certainly nothing soft about that.”

Steve let out a little chuckle and he couldn’t help but relax and enjoy right where they were at that moment. “You might have had a hand in that.”

Katie grinned. She loved having that kind of power over him, it was a fucking turn on.

“I’ll have a hand in your pants in a minute Soldier.”

“A minute seems an awfully long time to wait…” he said, pushing up against her again as she let out a soft sigh at the feel of him.

“Another reason I love you.” she smirked “Because I know you’re gonna leave me seeing stars within the next half hour. 10 minutes if we’re skipping foreplay.”

“Is this not the foreplay Doll?” he asked, his hands gripping her hips, fingers brushing the strip of skin just above her sleep shorts where her top had ridden up slightly, and he groaned inwardly as he saw her nipples were hard, peeking at him though the soft material of her cami.

“We can call it that if you want…” she said, rolling her hips, grinding against him again.

“You’re killing me sweetheart.” he groaned.

She rolled her hips against his again, splaying her hands on his chest “Nope, I can’t feel a shred of weakness underneath me…” “Ok…” Steve said, and with a swift movement he flipped her over so he was underneath him drawing a startled gasp from her which merged into that adorable, dirty little giggle he knew and loved “I’m done talking now.”

“Good.” She said, fisting her hand in the chain round his neck she dragged him down for a fierce, demanding kiss before she pulled back and looked at him “Fuck me like you own me, Cap.”

Her words fired something in his belly and he let out the growl that had been bubbling in his throat. His lips pressed to hers as if his life depended on it, his hands reached down and grabbed the straps of her top, pulling down harshly, the sound of ripping fabric filling the room.

Katie pulled back and looked at him “Did you seriously just do that? Again?”

“Look, sweetheart.” he glanced at her “You told me to fuck you like I owned you. I’m trying. So shut up.”

Whatever quick response Katie had been thinking up died in her throat as with a quick movement Steve grabbed her hips and flipped her over, once more drawing that dirty little giggle that he loved so much from her throat. His fingers gently traced a line down from her neck to the base of her spine before he gripped at the flesh over her hipbones and pulled her upwards so she was presented in front of him. Taking more care this time, he slid her shorts down, before he shimmied out of his sweats, his fingers tracing the inside of her thigh, bending over, his lips following their path. As he got to the top of her inside thigh, his kisses became gentle bites and then without warning he inserted 2 fingers inside her.

“Fuck…” Katie stuttered, her hips bucking backwards. Steve’s fingers started to move, gently, then harder, his mouth kissing all around the top of her thighs as she moved back and forth, fucking herself on his hand. He watched her for a minute or so, his fingers curling and pushing…and then they stopped. Katie whimpered, and Steve smirked as he bent over, nipping at her neck.

“You know I love you, right?” he said softly, his mouth caressing her pulse point as she rolled her head back, his hand slid up to her throat holding her face still as he kissed her, hard.

“Yeah, I love you too Solider” Katie panted into his kiss.

His fingers danced over the soft skin of her outside thighs and both his hands pulled her backwards as he pushed straight into her, making her cry out softly at the depth.

His rhythm was slow at first, hands on her hips before he quickened, the depth of this angle driving Katie wild. She writhed and moaned as he filled her, brushing against that spot inside her and she couldn’t get enough of him, her face buried into the pillow, pelvis pushed back against him as he thrust in deeply, again and again.

“You’re all mine…” he said hoarsely as he leaned forward, his chest pressing into her back as his teeth grazed her ear, biting down softly, “There’ll never be anyone else, never baby girl.”

His voice was punctuated by his grunts as he thrust into his wife again and again, his fingers tightening on her skin, knowing full well he’d probably leave bruises but not giving a shred of care. And neither did she, the more people that saw those marks, the better, the signs she was his for the world to see…it drove her wild with passion and lust and she couldn’t help but rock back against him, begging him to push deeper, drive her to the edge and back again, which he was more than happy to do.

“Say you believe me…” Steve all but growled as he thrust into her fiercely, his hand tightening slightly around her throat causing her to grab at the sheets in her hand “Say you believe me that there’s no one who comes close…”

“I believe you…” Katie cried out loudly, her voice punctuated by desperate moans as she tilted her head back as he continued nipping at her neck, pounding into her. “No one else.”

She was lost, lost in the sensation of her soldier fucking her senseless, just like she had asked him to. Those hands that she loved, that were normally so soft and gentle with her were now gripping at her hips, curling into her soft skin, pulling her back with each thrust. His lips, the ones she was so used to whispering soft nothing into her ear, or placing gentle kisses to her neck were biting and sucking at her throat as if his life depended on it, praising her, telling her what a pretty girl, amazing momma and beautiful wife she was. Coupled with the consistent pounding between her legs she was lost in an utter whirl of love and lust and she could feel the coil in her belly beginning to tighten as Steve maintained his pace, not once relenting.

Steve could read the signs well enough by now to know she was close. Moving one hand he slid it down between her legs, stroking at her clit drawing a loud gasp from her lips as she bucked back onto him, her legs trembling.

“Stevie… I’m gonna…”

“Come on doll…” he said gently into her ear “Come for me…”

“Oh, God…” her voice was low, soft, as her words became nothing but a babble of noises as she lost control, her body shaking as she cried out, the world tipping on its axis completely as she became completely unaware of anything other than the sensation between her legs as she came, hard, pulsing and tightening down around him.

Steve felt it, he always did, and he continued to drive into her, fucking her through it before he realised he wanted to see her, wanted those green eyes he knew and loved locked onto his, so with a quick pull back he moved out of her and flipped her over again onto her back before she could even think about what he was doing. With a grunt he buried himself into her again, propping himself up on his elbows, his hands cupping her face as his lips crashed onto hers for a dirty, sloppy kiss that was all mouth and tongue.

He reached down, grabbing at her knee, slinging it over her shoulder as he rutted into her, driving hard, over and over, the dirty noise of wetness filled the room, skin hitting skin as he picked up the pace driving and seeking his own release. Katie’s hands gripped at his back, her nails digging into his shoulders as he thrust again and again, her eyes locked onto his. His pupils were blown with desire, those baby blues she knew and loved had darkened to a steel grey and knowing that after 15 years and a lifetime of ups and downs that she could still elicit this effect on him was enough to blow her mind. She loved this man, with every single inch of her body, and always would.

Steve dropped his head, his hips not once faltering as his mouth nipped at her chest, sucking, biting, the bruises forming almost instantly but he couldn’t give a fuck. This woman was his, no one else’s, and in turn he wanted her to realise that. He needed her to understand that there wasn’t a single person on this fucking planet, hell, the universe that would ever make him feel like this. As his lips moved to that spot on her neck he dropped her leg down and felt her breath hitch again and she let out a soft wail, her hips bucking upwards as she wrapped her legs around him, heels digging into his ass.

“I got you baby…” he whispered, his voice punctuated by his own pants “Come on, give it to me…” With a gasp, her head titled back, eyes fluttered shut as her hands gripped at his strong arms and she came again which was enough to send him catapulting off the edge right behind her. Her legs grew tighter around his slim hips, gripping at him, pulling him closer as he stuttered, groaned and then pitched forward, his torso slick with sweat as he lay still, face pressed into her neck, surrendering to the utter bliss that consumed him.

Steve gently kissed Katie’s neck, breathing deeply. That had been intense and felt like it had risen from his very toes. His mind was still caught in that post-coital fog of bliss, and his body felt like it was light, floating even, but as Katie shifted underneath him, her lips gently pressing to his temple, he realised he wasn’t floating, nor was he light. He went to move, to roll off her but she caught him immediately, her hands flying to his arms as she looked at her.

“Don’t” she whispered.

“Honey I’ll crush…” “No, you won’t” she shook her head, “Relax, please soldier just…”

Steve licked his lips, and gently dropped back onto his elbow, pressing a little more of his weight on top of her. Katie sighed, her forehead resting on his collar bone, face nuzzling into his chest, her hands softly gliding up his back. Despite his worry, Steve felt himself relax into his wife as he held her in his arms. Katie sighed contently.

“Feels so nice, just lay here…” she said softly, pressing a kiss to his chest. “You always pull away far too fast.”

Steve took a deep breath “I don’t mean to Doll, I just know I’m way bigger and…” “Steve…” Katie moved her hand so she raised a single finger to his lips, shushing him “Stop.” After a moment or so of tensing up he allowed himself to relax completely, her hands dancing up his spine and he gave a soft hum of contentment as she pressed a kiss to his jawline and he felt her lips curl into a smile against his beard.

“What?” he asked softly, moving so he looked down at her.

“Nothing, just I love you.” she said honestly, her eyes locking onto his. “Forever.” Steve chuckled as he pressed his lips to hers “Good, because I’m not going anywhere.”

“Glad to hear it.” Katie smiled, brushing a hand through his hair “And for the record…I’m all about more cushin’ for the pushin’”

At that Steve let out a loud laugh as she giggled along with him, his mouth once more claiming hers

“Looks like I am too, baby girl.”

After another minute or so, Steve finally relented and moved, his softening cock pulling out as he rolled over onto his back, giving a sigh.

“You ok?” he asked.

“Yeah, course…I could use a drink though.” Katie smiled.

Steve leaned over, pressed a kiss to her mouth before he moved, located his boxers and after a promise of being back soon he headed out onto the landing.

Emmy emerged from her room at the same time, leaning on her doorframe as she shot him a look “You two are disgusting.”

“What?” he blinked, standing still as he looked at her.

“Seriously…you need to soundproof your room! I mean how would you feel if you heard me and Pete?” “I better not hear you and Pete.” he shot back, hands falling to his hips as he fixed his eldest with a glare.

She shrugged before she looked him up and down, and rolled her eyes “Fuck, I’m glad Brooke isn’t here…I’m sick of her telling me you’re a snack…”

With that she turned back into her room, shutting the door behind her. Steve stood still, looking at the now closed doorframe before he grinned to himself.

“Rogers, you still got it.” he laughed softly, before he bounded down the stairs to grab a bottle of water.

#stark spangled forever #steve rogers #Katie Stark #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fic #steve rogers x ofc #steve rogers x original female character #steve rogers smut #mcu #mcu fanfic #chris evans #chris evans characters

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scullydubois · 3 years

Text

memory-bound: a revival one-shot

Set between Rm9sbG93ZXJz & My Struggle IV, Scully moves back into the Unremarkable House after her smart home burns down and returns to an age-old ritual: coloring her hair.

T, 1.8k, fluff/domestic fluff, read on ao3 here.

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Lamp light casts shadows on the wall as Scully unpacks in a place she never thought she’d find herself again: the master bedroom she and Mulder shared for almost a decade. She lays her remaining clothes on the tribal-patterned bedspread and smirks at how little the room has changed. She expected to be put up in the guest room and was perfectly fine with that. They had rarely gotten any use out of it--she figured an inhabitant would do it some good. Imagine her shock, then, when Mulder told her he hadn’t slept in “their” room since she left. That the room was all hers.

It shouldn’t have surprised her that after a decade of a bed, he returned to what he knew upon losing what he had known. He swapped the couch he slept on for seven years for a Barcalounger. An old man needs his amenities, he joked while showing her its heat and massage functions. And she felt a gnawing in the pit of her stomach, the mark of a fool.

She salvaged what she could from the fire, but most of her Bethesda things were ruined. That soulless smart house was never worth its automated thermostat system, let alone any of its other data mines disguised as gizmos. Mulder hated it--hated it, like, wouldn’t step foot in it, and if she’s being honest, that was the only selling point for her: the shelter it offered from his incessant search for truth & his unsatisfiable conscience. This was back when she felt like that was something she needed to get away from, of course. She had wanted to settle somewhere and mean it. Now, she realizes they were settled all along.

She rests a pile of folded clothes in the crook of her arm and pulls open her old dresser. She envisioned cobwebs--maybe even a whole family of spiders--in there, but instead, a ratty New York Knicks t-shirt greets her. And a Spaceship Earth one under that, and a Wile E. Coyote one under that. Her holy trinity of Mulder t-shirts. She refused to take them when she left, though he insisted. And in protest, he hadn’t worn them. She knows this instinctively, though the lack of laundry scent confirms it. They’ve been waiting in this drawer all along, captives to Mulder’s fantasy that one day she would open it again.

Scully squeezes her eyes shut, slips the pile in next to the shirts, slams the drawer, and grabs her toiletries bag off the bed, striding into the bathroom. She can’t dwell...she can’t. She’s learned by now that regret is a state of mind that freezes her up, and there’s no being frozen, not any more.

Unzipping the bag, she lines her various products along the counter. Age-defying this, anti-aging that...sunscreen is really the only thing that’s done her any good. That, and hair dye. She keeps the others around for show.

Speaking of...she pokes at her roots, scouring the mirror for signs that yes, she could theoretically be a grandma--and she can’t say for certain that she isn’t--but to her knowledge, she’s not, and as long as no one calls her Grandma, she won’t accept the title.

She won’t accept the gray hairs, either. One day, sure, but not yet. Mulder’s not even gone gray yet, and he has years on her. She’s told him that he would look great, and that the silver fox nickname would be nothing short of perfection, but he swears that he just hasn’t lost his “natural luster” yet, that he’ll embrace the gray when (if!) it comes.

Scully’s not been so lucky, though it doesn’t show. She’s been coloring her hair every three weeks since she was twenty-eight to keep the ravishing red. She’ll never forget when Mulder realized it wasn’t her natural color...the way his eyes widened as he moved between her legs…

It’s not as if he didn’t know; her mousy auburn had been on full display when they first met, and yet he’d gotten so used to seeing her as she is that it slipped his mind that she hadn’t always been that way. And once they moved in together--in this very bathroom, actually--he loved to help her with the coloring process, was as fascinated by it as the prospect of alien-human hybrids.

She chooses the tube of Rock it Like a Redhead dye from her product line-up, looks at her reflection. It’s been five--no, six--nearing seven--years since she performed this ritual in this room. She glances down, and sure enough, the tile still bears a rust-colored stain from one of her sessions gone wrong. It makes her smile...she has a history here. They have a history here.

She sighs. For old time’s sake, she might as well...she’s found herself thinking that a lot lately.

Her old robe--her usual attire for the occasion--fell victim to the fire, but she’s got a good substitute in mind. She pads back into the bedroom and plucks the Wile E. Coyote shirt from the drawer. It’s black, hopefully that will hide any stains. Her slacks are too damn expensive to risk an accident, so she briefly considers stripping to her panties before settling on a pair of gym shorts.

Her get-up in place, she grabs a few clips from her bag and pins her hair up in four sections. This is one of the reasons she got her chop; her long hair was sexy, but it was a bitch trying to cover all those layers. Plus, Mulder is fond of “the Scully shag” as he calls it, though she corrects him every time (it’s not a shag Mulder, it’s a bob!). It reminds him of their firsts, she imagines. It’s almost as if the longer her hair got, the further apart they drifted. And once they were okay again, it was imperative that she bear her neck to him...show him the place where his lips should land.

She decides to stand in the shower (water off, of course) so any mess can be rinsed away. She wonders, suddenly, if the square mirror they used to keep is still suctioned to the glass interior. It’ll be hard to do this alone if it’s not.

She peeks in, and it’s not there, and that must be the only thing in this house Mulder has moved. Figures. She slips off her shoes and grabs the applicator and dye tube. She’ll do the best she can, then use the bathroom mirror to make any touch-ups.

Scully steps into the shower. Its characteristic lemon scent is gone, and that makes her sad. It used to be a welcome change from the antiseptic hospital smell she dealt with all day. Wielding her tools, she starts at her roots, spreading the dye along her scalp with expert precision. Surely this counts as a workout--it takes a lot of energy to hold your arms over your head for this long. Will her Fitbit calculate how many calories she’s burning, she wonders?

She’s just started a new strand when a gentle rap echoes through the wall.

“Scully?” Mulder’s voice rings from outside the bedroom. She pulled the door slightly shut when she entered.

“Come in!” she calls. “In the bathroom.”

She hears footsteps in the adjacent room, then a hesitant breath as Mulder pauses at the doorway. “Are you decent?”

Scully looks down at herself. What a picture. “I’m in a Wile E. Coyote t-shirt and gym shorts. Does that answer your question?”

Mulder shuffles in, smirking at the sight of her through the open shower door. “What are you doing?”

She points to the crown of her head--which is already well within his field of vision--so she’s not sure why he needed to ask the question.

“Well, I see that,” Mulder concedes, “but I mean, why are you hunched over in here like you’re hoping to grow a third arm?”

Scully shrugs. “A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”

“That’s just as lame as ‘boys will be boys,’ and you know it,” he counters, remembering a spirited lecture she once gave him on the misogynist undertones of the phrase. Scully smirks. They had that conversation years ago...post-William, pre-Bahamas. She’s surprised that it stuck with him.

She tilts her chin in a way that makes Mulder certain she’d have her hands on her hips if they weren’t occupied. “What do you suggest?” she challenges.

“Let me help you,” he proposes before she can launch a protest. His sneaker’s rubber sole meets the shower tile as he slips in beside her. The wall is cold against her elbow as she scoots back to make room for him.

“I’m fine. I’ve been doing this on my own for years, and I was long before you.”

“But now you have me,” he professes. “Here. Right now,” he clarifies, not meaning to label their as-yet undefined relationship status.

Their eyes meet, and Scully’s hit with the last time the two of them were in here--her legs around his waist, his hands sliding through her hair, droplets that couldn’t be placed as shower water, sweat, or tears. Her spine straightens against the very wall where she was pinned. Times change, yet they don’t. History repeats itself in a slightly different key.

“When I was younger, I did this because I liked the color,” she tells him, finishing a section and lowering her hands. “Now, I do it out of necessity. It’s sad, Mulder.” She juts her lower lip out in a faux pout. “We’re getting old.”

He would hug her, but he’d mess up her hair and it would be a whole thing. “Hey, I’ll be pushing your wheelchair with my wheelchair, remember?” he says, taking her slip into sentimentality as permission.

Scully nods, the delicate memories of years past bringing a slight frown to her face.

“Can you do me a favor?” she asks, raising to her tiptoes, then lowering again. Her eyes twinkle.

“Of course.”

She offers him the tube of dye, looks up at him with a smile.

“Can you get right here?” She points to a spot right above her temple, one she could definitely reach herself if she wanted to.

Mulder admires her. His woman, back in his old t-shirt and all. He plants his lips on her temple, breathing her in. No matter what she says about aging or being old, he’ll never believe her. She is as she was back then: the only semblance of peace he’s ever known.

He pulls away to meet her gaze, his voice warm and smooth. “Is that about where you want it?”

Scully grins. “Yes, that’s perfect.”

#this might be the only revival fic i ever write & i really enjoyed it #a chance to reflect and take a trip down memory lane <3 #the x-files #txf #txf fic #mine #todayinfic

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

Note

Can you do 60 for indruck, NSFW? Thank you so much! Love your work!

Here it is! I set it in the same world as this sternclay fill. Credit to @bellafarallones for playing in this space on discord. Apollo is from my Super hero AU

“All I’m sayin is it seems mighty unfair to me that one fella gets a handler-assistant type deal and the rest of us don’t.” Duck crosses his arms as Ned fiddles with the pen on his desk.

“You’re not wrong, dear boy, but Apollo was in high demand from the higher ups-”

“Because he’s a shallow dipshit with a mean streak who’ll be good for ratings?”

“Precisely. He demanded in his contract that we allow his twin to continue his work as his photographer and assistant. He has over a million followers on Instagram, so those photos will be a boost to the show. Just try to get along for the camera’s?”

“His brother ain’t even on camera.” Duck mutters.

“I meant with Apollo.”

Duck shrugs, defeated, “sure thing, Ned.”

As he walks back to the main house, he mulls over the fact that the twin (Indrid, he thinks that’s the guys name) bugs him more than Apollo does. Apollo is vain, mean, and selfish, but at least that gets him things, even makes sense for the kind of show they’re on. Indrid gains nothing by helping him out here. Except protection from the bully, which Duck finds to be the worst kind of cowardice. Hopefully Vincent, this season’s bachelor, will see through the “influencer” and send him packing ASAP.

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

Four weeks in, and this is exactly what Duck was worried about. Not only is Indrid hovering around his brother like a nervous moth (excet when cameras are near, at which point he ducks out of frame), he’s doing fucking nothing to reign him in.

A few frontrunners are starting to emerge, and with that claws are coming out. Barclay, a chef and all around nice guy, is the target of choice. Nico and Josh both took bites out of him this morning. But Apollo sunk his teeth in like a dog on a fox, calling him, among other things, a pathetic, six-foot puppy dog who no man would ever want. The cook left noticeably teary eyed. Duck was about to block the cameras from following when Joseph beat him to it. Which is weird, because he thought Joe couldn’t stand Barclay. Apollo flounces off, but Duck corners Indrid where he’s been stoically watching his brother be a raging asshole.

“What the fuck man?”

‘Wrong twin.” Indrid says flatly, indicating his silver hair, tied back in a half-bun. His dark roots are showing and his eyebrows are black, unlike Apollo’s immaculate blonde dye job and bleached brows.

“Nope, right one. You’re his handler, cant’ you fuckin intervene when he’s doin’ shit like that? Or are you just here to let him hurt whoever he feels like?”

Indrid fixes him with a bitter smile, “If there were a way to make my brother be kind or, indeed, see others as people, don’t you think I’d have found it and used it everyday since?”

“I-”

“You people have no idea how much I’m already doing. I kept him from going after you yesterday by reminding him he looks ugly when he yells on camera. And if nothing else console yourself with the fact you all have only to deal with him for a few months. Some of us have endured twenty-eight years of it.”

With that, he turns and stalks from the room. As he leaves, Duck can’t shake the thought that his black denim jacket and worn jeans fit him better than Apollo’s designer ones ever could.

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

Indrid understands why there’s so much alcohol on set, but he can’t partake (too bitter) and it makes Apollo even harder to handle than usual. Which is why Indrid is out on the grounds at ten p.m, intending to hide from his brother until dawn.

At six weeks in, fan favorites are getting more established and Indrid, needing to predict Apollo’s mood in order to do his job, is keeping a close eye on them. His twin is well-liked for being snarky and hot, though he suspects the large number of contestants means there have been limited chances for his unpleasant side to be showcased. Joseph is another, because of course he is, movie-star handsome with an interesting past. Barclay is beloved for the very things that the other contestants torment him for. And Duck? Duck is quickly becoming the one people think Vincent will choose.

Indrid thinks they’re right. He’s charming in an understated way, funny, and while Apollo needles him for his “dad bod,” Indrid and Vincent have both noticed the muscles in his arms. Who gives a damn about flat abs? Indrid would much rather have something soft to rest his head on while those green eyes look lovingly down at him. His crush on Duck is useless, persistent, and must be hidden from Apollo at all costs.

His foot catches something solid and he tumbles over the obstacle to land ass-first on the lawn.

“Ow.” He glares at the object. The object turns out to be Duck Newton, who's obviously drunk as he sits up.

“Sorry man, thought no one’d come out here. Oh it’s you, it's, uh, fuck, fuck c'mon” he snaps his fingers as he searches his thoughts, “It's cute Apollo!”

“Indrid.” Surely Duck didn’t mean to use that adjective. Right?

“No, I’m Duck?”

He snickers, “No, I meant I’m Indrid.”

“Ohhh, right. You're Indrid. I'm Duck. That's the big dipper” He points at the sky. Indrid follows the line and grins, delighted.”

“It is!”

“Uhhuh. C'mere, can show you more.” Duck pats the spot beside him and lays back. Indrid scoots closer and reclines as well, making appreciative sounds each time Duck shows him a constellation.

As they’re studying the sky, the other man whispers, “Can I tell you a secret? I, I think Joe’n Barclay are into each other now."

“The way they look at each other is not exactly subtle.”

‘“Heh, yeah.” he links his hands across his belly, “I think they're in love. You ever been in love?”

“No.” He sighs, not wanting to dwell on that pile of baggage, “You?”

“Nope. And, uh, don’t, don’t tell anyone but I don't think I am with Vincent. Maybe I could be? Does that make me a bad person? He's nice, think he likes me a lot but, I, I dunno.”

“Not being in love with someone doesn’t make you a bad person. No more than loving someone does.”

Indrid is hard to surprise; years of getting out ahead of his brother and father taught him how to see things coming. But nothing could prepare him for Duck rolling to hide his face against Indrid’s chest. Not knowing what else to do, he pats his back, notices a woodsy scent tingling his nose.

“You smell good.” He winces; that was too creepy, now Duck will pull the comforting bulk of his body away.

“Thanks. I bought a bunch of cologne when I realized I was actually going to be a contestant. News clothes too. Thought it would give me an edge but...I dunno, can't compete with a guy like your brother.”

“Join the club.” Indrid reaches up to toy with a lock of Duck’s black hair, expecting Duck to bat him away. Instead, he sighs and turns his head to give Indrid better access.

“You could compete with ‘im. You're cuter. Nicer too.”

“Oh. Ah. Thank you.”

Duck’s fidgets with the mothman pin on Indrid’s jacket, “You wanna cuddle?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“No one cuddles with me. And we ain’t allowed to cuddle Vincent yet.” He looks up, lips pouting just enough to be charming.

Indrid let’s a purr enter his voice, “That’s a shame. I’m happy to cuddle.”

Duck rolls more of his body onto Indrid, resolutely nestling his head under his chin and tangling their legs together. His hands stay on Indrid’s chest and shoulders, though he’s now drunkenly petting Indrid’s collarbone, making him shiver. He expends four months worth of daring in a second, wrapping his arms around the curves of Duck’s torso. When Duck’s fingers brush skin instead of shirt, Indrid whimpers, then bites his lip and prays it went unnoticed.

“You don’t get cuddled much either, do you?” Duck murmurs thoughtfully.

“No.”

“Damn shame, you’re real good at it. Can cuddle me any time.”

Indrid “mmhmms” knowing the promise is like the stars; bright and comforting in the darkness, but ultimately beyond his reach.

Three day later, he drops his guard; Apollo’s been on his good behavior since Vincent’s been spending more time with him. You’d think Indrid would learn by now that all his venom has to go somewhere.

He’s huddled down in the rec room trying not to cry; it’s pathetic enough that he let such childish insults get to him, but to cry over them would confirm everything his brother said.

“Indrid? You, uh, you okay?” Duck’s reflection in the darkened T.V approaches his own.

“I'm fine.” It’s the same inflection he’s used hundreds of times, but Duck sits down on the couch all the same.

“Do you, uh, need a hug?’

“No.” He replies a hair too quickly.

“Do you want one?”

“......Badly.”

Duck opens his arms and Indrid shifts on the cushions, doing his best to curl his long limbs so they’ll fit in his embrace. The shorter man notices, concern flashing on his face.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Not particularly.”

“Okay. You, uh, wanna hear the most exciting news of the day?” He waits for Indrid to nod, “there was a cougar sightin’ in the foothills near here!”

“That is both very exciting and alarming.”

“Doubt it’d go after folks, they try to steer clear of people. We don’t have ‘em back home, but you learn what to do when you’re also learnin how to deal with bears.”

“How does one deal with a bear? Other than buying them a drink.”

Duck snorts, relaxes further into the couch, “Depends on how soon you see ‘em…”

They emerge two hours later, and Indrid is so engrossed in their conversation about hiking incidents that he runs smack into a camera man. While he’s apologizing profusely, Duck guffaws, steadies him, and leads him off in search of somewhere to watch the sunset.

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

“Oooh, ooh, look, sea lions!” Indrid points to the distant wharf.

“Good eye. Man, those fuckers are big. Glad none of ‘em were in the water when we did that fuckin cliff dive.”

“I for one would pay good money to see my brother chased by a sea lion.”

Duck chuckles, pops the tab on his WhiteClaw. They’re having dinner on the beach, a gourmet spread meant to encourage them to show off their pallets. Indrid took Barclay’s recommendation and ordered the whole, grilled snapper, which he assumed he’d be eating alone; Vincent’s attention has been on Duck ever since he went swimming this morning. Duck seems to be enjoying it, but come dinner time he demurred (“gotta let some of the other fellas have a chance”) and brought his basket of fried oysters over to join Indrid on the sand.

“Speakin of your brother, kinda surprised he didn't make any digs at this whole, uh, situation.” Duck gestures to the torso Indrid is currently aching to lick droplets of saltwater from. To subdue the craving, he licks salt from his fingers before replying.

“I, ah, the last time he tried to, I reminded him of all the pictures I have of him eating. He hates to be seen eating. Most of the time.” He tilts his head towards his twin, who’s chowing down next to Vincent without a care for the cameras. Indrid sets his hand on the warm sand, “I’ve been trying to, well, reign him in as you suggested. Or at least make him think twice about his choices.”

(Indrid omits the part where he’s most likely to risk it if Duck is the one with the target on his back).

Duck sets his hand down beside Indrid’s, brushes sand from the side of it with a calloused thumb, “Mighty good of you. But, uh, think I mighta read things wrong that day. You gotta handle him how you think best. Just, uh, just promise me you won’t sacrifice your own well-bein’ for my sake, or anyone else’s. We’re all grown-ass men; we can handle it.”

“I promise.” He lies.

The other man leans back on his hands, green eyes drifting across the waves. Indrid would gladly sit in silence the rest of the night, it’s so easy to be comfortable in the lull when it’s Duck filling the space beside him.

Eventually, the ranger murmurs, “It’s so fuckin breathtaking. The ocean, I mean. Maybe if you live on a coast you get used to it but man, it is somethin;.”

“More so than the forest?”

Duck smiles, “It’s like apples and oranges. Monongahela got its own charms; you’d have a blast takin pictures and drawin there, believe me. If, uh, if Apollo and I both make it to the final four, uh, maybe we could take a few hours durin’ my hometown visit and I could show you my favorite spot.

Indrid imagines the two of them beneath the trees, walking hand in hand.

“I’d like that.”

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

“You know you’re just a distraction, right?”

Indrid doesn’t look at his brother, just flips the page in his book, “I doubt that. You’ve said, often, that I’m too off-putting to be interesting.”

“Not when there’s competition for someone superior; Duck knows he might not win. You’re his back-up if he doesn’t, and a way to kill time until the end. Once Vincent sends him home, which he most definitely will, he’ll keep you around until something better comes along.”

“Don’t act like you know him.” Indrid hisses, looking up just in time to see something scurrying behind the triumph on Apollo’s face: fear.

So, his brother has a new weakness. He’ll tuck that away for later; this is shaping up to be an unpleasant conversation, but not one requiring quite that degree of weapon.

“You should thank me. If I weren’t so captivating, Vincent would spend all his time with Duck. Then you’d be without any attention at all. Even Duck’s taste isn’t that abysmal.” He grins his several thousand dollar smile, “he and Vincent are probably laughing about it right now.”

Indrid stands, crosses the tiny room, “Shut up, Apollo.”

Then he slams the door. There’s a yelp, followed by “you hit my nose, you pathetic excuse for a man, ow, open this door this instant I’m not done with you!”

He flicks the lock and sits back on the bed. There’s a tin of sensory putty on his nightstand and he opens it, playing with it between his fingers. Duck brought it for him after a museum date with Vincent. The image of him not only thinking of Indrid when he saw something, but then buying it for him just to see him smile makes him want to grin and hide his face in a pillow like a teenager who just got asked to prom.

But maybe this date is going differently.

Indrid squeezes the putty, repeats the mantra he’s had since he was a child, “Apollo always lies. Apollo always lies.”

Eventually, he’s calm enough to work on some tattoo commissions, is coloring away when there’s a knock on the door. A secret knock Duck invented as a goof. Throwing open the door reveals the shorter man wearing a suit jacket and an exhausted expression. Indrid gestures to the bed, shuts and locks the door as Duck slumps on the mattress and sets his head in his hands.

“Whelp, that was a shit-show.”

“What happened?” Indrid sits cross-legged beside him.

“Vincent went in for a kiss and I, uh, I turned him down. I mean, he took it well because he’s a sweet guy but I, I feel like shit.”

“There’s no shame in not wanting to kiss just yet.”

“That ain’t the problem. I, I wanna kiss someone on this set, but it ain’t him. Indrid” he looks up, green eyes watery, “Indrid, I think I’m fallin in love with you.”

“Oh. I, are you sure-”

“The whole night, and I mean the whole fuckin night, I was thinkin about you. Thought how nice the trip to the botanical gardens would be with you there to point out color combos and get excited about butterflies. Wanted to hold your hand over dinner. Fuck, when they brought out the dessert menu all I could think was how fun it’d be to order one of each thing to surprise you so you’d do that thing you do with your hands when you’re real excited.” Duck turns, sets his hands on Indrid’s shoulders, “‘Drid, if you don’t want this, I’ll back off but-”

Indrid cuts him off with a kiss, let’s strong arms pull him down to the bed and presses as close to Duck as he can, as if any space between them might be a way for the universe to push them apart.

“Than fuck” Duck pants, cupping his face, “wait, fuck, what do we do now? I can’t string poor Vincent on.”

“We’ll get them to let you out of your contract. It can’t be that hard, right?”

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

“Absolutely not” Ned shakes his head, “dropping out of the show is out of the question.”

“But that ain’t fair to any of us. Can we at least tell Vincent the truth?”

“No, it needs to look as if he naturally decided not to choose you. If not, we could be accused of manipulating results; the last time that happened, the ratings tanked for that season and the next. And my predecessor was fired.”

Duck looks at Indrid, “Guess I’ll just...pull back? That way Vincent won’t have a reason to choose me and’ll let me go soon.”

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

“Droppin out is outta the question, huh?” Duck mutters to Indrid as they watch Barclay and Joseph walk off holding hands, the host eagerly asking them questions as they go.

“I suppose he didn’t drop so much as sprint.” Indrid glances at the rose in Duck’s hand, “congratulations on making the final...well, final three now.”

“Thanks? Guess Apollo’s pretty happy about it too.”

“Yes, but his ego needs no stroking.” Indrid smiles, “maybe this means you’ll get to show me the woods?”

“I hope so. Huh. What are they gonna do with the rest of us when it’s not our turn for the hometown visit?”

The answer turns out to be: drag everyone to each hometown. Because they no longer have Joe’s trip to do, Ned decided they needed more scenes of the contestants exploring where their competitors came from.

Kepler is first, and tonight is the night Duck’s been dreading. His romantic, home-town date that everyone expects to end with at least some kissing. He manages to make it through dinner, even enjoys showing Vincent the down-town he spent years roaming. But as they start down the river walk for a romantic stroll, his heart is trying to smash its way out of his ribs.

“It’s alright, you know.” Vincent stops, guiding Duck to face him, “the fact you want to be with Indrid.”

“I, uh, fuck, I, I don’t not know, uh, fuck-” he closes his eyes, “how’d you know?”

“I’m more observant than I get credit for.” Vincent brushes his cheek, “I’ve had a hunch for weeks now, but I kept you around because I liked having you here, even if I suspected it wasn’t going to end with us together. I’m very fond of you, Duck. You deserve someone who makes you happy. I promise I’ll send you home this next rose ceremony”

“Christ” Duck chuckles, “you’re a hell of a guy too, Vince. I hope whoever you pick treats you right. I, uh, can I, should we…?”

Vincent plants a chaste kiss on his cheek, then smiles, “go get him.”

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

“Any twos?”

“No. Go fish.”

Apollo grumbles as he takes another card. Given Duck and Vincent are on their date, neither he nor Indrid is having a good night. Before Indrid can make his ask, his twin says, “How do you get people to like you?”

“Why do you care? You’ve made it this far, so obviously Vincent likes you a great deal”

“I don’t just mean him. I, I mean, I want him to like me. To want me. But I suspect he’d like me better if other people did.”

Indrid idly taps his cards, “I suggest you stop acting like our father.”

“I’m nothing like him!” Apollo squawks.

“Oh, but you are. Everything he taught us you still hold as true; you’re just the newest version of men like him. Self-absorbed. Cruel. Shallow. I’m amazed you’ve gotten this far with Vincent, given that the age difference means you’d be caring for him in his old age.”

“I, I can care for him. I will!”

“Apollo, I wouldn’t trust you to care for a potted plant.” He sets his cards down.

“At least I’m not a-”

“Ambitionless deviant who has to ride his brother’s coattails to survive?”

“Wha--how-”

“Like I said; you’re just like him. Down to your insults.” Indrid stands, “I’m going to bed. I suggest you do the same.”

His brother remains speechless--a rare state for him--as he closes the door and heads for his room. He doubts Duck will do anything on the date (hell, the two of them have only been able to steal some kisses now and then), but the whole charade has him feeling low.

There are far more cameras in the rented house than there were a few hours ago. Which means the rest of the crew is back. Does that also mean…

“Hey, sugar. I was just lookin for you.”

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

Duck’s glad his door is open, because otherwise Indrid would have smashed it to pieces dragging them both through it. He’d only gotten out the barest explanation before the taller man was kissing his face and tugging at his clothes, purring “mine” over and over again.

“Yep, all yours.” He shuts the door as Indrid mouths at his neck, “which also means you’re all mine.” He yanks Indrid’s black sweater up and over his head, sends the matching t-shirt after it a moment later. Indrid whines, fumbling with Duck’s dress shirt, and he gets an idea.

“Uh uh, only good boys who show me why they deserve it get to feel me up.”

Indrid groans into his shoulder, fisting the fabric of his jacket “What constitutes good behavior in this instance?”

“One sec, don’t go nowhere.” He starts to step past him, pauses to grips his chin and pull him into another kiss, “and no peekin.”

As he digs through his bag for the strap on he brought just in case, he keeps an eye on Indrid to be sure he’s following the directions. The taller man’s fingers twitch, but his head stays still. God, Duck is going to memorize the shape of each of the tattoos decorating his skin with his mouth.

“You did real good.” He slips around Indrid once more, resting his back on the wall. Indrid notices the new bulge in his pants and thuds to his knees.

“May I?”

“You better.”

Indrid undoes the button of his fly. Then he looks at Duck over the rim of his glasses as he takes the zipper between his teeth and pulls it down. When the black silicone of the strap breaks free, Indrid cocks his head as if unsure of his options. Duck doesn’t really have a plan--he just wants to be with him, to make him feel good and show him just what weeks of pent-up desire have done to him--but he’s starting to regret that choice.

Indrid flicks hair from his face and wraps his lips around the head of the cock experimentally. He hums, sucking on it a moment, then pulls back blushing, “This is going to sound strange but, ah, I, I really like that. It’s such a lovely texture on my tongue, it’s, it’s almost soothing to suck.”

“Guess you better keep suckin it then, huh?” Duck runs the fingers of his right hand through Indrid’s hair.

“Is that really alright? It can’t feel like much on your end.”

“Don’t mean it ain’t fun to watch. But, uh” he touches the edge of Indrid’s red glasses, “it okay if I take these off?”

Indrid nods and Duck slides them free, tucks them into his breast pocket for safekeeping as Indrid draws the cock into his mouth again. He focuses on the head at first, humming and moaning as it bumps his cheek. Then Duck sees him swallow and relax the muscles of his jaw as he presses closer. Little puffs of breath tickle Duck’s skin as Indrid gets most of the cock in his mouth, cheeks hollowing and head bobbing as he sucks. Hungry noises burlbe up his throat, and the more he lets himself go the messier he becomes, spit coating his lips and eyes fluttering closed in bliss.

“Okay, I lied.”

Brown eyes shoot him a disbelieving look.

“This ain’t fun. This is one of the hottest fuckin things I’ve ever seen.”

Indrid wiggles happily on his knees, left hand dropping to rubs his own cock through his jeans.

“Needy little thing, gotta have somethin down your throat and around your dick at the same time.”

“MMMhhmmm” Indrid purrs, the picture of filthy perfection.

“If, if you swallow the whole thing, I’ll let you finger-fuck me.”

Both hands fly to his thighs with an excited moan. Indrid’s brow crinkles with determination as he slowly, carefully brings his lips to the base of the toy. Duck groans out “good boy” and shoves his pants down, Indrid helping to drag them to his ankles. Indrid keeps his left hand on Duck’s hip while the right hovers below his folds. Duck takes it, the toy making the angle a bit awkward, and guides it against him.

“Start with one.”

Indrid nods, moans reverently as he obeys. Duck curses, looks down to find Indrid watching him attentively. Duck is going to wreck him. Then he’s going to cuddle him to sleep and wonder at the fact he got this lucky.

“You’re doin’ great, sugar. Promise I’ll tell you if you need to adjustOH, ohyeah” he lets his head rest against the chipped white of the door, “that’s the spot. Fuck it, add one more, Ahfuck, yeah, those artists fingers are fuckin perfect for this.”

Another purr and then a sharp, choked noise. Duck looks down, realizing he rolled his hips without meaning to. Before he can apologize, Indrid grips his thigh and shakes his head.

“You like that?”

“Mmhhmmm” Indrid traces a heart on his belly.

“You’ll pull off you need to?”

“Mhmmmm.” Indrid curls his fingers as his stretched lips manage to grin.

“Fuck!” Duck giggles, “okay, if my darlin wants his face fucked, that’s what he’ll get.” He keeps a hand on Indrid’s shoulder as he lets loose, grunts and curses mingling with the increasingly wet moans of his cock claiming Indrid’s throat. Soon he’s out of words, too busy with the sight of himself forcing Indrid’s lips apart as he tightens around his fingers. Handjobs are a toss-up for him most days; sometimes they work, other times he can’t cum from them at all. It turns out what makes it very easy to do so is-

“‘Drid, fuck, fuck, sugar, yeah, right there, rightthererightthere ohfuckyeah.” He cums, jerking his hips hard enough to punch a new, high sound from Indrid’s throat. The other man pulls off, rests his cheek on Duck’s belly with shuddery, satisfied sighs.

“Y’know” Duck unbuttons his shirt from the bottom up so Indrid can more easily nuzzle the skin there, “I had this whole plan where I was gonna fuck you with this and then ride your face to cum.”

“I’m not opposed.” Indrid grins, bouncing a bit.

“Yeah, but I’ve only got one in me tonight. So” He tosses the shirt away, pulls off the harness as Indrid nibbles his hips, “if you wanna cum, you’re gonna have to do all the work.”

An edge enters his smile, “I can manage that.”

Duck hits the floor with a whump, Indrid trapping him on his back and climbing atop him, all the while kissing him with abandon.

“May I fuck you?”

“Hell yeah.”

“Condom?”

“Dop kit, bathroom, aw come back.”

“Patience, sweetheart” Indrid blows him a kiss, returns a few moments later doing an inelegant dance to kick his jeans and boxers away, “got one!”

“Good, now get back down here before I-AHfuck!” Indrid is on him and in him so fast it knocks his breath away.

“Before what? You’re not going anywhere, you’re mine, alllllll mine.” He drags kisses across Duck’s cheek, then bites his chapped lip as he looks down at him, “right?”

“You know it, nnng, fuck, that’s it sugar, be a good boy and cum for me. Fuck, darlin, wanted this so bad.” He locks his fingers into silver hair to keep Indrid in kissing distance as the other man whimpers, thrusts shallow and rabbity.

“Want you too, so much, I’ll be worth it, I swear, I’ll be good, I’ll, I’ll make you so happy.”

Duck rests their foreheads together, “You already do.”

There’s a high, gasping moan, almost like a chirp, and Indrid rides out his orgasm in drawn-out rolls of his hips. Then he collapses, laughing, on Duck’s chest.

“I, I’m sorry, I just never thought I’d get this. Someone wanting me. Choosing me.”

“I mean, I went on a T.V show to find love, so I know a little somethin about that fear. But I also know findin you is better than anythin I ever imagined.”

“Likewise.” Indrid nestles closer, one hand reaching out to hold Duck’s where it’s flopped on the rug.

“...You realize this means there’s a fifty-fifty chance your brother will win.”

Indrid shrugs, lifts his head to smile at Duck, “I leave that to Vincent. I already got my prize.”

#indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #bachelor au #meet ugly

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ga-yuu · 3 years

Text

~Kurama~Main Story Chapter 19~

Warning!! The story has strong language, gore, and attempted rape.

Chapter 18

-------Part 1-------

Kurama: “I’ll feel better when you’re out of my sight....because I want to get rid of this feeling in my heart.”

Yoshino: “.......I see.”

Kurama’s voice sounded as if he was condemning my sin, which I falsely attributed to a small smile.

Kurama: “But you and I will meet again on the battlefield. It would be easy to snuff out a dream....It might not be a bad idea to leave you under the cherry blossom tree on this day forever.”

(Eh?)

The wind blew harder than ever, causing petals to fly in the air.

A moment later I squinted at the momentum----Kurama gently turned his head towards me.

Yoshino: "Mm....."

Our lips meet and a sad moan escapes from my mouth.

We didn't know which one of us was melting from the heat.

Yoshino: "Mmm....haa....ahh.."

(....Why?)

His tongue slipped through the thin lips and tickling the sensitive areas.

He stimulated all the right places and my body was supported by his strong arms.

When I opened my eyes, my view was blocked by my messy bangs disturbed by the wind.

Yoshino: "Nnn...."

Our lips separated with a faint wet sound.

My hair was a mess and Kurama gently adjusts it without saying a word.

Kurama: ".............."

Our gazes intertwined and our wistful breaths touched.

Kurama: "I'd rather kill you than have someone else kill you. Until then, stay alive."

Yoshino: "........"

The words were too dangerous to be an expression of possessiveness and smelled too much of blood to be a confession of love.

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

1. I won't get myself killed...(+4/+4)

2. Kurama is the one who must not be killed.

3. No reaction...

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

Yoshino: "I'll do my best not to get killed..."

(For myself and for my friends...)

Kurama: "Good. I like that about you."

At some point, the residue of the withered tears was swept away by the wind along with the petals.

Kurama: "Yoshino. From now on....you're not my toy."

Yoshino: "......Mm."

I felt my heart tear into a thousand pieces, but I pretended not to know the pain.

Yoshino: "Because now....I'm Kurama's enemy."

I did not ask or speak about the meaning of that kiss.

.................

Time moves on, leaving stagnant thoughts behind.

Yoshino: "I think that's pretty much it for packing."

-------Part 2--------

Yoshino: "I think that's pretty much it for packing."

(Finally, today is the day I leave here.)

The Shogunate and the Rebels each have a system whereby only the messenger and a few soldiers as my escorts precede them to the battlefield.

(The Rebel messenger is going to take me and hand over to the Shogunate messenger on the battlefield....)

(Then, as soon as the two sides' main armies join up, the war begins, right?)

I gently looked at the shiny stone in my hand.

(As a member of the Shogunate I fight against the Rebels.)

Yoshino: "Kurama.....is going to kill me."

(I, too, cannot protect anything unless I am prepared to do so.)

(And yet...)

(I still have such a crush on Kurama.)

I gripped the stone tightly and dammed up the emotions that were about to spill out.

Yoshino: "...................."

And then, I stood up and I went out-----

..............

Yoshino: ".......I'm coming in."

I called out softly and opened the sliding door to enter.

I already had a hunch that the room owner----Kurama would be out.

(.....Forgive me, Kurama. For entering your room without your permission. I'll leave as soon as I've done my business.)

I apologize in my heart and kneel down on the shelf at the end of the room.

The shiny figurines owned by Kurama were carefully arranged and sparkled.

Yoshino: ".................."

I take out the shiny stone I picked up from the Otherworld and placed it between the beautiful ornaments to hide it.

The small white fragments glow dimly like the daytime moon.

(....If we can't let go of our memories, let's at least leave them behind.)

Yoshino: "Thank you for everything. .......goodbye, Kurama."

As I said those words, my vision again caught the shiny stone and it started filling my memories.

(Somewhere along the line, I naturally accepted that I was your toy.)

(I felt like that was a manifestation of your typical possessiveness.)

(By the time I got to the point where I wanted to be more than a toy, it was..... too late.)

I stood back up and left the room quickly...

I started walking without even looking back.

........................

-----On the same day, evening at Kyoto.

The mysterious light of twilight illuminated the beautifully furnished room.

Ibuki: "I've made you wait, Akihito."

Ibuki walks into the room and sees a young man sitting in front of him smiling languidly.

Akihito: "You have a bad habit to call people immediately and make them wait, Ibuki."

Ibuki: "Looks like you were busy playing with that."

Ibuki pointed to Akihito's lap as if to make fun of him.

He was comfortably beating his drum to pass time.

Akihito: "What else can I do here? Well, anyway..."

------Part 3------

Akihito: "What else can I do here? Well, anyway...Yoritomo has outwitted us all, hasn't he?"

A soft, unreadable smile crept across Akihito's lips.

Akihito: "I didn't think they'd take back the fox princess."

Ibuki: "Why are you laughing about it?"

Akihito: "Why not? You'll manage it, won't you? I sowed the seeds of evil, Yasuchika nurtured them and....Ibuki, it's your job to reap the harvest."

Ibuki: "Pain in the ass."

Akihito: "I thought you loved playing?"

Ibuki: "Okay okay, anything for you."

After a snide retort, Ibuki laughed and sat down next to Akihito.

----To discuss their future plans.

...............

Rebel soldier 1: "The sun will soon be gone. Let's start preparing the camp."

A rebel soldier riding in front of my horse looks back at me.

Rebel soldier 2: "Ah. Hey, are you feeling any better?"

Yoshino: "Yes, I'm doing fine."

As a prisoner of war to be handed over to the Shogunate, I have been treated with respect by the rebel envoys.

It was Yoshitsune-sama who gave the order to do so.

(Yoichi-san and Benkei also were sweet enough to see me off. It is as if they forgot I'm an enemy.)

------FLASHBACK------

Benkei: "I know you're gonna stubbornly say 'No' if I asked you to run away. But nothing can be done now, isn't it?

Yoichi: "We'll just have to hope that we won't run into you on the battlefield."

------FLASHBACK ENDS-----

(Those two also risked their lives to fight for Yoshitsune-sama and their friends.)

(I'm going to stand on the battlefield, so I should learn to face anything.)

On the back of the horse, I look ahead and think about the battle that lies ahead.

At that time-----

Rebel soldier 3: "Hm? What the....?"

(What happened?)

One of the soldiers suddenly looked at the mountainside on his right.

Yoshino: "......Sand dust?"

I gasp at the sound of many horses' feet galloping towards us.

Rebel soldier 1: "No way, an enemy attack!?"

(No way.)

Dozens of men jumped out of the slope and rushed towards us on horseback.

Enemy 1: "She's here! Get her!"

Enemy: *ROARS*

Rebel soldier 2: "Are they from the Shogunate!?"

Rebel soldier 3: "I don't think so. There's no point in making a surprise attack when we've already negotiated so much."

(That's right. So, who are these people....?)

Rebel soldier 1: "We can't let em hurt our prisoners..."

-------The oldest soldier turns to me.

Rebel soldier 1: "And you, follow me closely! Let's get out of here."

-------Part 4-------

Rebel soldier 1: "And you, follow me closely! Let's get out of here."

Yoshino: "Yes!"

The rebels soldiers lined up their horses around me and ran frantically.

I was followed by the shouts of my escorts and the clatter of horses' hooves.

........................

At the same time---Kurama, who was leaning on his side in his room, was playing with the silver crown in his hand.

Kurama: "I don't like it. The glow should be undiminished, but it's not."

As he put the crown reflecting the orange of setting sun, back on the shelf.

A similar sparkling object falls off.

Kurama: "........."

He picks it and was about to place it back, when-----

Kurama: "What the?"

Kurama frowned at the dimly shine of a stone, placed hidden in between his collection.

Kurama: "This is...no way...."

It's as if he's trying to hold on to a memory of someone who's just popped into his head.

Kurama cradles the small stone in his palm.

At that time-----

Yoichi: "Kurama!"

Suddenly, the sliding door of the room opens and Yoichi rushes in, breathing hard.

Kurama: "What is it?"

Kurama's gaze sharpens slightly at the unusual appearance of Yoichi.

Yoichi: "There's an attack. The Court's hands have extended to the party which was sending over Yoshino."

Kurama: "!!!!"

........................

(It's been a day. ....We've managed to escape, but.)

Rebel soldier 1: "It's not good. The horses are getting tired. I wish the enemy would give up for good."

We jumped into the mountains and tried to move along the ridge, hiding from our pursuers.

(At least if we knew who the enemy was....?)

At that time----

Rebel soldier: "Shit! They're here again!"

Yoshino: ".....!!"

At the same time as we turned around at the sound of the impatient voice, arrows poured down like rain.

Rebel soldier 2: "RUN!"

He shouted at the top of his lungs, and when one soldier tried to return the fire with his own bow, he was shot and fell from his horse.

I was about to reach out to him when another soldier tugged at my horse's hitch.

Rebel soldier 3: "Just run!"

Yoshino "..... Okay."

(If the enemy's goal is to catch me, I must never be caught.)

Keeping low, we sprinted along the beastly path, which narrowed the further we went.

............

(How long has it been, since I'm running....?)

Running like mad, falling down the mountainside, still running away, but.....

Rebel soldier 1: "They're catching up. We'll have to fight our way back!"

-------Part 5-------

Rebel soldier 1: "They're catching up. We'll have to fight our way back!"

The rebels soldiers started protecting me with their backs.

The rebel soldiers drew their weapons in unison and they glittered in the cloudy sky.

(.....I can't believe I can only watch like this.)

Enemy 1: "What can you even do with such a small number?"

The enemy smiled hatefully and stepped forward as if he had plenty of room.

Rebel soldier 1: "LET'S FIGHT!"

Rebel soldiers: *ROARS*

Enemy 1: "COME ON!"

Some shoot arrows, others wield white blades.

(But the number of soldiers on our side is too small compared to the other side. At this rate....)

The rebel soldiers, who are slowly retreating to fight back, are clearly in a bad mood.

Enemy 2: "Eat this!"

Rebel soldier 1: "Nn...."

(Ah.........)

A soldier was cut down in front of me and fell into the mud.

Rebel soldier 1: "Fuck...you should....go first. Go!"

The horse's rump is beaten and he clings to the reins.

Enemy 1: "Don't let her get away! Go, go----"

(....I'm scared.)

I winced as one of the arrows pierces my arm.

But still, I ran with all my might------

Yoshino: "Kyaa!!"

My horse lets out a high-pitched scream and rocks violently.

(They shot him in the leg!)

There was nothing I could do, and my body falls off the horse.

(Damn it!)

Yoshino: "Ouch...!!"

I staggered back to my feet and stared in amazement at the hellish battle.

Rebel soldier 4: "Gwaa..."

One by one, the rebel soldiers fell into the mud.

I was immediately confronted by several enemies, who blocked my escape.

Enemy 1: "He ordered us to be careful. We were just ordered to capture and keep the woman alive."

Yoshino: "Nngh....."

Enemy 2: "Now now, don't make it difficult for us....come here, missy!"

One of the men who had dismounted grabbed me roughly by the arm and I winced in pain.

(Ah.....)

My eyes widen as I look over their heads, only to see the last of the Rebels soldiers fall.

Yoshino: "...Let go of me!!"

Enemy 3: "Hey, shut up!"

Enemy 4: "She looks like some ordinary town girl? What's so valuable about her?"

Enemy 5: "Who cares...? All our employers want, is her. But, well, it wouldn't hurt if we love her a little bit before handing it over, right....?"

I got goosebumps all over my body as he gave me a lecherous smile.

(No....)

I shake off their hands and try to run away from the emerging smirking men------

Enemy 1: "Where are you running off to?"

Yoshino: "Nn...No."

They soon caught up to me and dragged me down to the ground.

My vision darkens with despair as I see multiple arms stretching towards me....

???: "What the fuck are you doing?"

(Eh...)

At that moment---- the air around us was suffocatingly tense.

Enemy 1: "Ngh....."

The men's smiles froze, and they all turned their attention to the owner of the voice.

(No way....)

Kurama: "Did you touch the woman?"

Chapter 20

#ikemen series #ikemen genjiden #ikemen genjiden kurama #ikemen mc #main story translations #otome #cybird #cybird ikemen #cybird otome

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artificialqueens · 3 years

Text

Ever in Your Favor, Chapter Seven (Rosnali) - Athena2

Summary: After the kiss, Rosé and Denali struggle to deal with their feelings while trying to reach the end of the Games.

A/N: Thank you so much for the feedback on the last chapter! It really means a lot, and I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter. Also, thank you to haiplana for letting me talk this one through with you.

*I know I made a general disclaimer at the start and in the tags, but I want to say that this chapter is probably more violent than the others, so please be aware.*

---

In the bakery, Rosé’s father has a giant rolling pin, and she feels like she’s been trampled with it ten times over. Her joints are stiff from days of shivering and her leg twinges when she walks. But she’s alive, and she’s grateful to be. She and Denali wash up in the stream, and Rosé savors the cool water on her sweaty skin, enjoys the sun warming her back. She tugs her shirt and jacket back on, stroking the lion pin. There was a time in that cave when she thought the pin wouldn’t get home, that she’d never feel the sun again. But she made it, and she’s going to go home and try to appreciate that, and tell her sisters she loves them even though they know.

And she can do that because of Denali.

Denali, who refused to leave her, who got leaves and water every day to keep her alive, who stroked her hair and whispered that everything would be okay when Rosé was too sick to believe it. Denali had kissed her without hesitation to save her life, and Rosé will never be able to thank her enough for it. For her life.

But part of Rosé feels awful about it. She knew, in theory, that their fake relationship might require kissing, even if a relationship is so much more than kissing. She pictured a little cheek kiss for their post-Games interview, but last night was something else entirely. It feels like she just used Denali, begging for a kiss so she could live. That was part of it, admittedly, but Rosé cares for Denali too much to just use her, and she wouldn’t have done it unless she absolutely had to. What if Denali hated it? What if she never wanted things to go that far? What if she hates Rosé? She needs to talk to her. She can’t push Denali away like she did after her first Games.

Rosé trudges over the rocks, stopping at Denali’s side. “Your hair,” Denali laughs, pointing to Rosé’s tangled mop of wet curls. “Forget the pin, that’s why they call you the Lion.”

“Well, some of us can’t braid our hair in five seconds, Miss Foxx.” Rosé glares at her, but she can’t help the laugh that escapes, and soon they’re both laughing, the sound so strange after days of fear, but also the most natural thing in the world.

“Okay, okay,” Denali gasps, holding her sides. “Let me do your hair.”

Rosé’s heart skips a beat. “Okay.” She shivers as Denali’s hands brush against her neck, fingers expertly weaving through chunks of hair.

“Much better,” Denali says, admiring her work.

Rosé recovers her breath, neck still tingling. “So, um, last night.”

Denali bites her lip. “I didn’t think you’d remember. You were pretty out of it.”

Rosé was out of it. Her skin was burning, her head was foggy, and all she remembers is an endless stretch of time where dreams melted together, and she has no idea what was real and what wasn’t.

But she remembers the kiss.

She remembers waking up and seeing Denali, feeling in her heart that it was real. She remembers telling Denali she loves her, the surprise in Denali’s eyes. And she remembers the kiss: cool lips melting over the feverish heat of her own, her heart racing until she thought it would burst.

And she remembers how much she liked it.

“That kiss was...memorable,” Rosé says.

Denali’s eyes go to her feet, to the sky, to anything but Rosé, and Rosé wonders if she said the wrong thing. What if she did something else last night that she can’t remember? What if Denali hates her?

“Are you...okay?” Rosé asks, voice low in case of cameras. “I know the kiss was a lot, and I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable putting you on the spot like that--”

“I’m fine. You didn't do anything we didn't agree to. It’s just a game, right?” Denali looks away again, cheeks bright red.

Rosé feels like she got punched in the throat. “I...right. Just a game.”

It is just a game. That’s all it ever was, all it’s supposed to be. A way to help even the odds. Of course that’s how Denali sees it; Rosé’s mumbled love confession was strategic at best and delirious ravings at worst. That’s all it’s supposed to be.

So why did it feel so real to Rosé? Why does she want to kiss Denali again, on their own time, in their own space? Why does it hurt so badly that Denali thinks it’s a game, that it’s fake?

Denali is gathering their stuff, and the arena comes flooding back, like a dream after days in the cave. A dangerous dream. Rosé needs to focus. They’re so close, and she can’t cost them the victory by being distracted. Whatever she’s feeling, whatever she wants, can wait until they’re back home. Denali is right. This is a game.

And they’re going to win it.

---

Denali guides them through the forest with purpose. She doesn’t know when things changed, but she knows, as they silently step over twigs, that they’re no longer the hunted, but the hunters. She feels the change in her, the tightness in her hand around the bow, the eyes darting around for tributes. They’ve been holding back, letting the others weed themselves out, but now it’s time to show what the Lion and the Fox can really do. She can’t afford to spare anyone like she did with Finn. Not now.

She keeps alert, no chance of getting caught off guard like she did in her first Games. She’s focused. She’s not thinking about her knee shattering last time, or the strange warmth in her chest when Rosé laughs, or kissing Rosé--

Her lips tingle with the memory, wanting it again so badly. She can’t. Not with their lives on the line.

Rosé points between the trees, where the District 8 tributes walk.

Denali pulls her behind a tree, holding up her bow and signaling that she’ll strike from afar. She aims her bow, pulling back on the string--

Something crashes into her arm, the arrow releasing into nothing.

“The hell?” A giant gray bird digs its talons in Denali’s arm, beak pecking at her face. She shoves the thing off her, only to see two more. Rosé gets one with her sword, and Denali sinks an arrow into the other’s neck. She sees more in the trees, but they seem to be holding back for now.

“These are the ugliest birds I’ve ever seen in my life,” Denali mutters, spearing the first bird that attacked her.

“Their scales look like that one dress Symone had you try on.” Rosé smiles. Her eyes shine with glee, and Denali can’t look away, because Rosé was so sick in that cave Denali didn’t think she’d see her like this again.

“Don’t remind me.” Denali groans. “Although you should not be talking after that zebra dress--”

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the lovebirds.”

Their smiles are instantly gone, and they turn to see the tributes from District 8 scowling at them.

So much for a silent attack.

District 8 looks rough, torn clothes covered with dirt and blood, faces hollow, down to just the weapons in their hands. You’d think they’re easy kills at this stage, but Denali knows it's the opposite: they’re desperate, and have nothing left to lose, so they’ll fight to the bitter end.

“Long time no see,” Rosé says, and only Denali can detect the quiver in her voice, because she also knows this won’t be easy. They can stand around staring at each other all day, but they’re only delaying the inevitable. Denali forces away the memory of the District 8 woman nodding in approval at her knots.

The man grips his sword and leans forward, that tiny heartbeat of calm before a fight begins.

“You go left, I go right,” Rosé says.

“My left or your left?”

“They’re the same left, Denali!” Rosé cackles, and Denali knows purposely asking a stupid question was worth it just to hear the sound, and it carries her into the fight.

The man towers over her, but his longer limbs are slower. His sword slices across her arm, but she uses her speed to dart away from his strikes, sinking her spear into his chest.

But it doesn’t stop him.

He pulls the spear out and breaks it in half, and Denali is left facing his sword with nothing but a knife and panic flooding her chest. Things slow down around her, like when she’s in that hunting zone, and she knows the next move.

“Switch!” she yells to Rosé, and they spin around, back to back, before taking on their new opponents.

The woman’s spear is easier to block; the edges are smooth, and Denali only has to worry about the point. Denali dodges hits, and when the woman staggers back, Denali pulls an arrow from her quiver and fires in a heartbeat. The double cannon fire tells her Rosé succeeded as well.

They drop on the grass, panting as the adrenaline fades, and for a few seconds, they rest.

---

Barely five minutes after the fight, they find a body.

It’s the woman from District 7, dead eyes open toward the sky, mouth stained not with blood, but with berry juice.

“Poisoned by nightlock,” Denali says quietly.

She gets an idea, and pulls out the silver container they’d saved from the medicine delivery. She plucks berries from the bushes and drops them inside.

“I doubt we can trick the others with them, but you never know,” she explains to Rosé.

Rosé nods.

They’re at the final four.

---

It’s a quiet night.

They climb up a tall tree and settle on a thick branch, to keep an eye on what’s going on below. Neither of them is planning to sleep tonight, not with two tributes out there, ready to kill.

They’ve only exchanged whispers, not wanting to risk attention. There’s no way to discuss the kiss, and Rosé thinks maybe that’s a good thing. When this is all over, when they’re finally home, then they can talk about it. If there’s even anything to talk about.

Rosé’s stomach growls. They couldn’t find any food today. After those birds, every animal seemed to vanish into thin air. They’ll manage tonight, but how many more days are left? What if they can’t get any food at all? Rosé’s trying to calculate the odds when two parachutes land on their branch. She nudges Denali, who’s curled against the tree trunk like she’s part pine, looking so at home up here.

Denali takes one parachute and Rosé takes the other, and she gasps when she opens it. The first thing she sees is a cake, with white icing and delicate blue swirls. She’d recognize Lagoona’s handiwork anywhere. Next to it is a loaf of round bread, Jan’s favorite kind to make. There’s days worth of food inside too, and God, Rosé loves her sisters so much.

“From your sisters?” Denali asks.

“Yeah. What about yours?”

“Kandy and Kahmora,” Denali says quietly, wiping a tear. “I just--it’s nice, you know?”

“It’s like there’s hope again,” Rosé says, because she does know. The parachute must have cost a fortune with the Capitol fees, and it’s a reminder of what’s waiting at home, a reminder that happiness and joy are still out there. A reminder that she’s loved.

“Yeah.” Denali sighs. “I’m not even as close to them as I used to be. But it’s nice to know they’re still thinking about me. That they still care. That someone sees us as more than just people on TV.”

Rosé nods. To everyone else watching, they’re just people on TV. But to her sisters, to Denali’s friends, they’re watching someone they really know, someone they really care about. For all the stress of being in the arena, Rosé can’t imagine the stress of her sisters, watching her fight and nearly die through a screen, unable to do a thing to help when they’ve helped each other their whole lives. And to do it not once, but twice. Rosé imagines hugging them in a giant bear hug when this over, and burns with a new determination to get home.

“It makes me want to get back home,” Rosé says softly. “And maybe--maybe be better. Try to live more, I guess.”

“I get it.” Denali bites her lip. “Maybe we can still be ourselves after. Not let the Games destroy us.”

It’s what they talked about the night before the Games began, but it feels different now. Less a fear and more a hope. A hope that they can come out on the other side of this, together, and learn to live again. The last time Rosé did this, she was fifteen and terrified and desperate to get home. She didn’t know that the arena would change her idea of home, that she would spend years waking up gasping, expecting to see blood around her. The Games kept her in their grip, made her push away the people who cared about her. She suspects the same is true about Denali--she knows Denali and Jan drifted after Denali got back, that Denali only has Kandy and Kahmora over once or twice a year. But they’ve done this round together, been there for each other the whole time, and maybe they can try to live and heal together. She wants to stay close with Denali after this, wants to laugh with her sisters more, wants to find things she enjoys again.

“I'd like that,” Rosé says. "First thing when we get home, we're making our victory cake."

Denali grins, like sun after a storm. "Only if you let me show you this meadow in the woods."

"Deal."

“Let’s eat,” Denali says, and they eat with the joy this food deserves, passing things back and forth and teasing each other for making a mess.

They cut the bread, and then Rosé finds the note. She remembers their father showing them a special paper that could be baked into something. He said they used to be popular for wedding cakes. Rosé unfolds it, heart swelling at Jan’s handwriting.

Rosie,

You have some explaining to do when you get home! We want all the details on you and Denali! I knew she had a crush on you when we were kids, it’s about damn time she figured it out. Also, I don’t know how it took you that long to realize I wasn’t the one humming in that cave. I’ll cut you some slack because you were delirious and I love Denali, but I would never hum that off-key. Anyway, we hope you like the stuff. Lagoona says make sure you share the cake and don’t hog the whole thing. Please come home soon, okay? We love you.

Jan and Lagoona

Rosé doesn’t even care when her tears escape. She loves her sisters, and she isn’t embarrassed about it. Her eyes fly over the words several times, reading it in their voices, the words tracing paths on her heart. She presses it to her chest and pretends she’s hugging them, and only then does she fully comprehend the first few lines.

Jan thinks Denali had a crush on Rosé when they were younger? That can’t be right. Though if anyone would know, it would be Jan. She and Denali were best friends from kindergarten. But Denali hasn’t mentioned it, and according to Jan, wasn’t even aware of her own crush. But what if Jan is right, and Denali really does like her? But that wouldn’t matter, wouldn’t lead to anything unless--unless Rosé likes her too.

Rosé looks at Denali, eating a piece of bread, and her heart swells with the answer her brain won’t acknowledge. Rosé does like her, maybe even loves her. She likes Denali’s laugh, the warmth in her eyes, that wrinkle between her eyebrows when she aims her bow. She likes Denali’s humor, how she can always make Rosé laugh. She likes that when she looks at Denali, she thinks of home. This relationship was fake at the start, purely an attempt to improve their odds. But somehow, it’s turned to Rosé’s heart bursting every time she looks at Denali. She doesn’t know the last time she felt this way, about anyone--hell, after the arena, it was sometimes hard to feel anything. The hope when she looks at Denali used to seem impossible, but isn’t now.

It burns inside her, but it has to stay inside. Springing this on Denali when they’re in the final four is a distraction that could cost their lives. And she doesn’t have proof that Denali likes her--just the hope of an old crush. Not to mention confessing that she loves Denali for real will discount the relationship they’ve built for the arena, exposing them as liars. There’s no way to tell her now. It has to wait until they’re home.

They share the cake, and Denali wipes frosting off Rosé’s lip, and Rosé wants more than ever to go home.

---

They spend the day walking through the arena, and Denali’s shoulders are tighter than her bow-string. All this walking is giving her too much time to think. Time to think about Rosé, about the smile Denali would do just about anything to see. About how Rosé makes her feel safe enough to share things she wouldn’t tell anyone. How Denali wants to see her every day after they go home, wants to learn things about her she hasn’t discovered yet. But would Rosé want the same thing? Denali knows things have been hard for her since the Games, and what if things collapse without the arena holding them together? But she thinks of what Rosé said last night, about her hopes for the future. Maybe there is hope. Once they get out of here, and Denali stops thinking about how soft Rosé’s lips are, how nice it might be to kiss her again--

She stumbles on a tree root and swears softly.

“Everything okay?” Rosé asks, hands immediately flying to Denali’s sides to steady her.

Denali nods, praying Rosé can’t see how much she’s blushing, though her face is warm enough to combust. There’s no thinking of kissing right now. She’s about to lead them in another direction when she hears flapping wings. But there’s only a huge gray cloud in the sky, that can’t be--

“Run. Run now,” Denali says.

They sprint through the woods, the swarm of birds scratching at their backs. There’s no direction, just running away, and they only stop once they’re back at the Cornucopia, now an empty shell of scraps and bloodstains. And they’re not alone.

Both tributes from District 2 stand in the grass, loaded with weapons.

The birds have vanished, no longer needed after bringing the final four together.

This is it.

The end is close enough for Denali to grasp, close enough to feel the plush train seat bringing her home, to smell the woods of District 12. She doesn’t want to kill these two. But she wants so badly for this to be over, to go home, and she knows the price she has to pay for that.

“We can do this,” Rosé says quietly.

Denali nods, gripping her spear as they saunter to the other tributes. There’s no hurry, no point rushing the inevitable. She can imagine her friends and Rosé’s sisters glued to their TV’s, and Denali gives another nod to herself, a vow that they’ll win.

“The Lion and the Fox. At last,” says the man. Denali thinks his name is Cato, and the woman is Glimmer.

Rosé just pulls out her sword as Cato grabs his axe. There’s nothing to say, nothing that can change what’s about to happen. Two of them will win, and two of them will die.

“Do you hear that?” Denali asks, cutting through the tension.

“I don’t hear anything! Quit stalling, Fox!”

“No, I--” Denali gasps at what her hunter’s hearing had picked up.

Enormous wolves circle around them, growling and baring razor-sharp teeth. Even on all fours, they’re nearly as tall as her, with claws longer than her fingers.

“The eyes…” Rosé says, face paling.

Denali looks at the wolf closest to her, with shaggy tan fur. Its eyes are impossibly blue, bluer than the sea. She’s seen these eyes before, had watched them close one last time while Rosé hummed a lullaby.

“Finn,” Denali breathes. She doesn’t know how the Gamemakers created wolves with the tributes' eyes; she doesn’t want to know. All she knows is that she now needs to fight off not only two tributes, but twenty wolves. They’re probably the worst odds Denali’s ever seen.

Denali knows animals, knows hunting, and she pulls Rosé away a second before the leader signals the attack. They sprint for the trees while screams fill the air behind them, screams so terrible she’s grateful when the cannon sounds and puts Glimmer out of her misery.

Denali jumps for a tree branch but she’s not quick enough--a wolf sinks its teeth into her calf, her leg burning with pain as the wolf tears through it. Shifting her weight to one hand, she grabs an arrow and jams it in the wolf’s eye, hauling herself up after it falls. More wolves scratch at the tree, but she’s safe for now. She has to stop the bleeding but her vision is blurry—

“Denali, it’s okay.” Rosé holds her up, positioning them both on a branch. “Please stay awake, okay? Please. You have to tell me how to help.”

“Bleeding too much. You have to...stitch it,” Denali mumbles. “Stuff...in my bag.”

“Okay.”

Things blur and Denali’s only aware of Rosé giving her water and painkillers, of Rosé’s gentle hand on her leg, of the needle passing in and out. There’s more water, and food, and Denali opens her eyes to meet Rosé looking at her in worry.

“I stitched it,” she says frantically. “There’s probably stuff wrong internally, but it should hold until the doctors can fix it.”

There’s definitely internal damage; it feels like her last leg injury, and she can barely move her leg without an explosion of pain. Once they win, the doctors can fix it. As if on cue, the wolves retreat and the cannon fires, meaning Cato is gone. Relief and joy slam into her, overtaking the pain, and she reaches for Rosé.

“We won,” she says breathlessly, “we won.”

They hold each other in silence, hearts full of the relief of going home, of being together. It’s over, and there are no words. It’s over, and she can breathe again. She can live again, can create the future she wants.

“Where’s the victory cannon?” Rosé pulls away after a minute.

“Maybe--maybe it’s late. Or maybe we should get out of the tree,” Denali says, but trumpets sound as she hits the grass with a wince, and her stomach twists like snakes. Why is there an announcement when the hovercraft should be arriving to get them?

“The earlier revision has been revoked,” the announcer says cheerfully. “The rules hold that only one winner is allowed. May the odds be ever in your favor.”

Denali can’t move. She’s numb and cold and even the pain fades. She should have known. The Gamemakers were never going to let them both survive, not when putting two teammates against each other is the most dramatic finale in history. She wants to scream, wants to fight, but she can’t. All her talk about being more than just a piece of the Games--she played right into their hands, growing close to Rosé, believing they could have the futures they dreamt of.

Rosé is shaking beside her, shaking with fear and pure rage.

“Rosé,” Denali tries, but her mouth is too dry.

“I should’ve known,” Rosé spits. She tears her hands through her hair, breath coming in frantic spurts, vulnerable and undone. She's never seen Rosé like this, and it hurts her heart. “I should’ve known, I should’ve known…” Rosé trails into sobs, shaky hands clutching at her jacket like it can hold her together.

If Denali were to listen to the cold part of her, she’d see that Rosé is defenseless and in shock, an easy target. But that part was created by the Games, and it isn’t her anymore. After resigning herself to the cold for so long, Rosé has brought a summer’s warmth, and though the cold and dark still exist, it doesn’t mean there isn’t light.

“There--there has to be another way.” It’s what Denali’s built her life on, searching for new ways to help a tribute survive, to stop the Games from hurting her again. But none have ever worked.

“There’s no other way, Denali.” Rosé is still trembling, but she stands up straight, pointing below her lion pin, at her heart. “Just don’t miss,” she says, laughing bitterly, humorlessly.

“Rosé, what are you--I’m not killing you!” Denali shakes her head frantically, trying to calm her heart.

“You heard the announcement. It has to be one of us. I’d rather it be quick than get torn apart by those wolves.” Rosé sounds so small, so tired. She’s been cheated and destroyed by these Games before, and she doesn’t have it in her to do it again. She’s giving up, and that scares Denali more than anything, jolting her out of her numbness. She knows how much Rosé wants to live--they both do, talked about it together. The only way to live is to kill the other, and living with that wouldn’t be much of a life.

“No,” Denali says. “I’m not killing you. You have your sisters, you have a family. I don’t.”

“That doesn’t make your life worth less than mine,” Rosé says firmly. “You do stuff, I barely leave the house—“

“That doesn’t make your life worth less either. Look, if those wolves come back, you have a better shot than me. I’m not going anywhere on this leg.”

Rosé sighs. “You have to go home, Denali. You have to live.” Rosé’s lips twitch, and more tears fall. “I’m betting on you.”

I’m betting on you.

The words strike something in Denali’s memory.

Denali’s leg bounces as she waits to enter the launching room. In a few minutes, she’ll be in the arena after years of seeing it through the safety of a screen, and she forces in a strangled breath.

“Everything okay?” Rosé asks.

“Fine,” Denali says. Help with fighting is fine, but getting help for panicking is too embarrassing, even if it’s from someone she knows. Maybe especially because it’s from someone she knows.

Rosé obviously doesn’t believe her, but she nods.

“Wait.” Denali can’t keep it in anymore.

“What is it?”

“Rosé, do you—do you really think I can win?” Denali's convinced herself that she can win all this time, not thinking about whether she really believes it--because she has to believe it, because what’s the alternative? But she wants to know what Rosé thinks, to hear from someone else whether she really has a chance.

Rosé is quiet as she thinks. She’s only twenty, but her eyes are so much older, and Denali realizes that while she’s thought about the joys of returning home, she hasn’t considered the other parts. The parts Rosé has been dealing with every day for the past five years.

“It’ll be hard. I can’t lie about that,” Rosé says finally. “Most of the tributes are bigger, stronger. But you’re tougher. The audience loves you. They’ll help you, and don’t feel embarrassed about taking their help. And you’ve got talent. You’ve got fire.” Rosé smiles hesitantly, and Denali swells with hope. “So I’m betting on you. Denali Foxx, I’ll always bet on you.”

Denali Foxx, I’ll always bet on you.

Denali looks at Rosé now, looks at the love in her eyes, and--

Oh.

Denali understands now. Understands why she’s been thinking of kissing Rosé for days, why her teenage fantasy kissing partner looked like her. Understands why Rosé looks at her in such wonder. Understands why being around her makes Denali’s chest ache from feelings she hasn’t felt in so long. It's not a game anymore.

Denali loves Rosé. And Rosé loves her.

Losing Rosé would be losing part of herself, the part that still hopes. If Denali looks into those green eyes and fires a bow-string, part of her will never leave this arena. She can't kill Rosé, and she can’t go home without her either, can’t give up the future she hopes for with her.

It sparks something in Denali, an idea from the back of her mind. Maybe you can find a loophole, Jan said that day in the Justice Building. If anyone could, it’s you two.

“Rosé, I love you,” Denali says. No matter what happens, she’s not leaving without telling Rosé, without letting her know that the love is returned.

Rosé’s eyes widen, and Denali can tell she knows it’s real. That she really does love her.

“I love you too,” Rosé says.

“I have an idea. Do you trust me?”

“Denali--”

“Do you trust me?”

“With my life,” Rosé says softly, and it’s another way to say I love you.

Denali pulls the nightlock out of her bag. The Games need a victor, or this whole thing blows up in their faces and becomes the worst Games ever. If they can make the Capitol think there won’t be a victor, maybe, just maybe, there’s a shot.

She hands Rosé the berries, and she nods in understanding. “On three,” she says.

“One.”

Denali takes Rosé’s hand, memorizing the softness of it against hers.

“Two.”

Rosé squeezes back, squeezes with all the love and fight she has.

“Three.”

The berries reach their mouths, and Denali is wondering if the Capitol will let them both die when the trumpets erupt.

“Stop! Everyone, I’m happy to present the winners of this year’s Hunger Games--Denali Foxx and Rosé McCorkell!”

#rpdr fanfiction #denali foxx #rosé #rosnali #lesbian au #hunger games au #angst #ever in your favor #athena2 #tw violence #tw blood #concrit welcome

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tabletoptrinketsbyjj · 3 years

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Trinkets, 41: Interesting baubles, semi magical objects and items touched by mystery.

A rustic lute carved of driftwood engraved with images of ships and clouds.

An oval-shaped stone the size of a human eye, made from the darkest obsidian. The color is the purest black, and the glossy surface shines like a mirror. The reflections are strangely distorted, as it seems to reflect shadows rather than light. It is rumored in some occult circles that in the same way that a person can fall sick from a dark plague, so too can a ray of light become infected by shadow.

A parrot-sized urn of ashes with the name “Petey”.

A one gallon keg curiously labelled “Rations Foie Gras” along its length. The keg contains a solution of goose liver that has been fermented in lye creating a nutritious slurry that doesn’t spoil. The drinkable solution is thick enough to eat as a stew (Although it doesn’t technically require chewing) and its flavor is best left undescribed. The keg contains enough of the mixture to serve as 2d4+1 days’ worth of trail rations.

A large padded envelope containing a single silvered crossbow bolt and a note that reads; "You know what must be done. Make the right choice."

An odd receipt of a business transaction where a dragonborn adventurer wearing a full suit of ebony armor sold the shopkeeper salvaged bones collected from a half dozen slain dragons and bought 638 wheels of cheese in return.

A ceramic chamber pot shaped like an otyugh with brass accents.

A coin sized token made of etched, blackened brass which begets a connection to the spirit realm. When held, one can hear the whispers of the dead begging for retribution. Is it not righteous to answer their call?

A map of the stars that shows the mystical lines connecting the constellations.

An iron coin with an evil sigil on one side and the face of a demon on the other, flipping it causes the holder to hear a deep malevolent laugh.

—Keep reading for 90 more trinkets.

—Note: The previous 10 items are repeated for easier rolling on a d100.

A rustic lute carved of driftwood engraved with images of ships and clouds.

A parrot-sized urn of ashes with the name “Petey”.

A large padded envelope containing a single silvered crossbow bolt and a note that reads; "You know what must be done. Make the right choice."

A ceramic chamber pot shaped like an otyugh with brass accents.

A map of the stars that shows the mystical lines connecting the constellations.

An iron coin with an evil sigil on one side and the face of a demon on the other, flipping it causes the holder to hear a deep malevolent laugh.

A small looking glass which plays tricks on the eyes. Glancing through it provides normal magnification, but one might see a spire of gold in the shape of a sunlit mountain, or a musical box and floating notes in a cloud, or a laughing rabbit in the shapes of the stars.

A mask crafted from thin cast iron covers the entirety of the head. The face itself is made of brass and shaped into the face of a hideous snarling creature.

A rabbit felt wide brimmed, high crown fedora with a band around it. It looks dusty with age.

A one gallon cask filled with inky black whisky. Thicker than most scotch whiskeys, it has a black tone that glows golden when the light hits it. The whisky has a penetrating woody taste, and does not light a fire in the belly; it goes down smooth and cold.

A small black metal box that fits under the arm. It has 20 colored pieces of glass arranged in a spiral pattern on one side. With the switch of a lever and the twist of a few knobs on the back , the glass pulse with glowing light at different rates, immediately drawing the eye to their pattern. An noncombatant viewer can lulled into a slight state of relaxation and well-being, being momentarily distracted by the pattern. A bearer can use this as a relaxation tool or as a hypnosis aid.

A piece of crimson coral carved into the shape of a shark.

A pair of earrings, made of wrought silver and ivory. The design appears to be two sinuous female forms, touching at the hands, which are extended above their heads (This is where the clasp is) and the feet.

A conch pearl the size of the thumb's first joint, of a deep and brilliant blood-scarlet hue.

A silk robe, dyed blood red with extremely long sleeves that hang past the hands, down to the knees. The outside is plain, but the inside reveals a subtle motif woven with orange threads: a nightingale swallowing a fox. Small, jingly bells hang from the hem.

A brass chalice with chilling imagery of demons and tormented humans.

A fleshy ball the size of a large man’s fist. Dozens of tiny mouths appear, disappear and reappear at strange intervals, each one constantly groaning and muttering unintelligible words.

A large, brightly colored, decorative tin containing a well preserved fruitcake. The sweet bread is studded with dried fruits, nuts and strongly flavored with brandy which adds both to taste and shelf life. The loaf is so dense and nutritious that a single slice can be substituted as a full meal. The sealed tin can be used as 2d4+1 days’ worth of trail rations.

A large conch shell that, when put to the ear, makes the wielder hear the sounds of the ocean. If the bearer closes his eyes while doing so, he will see visions of infinite horizons and calming ocean waves.

A raw, unprocessed chunk of tourmaline that catches the and reflects different colors as it moves. It protrudes out of a base of stone and is flecked with dust and dirt.

A whistle made from deer antler with a silver mouthpiece. Its single mid-range tone is strong and audible at a long distance.

A bizarre, intricately painted miniature sculpture, made of a lightweight material; neither wood nor stone. The figurine bears an uncanny resemblance to a member of the party.

A translucent pearl with a coral blue shimmer.

A set of glass playing cards in a brass case. Each card has a set of symbols and numerals unknown to scholars and the learned.

A flask with an unknown liquid. It cannot be poured out unless it is standing upright (In which case nothing happens since gravity). The flask is very sturdy and in inscription reads; “Those that drink smart and slow will drink this drink made long ago.’’

An envelope stuffed with cheap woodcut prints of men in various states of undress.

A tattered, oft-folded letter on which are written a mother’s pleas for her daughter to stop her dangerous adventuring and come home while they both still live.

A turquoise courtier’s uniform adorned with the stylized symbol of a dagger poised above a cup just above the bearer’s heart. Crow’s feathers dangle from the epaulettes.

A dented tin bucket filed with human teeth. Hundreds of them. Teeth of all shapes and sizes, from white, through all the shades of yellow, to brown. Teeth with bloody roots and with shreds of flesh attached.

A delicate silver bracelet, fashioned into the appearance of a spider, it's legs hugging the arm.

A silver charm bracelet with small kitsunes holding up different types of gemstones as if presenting a gift.

A sequined squid skin belt pouch.

An ivory scroll case with silk bands and silver plated caps.

A gold coin of strange design, one one side of the coin are two crossed-swords and on the other a bulbous eye that appears to blink occasionally.

A marble bust of a vainglorious adventurer.

An oddly detailed drawing of a pack of wolves chasing a small cloaked child. The numbers six, one, and two are arranged in a equilateral triangle pattern with the six being on the point above the wolves. Strange symbols are on the corners of the page.

A petrified pixie that would make a cute paperweight.

A lizardfolk statuette made from petrified wood and snakebone in the shape of a scaly hand emerging from water holding an axe.

An ancient scrimshaw with a well carved boat labelled, “The Mourning Hag.”

A finely tanned, soft leather pouch filled with thirty-six small, polished hematite tiles about 2 cm across, inscribed with non-magical glyphs on both sides. Some of the tiles have different glyphs on opposing sides. The pouch has a leather drawstring.

A small sapphire hairpin carved into the shape of an ocean wave.

A large oil painting of some otherworldly sea where creatures who are octopoid from the neck down but with human heads float in bliss.

A bar of lavender colored soap that when used, makes things dirtier instead of cleaner.

A mundane looking flat rock has been washed smooth by eons of swift rapids flowing over it. It still drips as if recently removed from the river that created it.

A copper pot with dragon head handle.

A large wooden box of dozens small painted lead figurines depicting knights, wizards, beasts, and dragons.

A simple silver ewer etched with a floral pattern.

A pouch of dried kelp filled with razor-sharp mollusk shells broken into pieces and tied together to act as an area denial weapon. The shells functions as caltrops in every respect.

A quartz statuette of a pegasus taking flight.

An old, straw-filled ragdoll with a patch above its heart. It is always comfortably warm to the touch.

A glossy black hunting horn, chased with runes and knotwork of silver.

A well-loved teddy bear missing one of its button eyes. An observer who looks at feels a strong urge to comfort the bear, wanting to repair it. Yet for some reason they wish to repair it with an actual fresh humanoid eye.

A squat hematite idol with blue quartz eyes.

Pocket Watch of The Far Realm: A blued steel pocket watch with a silver chain that always tells the accurate time of the entire plane of the far realm. The far realm is a place beyond space and time. The pocket watches hands move fast and sporadically, sometimes even gaining a third and fourth hand. It is completely useless at telling the time on the material plane.

A dark soapstone sculpture of a large crouching cat.

A barely legible prayer written on leather, dotted with stains. It reads “May vengeance steady your hand with righteous anger. In this den of thieves, murderers, and monsters, there is but one answer, one god, and her name is written in blood.”

A large silk flag for a fallen kingdom.

A knotted gland consisting of a cancerous mass of gnarled tissues. The tissue thumps with an irregular cadence, as if two hearts are intertwined in this tangled clump. The longer it's held, the more clear if becomes that a multitude is contained within one's own flesh.

A bronze brooch of an maple leaf.

A featureless steel cube with one open side. Light does not penetrate the open side and an overwhelming sense of power emanates from within.

A crystal that projects starry patterns when placed before a light.

A gold plated compass with cracked crystal in a small teak box carved with waves.

An obsidian tablet the width and height of a human hand upon which when viewed under the night sky tiny green and blue dots appear to move.

A large glass jug, stoppered tightly. Inside appears to be a diorama of a small forested island with a port town. If left undisturbed for a time, observers may notice that the water surrounding the island seems to move, and the trees wave. At night, tiny flickering lights can be seen in the town.

A perfectly fresh pineapple that has somehow resisted the ravages of time.

A sturdy cloth backpack made of high quality cotton, adorned with exotic feathers and pretty cross stitches.

A wand made from a rare elm with grains of sand sprinkled across its handle.

A bronze ashtray of a sleeping dragon.

A gold rimmed monocle with light rope of gold and clip. The glass of the monocle is smudged and cloudy but resists all attempts at cleaning.

A tear stained map of the local cemetery with an “X” marking a specific grave.

A hairpin with head shaped like a spider and set with red agate.

A crystalline hand-sized scorpion figurine that is so full of cracks and occlusions that it looks as if it could fall apart at any minute.

A portrait of an unsmiling woman painted on a poplar panel.

A human skull goblet with silver base.

A one gallon cask of Eye of Medusa, a paralyzing mix of grain alcohol, lime juice, simple syrup, and poppy flowers. This drink numbs the tongue before leaving you feeling like solid stone.

A slate tablet on which is carved a prophecy by a famed oracle.

A small knife forged from a unique metal alloy created by a fallen star.

The mostly straight bones of a humanoid bound with rough twine to make a macabre sort of ladder, rolled into a bundle.

A boar tusk scroll case encircled with silver bands.

A gilded puzzle box decorated with a asymmetrical geometric pattern.

A flat, round gray stone ring the size of a coin worn smooth by water and time with an attached tag reading "Shieldmeet 1120 DR, is this the key?"

A clay tablet with the answers to the favorite riddles of a certain guardian sphinx.

A tall brass rod is etched with an abstract circular design that seems to be devoid of any pattern.

A small glass sphere the size of a fist is astoundingly heavy, and appears to be mostly full of a thick golden liquid. It weighs ten pounds and has no visible opening or markings on it.

An odd contraption comprised of a small crystal orb set within a thick metal semi-sphere, covering most of the orb, and is about six inches across.

A pouch made of rough toad skin.

A small bottle of eyes-burning-from-the-smell-alone wretchedly spicy but delicious hot sauce (Which will cause vomiting and incapacitate the non-spice tolerant).

A well made bracelet of silver chain with small silver heart charms hanging off each link. A single one of these charms is carved from a rose zircon, which gives off a small amount of heat.

A wand made of a line of conjoined tiny rodent skulls with emerald eyes that makes it a grisly site to behold.

A wooden flute made of red wood with etchings of leaves around part of its base

An oddly shaped curved wand with elven writing carved within. When held at nighttime it helps its owner sleep peacefully to the sounds of nature.

A bone case containing black votive candles that burn with a green flame and can only be quenched by blood, not water.

An ode to Genial Jack, the Godwhale, who swims the Sixty Seas with the city of Jackburg on His back and in His belly. Scribbled on the back is a mysterious phrase: “The tongues of the dead wag at midnight.”

A pink stone sculpture of an ear which grows warm when it hears false flattery.

A beautifully carved wooden prosthetic arm fitted for a small humanoid, etched with tiny runes in ancient High Goblin, a language now all but forgotten along with the proud culture that produced it, who some say were forerunners of goblins and gnomes alike.

A small pouch containing a handful of moss crusted with what looks like dried blood. The blood was in fact taken from a patricide, the moss from a hangman’s tree; the combination makes this quite a valuable reagent to the right buyers.

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what-is-your-plan-today · 4 years

Text

Stark Spangled Kinks: More Cushin’ For The Pushin’

Summary: Steve is starting to see the effects of the serum depleting. Can Katie convince him that, well, she doesn’t give a shit?!

Warnings: Bad language and a heap of smut! (NSFW, no under 18s.)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Rogers (Stark)

A/N- So you all got @sweater-daddiesdumbdork to thank for this.... and yes, this is utter head cannon about the serum but, indulge me!!

February 2028