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backtothefanfiction · 3 years

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WHAT BENNY DOESN’T KNOW | Chapter 5

A TRIPLE FRONTIER STORY

Summary: One good night out turns into a two month affair.

Warnings: Mature 18+ ONLY!! Drug use, relationship abuse, mental manipulation, drinking, cheating, angst, language, smut, praise, fingering, slightly rough sex, squirting, unprotected sex (you know the phrase kids...).

Word Count: 6335

A/N- This is a heavy chapter so I have done a longer authors note here. Please read before continuing if you haven’t already read it. Events in this chapter take place 11 months before Italy and a couple weeks after Will’s chapter.

PART FIVE| 11 MONTHS AGO

'Hey Will said you were back. Want to go grab a drink tonight?'

'Yea, sure. Who else is gonna be there?'

'No one else, unless you want to invite others. I kinda just wanted to spend some time with you and catch up.'

'Okay, sounds good to me.'

Frankie had run into Will as he was coming out of a bar earlier that afternoon. He was grateful that Will hadn't notice him coming out through the doors of the establishment, allowing him the chance to pretend like he was just in the neighbourhood; and the fact they had run into each other outside a bar was just coincidence. When Will had casually dropped into conversation that you were home and that he had seen you, that had triggered something in Frankie. Whether it was just his slightly drugged up and alcohol riddled mind or something else, Frankie couldn't tell, but he knew he couldn't get you out of his head.

Frankie had always had a thing for you, ever since Benny first brought you home with him after your last tour together and introduced you to everyone. You were gorgeous, deadly and had a wicked sense of humour, you were everything he wanted in a woman and that's why he had been absolutely terrified to make a move. As time went on and you found your place amongst the group, Frankie came to appreciate how lucky he was just to have you in his life and as a friend and as time moved on further still, it became clear to him that he'd completely missed his chance.

He had started dating Laura just over a year ago now. She was nice, pretty, sassy. She reminded him of a slightly watered down version of you and believing he had fully missed his chance with you and would never get the real you, he figured he could do a lot worse than settling for Laura.

Around month nine of the relationship Frankie started to recognise he wasn't happy. He soon found himself relapsing into old habits he'd fallen into after he'd first come home for good and the PTSD had settled in. It started off as sneaking a bump off someone in the bathroom of a bar one night when they had gone out for drinks with some of Laura's friends. Just a little something to get him through the rest of the evening. A couple of days later it had happened again. It was only when Frankie had dug out his old burner phone from a lock box in the garage and contacted his old dealer, did he realise he was no longer in control anymore, but he didn't care. That's how he had ended up drunk texting you at half past three on a Tuesday afternoon asking you to go out with him for the evening so he didn't have to be at home with 'her'.

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“Hey.” you said getting up from the booth you had commandeered as you waited for him to arrive.

“Hey.” he grinned as he wrapped you up into his arms, his head burying into your hair. It was so soft and smelt amazing, like coming home. “You been waiting here long?” he asked as he reluctantly pulled away from you, both of you sitting yourselves back in the booth. Frankie had taken a moment longer than he should have to get out of his truck when he had first arrived, prioritising snorting another line of coke up his nose off his dashboard, instead of coming straight in to you. A slight panic fogged his brain as he feared he'd taken longer than he had and made you wait ages for him.

“Nah, I only got here like 5 minutes ago or something like that.” You confessed and Frankie relaxed a bit. “Do you want me to go get the first round?” you asked, pointing towards the bar.

“No, its alright, I'll get it.” Frankie said hopping up from the seat. “What do you want?”

“I'll just take a beer.” you replied. You really were a girl after his own heart.

Frankie came back with two bottles of beer a few minutes later, handing one over to you as he tried to manoeuvre himself back into the booth without using his hands. “So when did you get back?” he asked casually, a typical conversation starter.

“Nearly two weeks ago.” you said, taking a sip of your beer.

“Where did you go again?” Frankie asked, his memory of where you'd been the last 6 months hazy.

“Colombia.” you said.

“Ahh, te dio la oportunidad de trabajar en tu español.” Ahh, gave you an opportunity to work on your Spanish.

“Cállate, mi español es muy bueno. Después de todo, aprendí de los mejores.” Shut up, my Spanish is great. I did learn from the best after all, you said stroking his ego and making him blush slightly.

“So what were you doing down there?”

You looked down at your bottle, unable to meet his eyes. “A whole load of stuff that, probably wasn't very legal.” you said, giving him as vague an answer as you possibly could. You looked up, expecting him to have a judgemental look on his face, but instead you were met with one of sympathy. You'd all landed yourselves in some form of shit or another since leaving active service and Frankie was the last person who could pass judgement.

You sat there for almost an hour just talking, drinking your first beers slowly. “You want another one?” Frankie asked, motioning to the empty bottle in your hands that you were now peeling the label off of.

“Yeah, sure.” you said with a smile. You looked to your left to find the pool table had also just become free. “Do you want a game?” you said motioning to the table where the last occupants were throwing the cues on top of it.

“Yeah sure. I'll go get the beers, you go rack ‘em up.” he said, hopping out of the booth with a smile.

You made your way over to the pool table, reaching your hand into the pocket of your jeans, searching for loose change. You took the quarters out, slotting them into the machine. The balls dropped like thunder as they were released, rolling towards the end of the table so you could pull them out the hole in the side. You rolled the discarded pool cues to the side of the table as you reached for the triangle, placing it on the top near you. You bent down to pull out the balls, dropping them blindly inside the triangle above your head. When you had pulled out the last one you stood and was met with Frankie's still smiling face making his way back over to you.

He handed you the beer and you took a sip before placing it on the edge of the table so you could use both your hands to pick out the balls, moving them into their correct spots within the triangle, then sliding them all into place. “Who's going first?” you asked Frankie who had put the pool cues that had been on the table, back into the rack on the wall, choosing his own to play with in the process.

“Well that depends, you get any better at breaking.” you screwed up your mouth at the cheap shot he'd just taken. You were a decent pool player but you were awful at getting the game started.

“Fine Morales, looks like you're going first.”

“Thank you.” he said, jokingly tipping his head at you as he put himself in position at the end of the table.

There was a loud crack as Frankie hit the triangle, the balls bouncing off each other in different directions. You winced in disbelief as he managed to pot two balls with just one shot. He flashed his eyebrows at you, showing off. “You know I think that was one of each.” you taunted him, bringing him back to earth. “You can only chose one, what's it gonna be?”

“Just because I know how much you love playing stripes...” he said leaving the sentence open with a shrug before moving himself around the table to pot one of the solid coloured balls. For a moment, both of you watched eagerly expecting it to go in, but it leaned to the right at the last second and bounced back, away from the hole.

You took a quick sip of your beer before placing it back on the side. “Ready to see how it's done.” you teased, dancing around the table sizing up your first shot. You started out with an easy shot, potting it with not much trouble. Frankie gave you a small nod of acknowledgment before you began circling the table again, working out your next move. You saw it near the corner. You lined up your shot and... clunk, you sank another ball into the hole.

You stood back from the table grinning as you looked over to him, ready to taunt. “That's two.” you said, a faint giggle at the end of the sentence. You danced around the table again looking for the next one. You decided to try your luck but ultimately missed.

“Hey, you can’t get them all in one go.” he said, pushing himself off the wall where he had been leaning. He handed you his beer to hold as he took his go. He fumbled his shot and you were soon handing his drink back to him to take your next go.

It had ended up being a quick game. You had won, easily potting ball after ball, much to Frankie's amazement. “Okay, you had to have been cheating. I want a rematch.” Frankie said, playfully challenging you.

“I mean, I am more than happy to give you one... then beat your ass again and then again and again.” you laughed.

“Okay, okay, I get it. Just rack 'em up again. I gotta go to the restroom.” he said backing away towards the door to the toilets.

When Frankie came back from the toilet he carried himself differently. He seemed both a little bit shinier but also spacey. It was a look you had recognised in people around you many times and had even, on occasion, experienced yourself. You had experimented with drugs a few times over the years, sometimes to keep your cover when trying to get intelligence out of a contact, other times just because it was a night out and you wanted to let your hair down. You never made a habit of it though. You never would have pegged Frankie of making a habit of it either, but it was becoming clearer and clearer to you, as you thought back on his behaviour at the start of the night, that it was.

“Hey, you ready?” he said as he picked his pool cue back up, snapping you away from your internal monologue. 'He's a grown man, he knows what he's doing' you berated yourself, shrugging off his actions. “You wanna break this time?” he asked you, raising his eyebrows encouragingly.

You pulled a face of discomfort. “Uhh.”

“Come on, I'll help you. You'll never get better if you don't practice.”

“Fine.” you said rolling your eyes, your footsteps falling heavier, stomping, mocking a stroppy teenager. He laughed.

“Come here.” He said ushering you to the table and taking a stance behind you. “You're problem is you doubt yourself and then get shaky on your follow through.” He said as you leant forward and lined your cue up with the ball. He leaned over with you, one hand on your left arm, helping hold it steady, the other finding a home over your hand on the cue.

He helped guide it back and you relaxed into his touch as you let him manipulate the shot. It was a gentle, yet forceful, nudge of the cue that sent the white ball careening quickly towards the waiting triangle of balls at the other end of the table. You turned back to him, smiling in triumph at the clack of balls as they scattered across the table. That's when you realised how close the two of you were. You couldn't help but look directly into his eyes. His pupils were blown wide, somehow they were both bright and glassy at the same time.

You weren't sure why you were doing it, but you found your fingers reaching for the front pocket of his jeans, hooking just the tips of them in slightly, nudging the bag of blow. His eyes grew panicked as you began to pull the small baggy from his pocket, curling it into your fingers. You bit your lower lip, trying to search his eyes for how he was going to react, if he was going to react. He didn't move. A part of you thought about just getting rid of it, just tossing it out, but you were having a good time with Frankie, he was having a good time with you. You felt safe and it had been so long since you'd had a good night out you thought 'fuck it'.

Neither of you said anything as you began to creep away, bag still firmly scrunched into your fingers. Frankie tried to act casual, attempting to go back to focusing on the game as you snuck off to the toilet. He assumed you had gone to get rid of the coke, he never imagined you'd have some yourself.

You rushed into one of the stalls, quickly assessing how best to go about this. You decided that none of the surfaces were sanitary enough to do this properly. You sighed, half excited, half still berating yourself for stooping to this, as you took a seat on top of the toilet lid. You tucked your hair out of the way before opening up the baggy and tapping only a small amount of the white powder onto the back of your hand. You listened a second, making sure there was no one else in the bathroom with you. Silence. You quickly lifted the back of your hand to your nose, closing off one of the nasal passages and then sucking in all of the powder, with your intake of air, with the other.

You'd forgotten how awful it felt in that first moment, your nose burning. You coughed and continued sniffing as you attempted to clear the passage, waiting for the initial pain and discomfort to subside. It only took a moment for the rush of euphoria to set in. You resealed the bag, then wiped off any remaining remnants on your hands, before tucking the baggy back into your clutched fingers, hiding it, as you left the stall. You quickly checked yourself over in the mirror, self consciously wiping underneath your nose, then fixing any stray hairs.

As you went back out into the bar, the effects of the drug really started to settle in. Everything seemed shinier and brighter, happier. You made your way back over to Frankie who was stood leaning against his pool cue, awaiting your return.

He stared at you intensely, trying to work out what it was that you had done with the drugs. It was only when you came to a stop directly in front of him and he got a look at your eyes did he realised what you'd truly done. He found himself breaking out into a small smile of adoration, impressed by your courageousness, but it carried with it this underlining guilt in the pit of his stomach. That feeling of guilt though was quickly quashed altogether by another feeling as you pressed yourself close to him once again so you could discreetly put the little bag back in his pocket. You gave him a sly smile and that was it. That was the moment Frankie knew he was completely in love with you. You gave him a coy grin before reaching for your pool cue and continuing the game.

Watching the coloured balls dance across the table top when you hit them, felt so much more satisfying now. You didn't even care if you were losing as long as you got to keep watching the balls of colour roll back and forth across the table. You enjoyed your beer and your company, you and Frankie nudging each other and taking any chance possible to touch one another now you were both happy and relaxed. “Come on Morales.” you said as you placed your hands over his shoulders, giving them an over exaggerated massage like he was about to go into a fight. He tried to shrug you off so he could concentrate and sink his last ball. You stopped your movements but didn't take your hands away and both of you froze watching the ball intently as he took the shot. Clunk.

He stood up straight and whirled around, wrapping you in his arms, a big grin on his face. “You know I let you win right?” you teased him.

“Sure you did.” he said placing a kiss on top of your head before leaning back slightly so he could get a better look at your smile, his arm still firmly around your shoulder. He leaned back against the table, his legs spread apart slightly so you could rest between them. You were both smiling content in the embrace, neither one of you wanting to pull away.

Frankie moved his hands to rest against your hips as he began to wrestle with the idea that had just popped into his head. He looked longingly to your lips, wanting to kiss them. Your smile faded as you scanned his face, realising what he was thinking. It was probably only 3 or 4 seconds but it felt so much longer due to the pace at which your next thoughts flooded your head. 'Oh my gosh, are we gonna kiss? What about Laura? Maybe they broke up? Oh I really want to kiss him.' then his lips were on yours and it was like someone had just set off a bunch of fireworks in your brain. Your head felt like it was fizzing and tingling, you couldn't help but smile as you melted into the kiss.

Frankie felt your lips pull tight against his as your smile burst from your lips and it only encouraged his own. He pulled away only briefly so you could both acknowledge how happy you were right then in that moment, but you quickly closed the gap again, practically throwing yourself into him, desperate to feel that tingling feeling in your brain again. At your enthusiasm, Frankie wasted no time deepening the kiss, his hands snaking down to your ass and pulling you tighter to him. This was everything he ever wanted, what he'd dreamed about for years now and it was finally happening. It felt better than he could have ever imagined it to be. Your kisses were powerful and hungry and for a moment you both almost forgot where you were.

Frankie quickly broke the kiss. You were about to protest when he took hold of your hand and started leading you to the door.

Neither of you said anything as he lead you to his truck. He gave you one more quick passionate kiss before opening the passenger side door to you and encouraging you to get in. You happily hopped in before turning back to give him another kiss as he closed the door.

He drove you both back to your place, using his spare key to let you both into the apartment. You had given each of the boys a spare key to your place just in case of emergencies but this was the first time you'd ever seen Frankie use his and it made you happy. The image of it felt so natural to you, like you were both coming home together after a long day.

You didn't have time to revel in the domesticity of it though as Frankie pulled you inside, rapidly closing the door before latching his lips back onto yours. You felt him lift you up into his arms and he carried you to your bedroom.

Your feet dropped back to the floor as you both made it through the doorway, Frankie wasting no time to start undressing you and himself between hungry kisses, both of your tongues fighting to pull each other back together after every break.

When you were both completely naked Frankie wrapped his arms tightly around your middle, lifting you slightly, walking you both towards the bed which you collapsed onto together, Frankie coming to lay on top of you. You reached your hands up into his hair as he covered your naked body with his own. It was only in that moment that you fully realised he hadn't been wearing his trademark hat this evening. You made a mental note of the actions significance and happily kept smiling and giggling into his kisses.

A sudden feeling took over in the pit of your stomach as you watched Frankie's gaze darken, his lust for you taking over at your joyful sounds and the way your naked body moved underneath him. You felt his hands move to your hips and he suddenly flipped you over onto your stomach before guiding your hips up so you were resting on your knees, your ass and pussy on full display for him. “Oh god.” Frankie groaned at the sight. “Hold it there baby, there's something I wanna do.”

You felt him get off the bed and heard him shuffle around on the floor for something. It took you a moment for your brain to realise what he was doing. He was rooting back into his pocket for the cocaine. You thought about saying something but decided not to for fear it would ruin the moment and this would all stop. This was Frankie. You had wanted this for so long and you were willing to put up with anything just to have his love and attention all to yourself.

You felt his hand smooth over your ass, his fingers digging into the flesh, giving it a squeeze before he let go. You shifted your head slightly so you could look back and watch him as he opened the little baggy and began gently patting the powder out of it, leaving a line of it across your right cheek. The dark look in his eyes as he stared at the sight made your knees want to go weak. He could sense the slight tremble within you, “Hold still for me baby.” he said as he took hold of you again, his hands firmly placed either side of your ass, holding you still. You closed your eyes, thinking if you didn't see what was about to happen, maybe you could act like it never did.

It all happened so quickly you didn't even have time to really take it in. Frankie quickly leant down, taking the powder up his nose, his tongue coming out to lick up any remaining powder before he thrust his face between your folds. You let out a startled squeal of pleasure as you felt Frankie's tongue dive straight in, catching you completely off guard. His patchy facial hair tickled your skin and you jerked back further towards his face, Frankie moaning in pleasure at the feeling.

He quickly pulled his mouth away, thrusting two fingers inside you instead, stretching you out and making sure you were ready. His fingers took a moment to explore your heat and you moaned as this thick fingers stroked your inner walls. You let out a groan when he took his fingers out and you were about to lift your head to turn and whine pathetically about it when he suddenly thrust his cock inside you.

“Oh fuck.” you cried out as you attempted to adjust to his size. He leant over you, his arm wrapping around your upper chest, pulling you to your hands. His head nuzzled into your neck, trying to get you to turn your head so he could kiss you. As you began to turn it towards him, his hand that had been holding your chest moved up to grasp your jaw, forcing your lips to his. He felt you clench around him as you reacted to the power move and he gently rolled his hips into you, your back arching, trying to encourage him even deeper.

He began pounding into you rapidly as he straightened himself up again. His grip on your hips was firm, holding you steady, pulling you back into him with every thrust. The feeling was overwhelming and the lingering effects of the cocaine only heightened everything more. “Oh my god baby, you feel so fucking good.” he praised you as your moans of pleasure rang out through the room.

You felt him lean forward again and you turned your head, seeking out his lips once more. “I've wanted this for so fucking long.” he grunted out between kisses. He almost melted when you moaned back into his lips in response to his words. He wrapped an arm around you, pulling your back into his chest again, making his rapid thrusts even deeper. He was hitting a certain spot inside you and it was devastating, your eyes wanting to roll back into your head as you relaxed it against his shoulder.

A feeling began to rise inside you. It felt so overwhelming and rapid you weren't even sure what was happening until it had already happened. Frankie felt your walls pushing back against him and when he thrust back he was forced out of you completely, your release gushing all over his cock and the bed. “Jesus fucking Christ did you just-” he couldn't even say the word. He was so fucking happy and impressed, but he saw the look of surprise on your face. He quickly crashed his lips into yours as he tried to reassure you that what had happened was a good thing. No a great thing. “Fucking do it again for me baby.” he said as he lined himself back up with your entrance and thrusted himself inside you once more.

You couldn't help but cry out, your mouth falling open against his. You felt so sensitive between your legs it didn't take much time at all before Frankie had you squirting again. “That's it, that's my girl. You're so fucking beautiful when you do that baby.” he said as he turned you around to face him. He could tell your eyes were unfocussed, completely blissed out from each devastating orgasm he was pulling from you.

He placed his hands either side of your head, smoothing your hair out of your face as he kissed it. He sat himself back on the bed, trying to avoid the wet patch on the sheets, pulling you to sit on top of him. He held you close as he pulled you back down onto his erection and you relaxed your head against his shoulder as he continued to smooth your hair. He began rocking you gently on top of him, letting you have a small break, both of you enjoying the moment of being close.

When you felt your strength coming back to you, you lifted your head from his shoulder, fixing your lips to his again. He lifted you in his arms, laying you back on the bed. He lifted your legs back, allowing him to push himself deeper inside you as his thrust began to pick up again.

You placed your hands either side of his head, forcing your eyes to focus on one another. “Fuck, you're so fucking beautiful.” he said, his forehead pressing into yours. You're mouth hung open again, your breaths coming out fast inbetween his thrusts, your moans stuttering wordlessly from your lips. He could tell your eyes were starting to become unfocussed again as your next orgasm built inside you.

He placed his hands under your hips, lifting them slightly allowing his thrusts to reach deeper still. The feeling inside you was devastating and your hand reached to rub circles over your clit, encouraging your release to come even faster. Once again Frankie felt himself being forced out from inside you as you once again gushed all over him and the bed, only this time he had a much better view. He was getting so close to his own climax and this only spurred him on even more. He barely gave you a moment to recover before he was thrusting himself back deep inside you.

His thrust were rapid as he chased his own finish and your fingers clawed at his back as you tried to ground yourself. Frankie let out a deep growl as he buried his head into the crook of your neck. His thrusts became sporadic, stuttering as he lifted his head to capture your lips in his own as he finished inside you. He stilled inside you and you relaxed into his arms as you felt every pulse of his cock inside you. It was a feeling that made you feel proud.

You looked up into his eyes. They were ones of complete bliss and adoration. You wanted to tell him you loved him but the words caught in your mouth so you settled for kissing him once more. This time the kiss was tender and not just because you were both exhausted. It said everything you both didn't feel like you could say. A silent acknowledgment of love.

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“Hey where are you going?” you asked him as he climbed from the bed an hour later and began pulling on his clothes.

“I gotta go.” he said as he shrugged on his t-shirt, unable to meet your eyes,

“Oh, okay.” you said, sitting up and curling your knees up to your chest. You watched him silently as your racing thoughts from the bar slowly started coming back to you. They were more prominent now in this post sex quiet. “Frankie.” your voice said tentatively. It was half broken as the reality of the situation set in and an ache began to form in your chest, along with a churning feeling in your stomach. He looked back at you, eyes sorrowful.

Frankie felt like he had just been punched in the gut. He could see the hurt behind your eyes and it killed him. He knew his love for you was so great and he hated that he was hurting you in this moment. He made his way across the room to you, his arms leaning on the bed either side of you as he leant down to kiss you. “I'm gonna make this right, I promise.” he said as you dipped your head away from him. He gave you a tender kiss on your fore head. “I'll text you in the morning.” he said before placing a hand under your chin, encouraging you to lift your head once more so he could give you a final kiss goodbye. You could only watch silently and helplessly from your bed as he turned and walked away. You practically flinched as you heard the front door close behind him, the sound echoing around your quiet apartment, the reality of your actions setting in. What the fuck had you done.

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True to his word, Frankie had indeed messaged you the following morning. There was no mention of Laura just an 'I really want to see you. Can I come over later.' You had of course said yes and you had both had a repeat of the night before, just this time with pizza and TV. You had wanted him to stay, but you also understood why he couldn't. He promised you he would soon though.

You had both carried on that way, the days turning into weeks. Wild nights turning into wild afternoons, always with the promise that at some point Frankie would break up with Laura and you would be together properly soon.

One week turned into two months and with every passing day your feelings for Frankie were growing stronger and stronger. You didn't care if he hadn't left Laura yet. You didn't care about the drugs, mostly because you could see he was using less and less when he was around you. You could see he was getting better. He was happier and shinier and you knew when he was ready he would end things with her and move in with you.

It was a Saturday evening when he turned up on your doorstep drunk and high and unable to get his key into the lock to let himself in. When you finally opened the door to him there were tears in his eyes. “Frankie?” his name fell from your lips as a question as he stumbled through the door. He made a beeline for your kitchen, searching the cupboards for more alcohol to drink.

You rushed over to him as you saw him pull a half full bottle of whiskey from the cupboard. He didn't even bother to get himself a glass, just started sipping it straight from the bottle. “Frankie, what the fuck is going on?” you asked as you snatched the bottle from his grasp.

“She's pregnant.” he choked out. Your face dropped, complete shock taking over.

“What?” your voice was barely louder than a whisper.

“Laura, she's pregnant.” he said again. His gaze wouldn't lift from a spot on the floor. There was silence between you as you both let the information settle in.

“What are you going to do?” you asked him tentatively.

“I love you.”

“What?”

“I love you.” he said again, finally looking up to meet your eyes.

“No-”

“I don't want to be with her-”

“Frankie she's carrying your kid.”

“I don't want to be with her, I want to be with you.” he said again stepping towards you, his hands outstretched reaching for you. You remained frozen to the spot as his hands rested either side of your face. “I love you. I don't love her, I want to be with you.”

“How long have you know?” you asked him, your voice cold. He was silent. “How long have you known?” you asked him again, your voice rising, becoming desperate.

“About a week.” he finally admitted. You stepped backwards, away from his touch, tears beginning to fall down your cheeks. “Please baby, please-” he began to beg, trying to step forward and close the distance between you again but you kept stepping away, shaking your head in disbelief. “Please, you make me better. I'm better when I'm with you.” You turned away from him, leaving the room in an attempt to get away, panic rising up inside you.

“I'll tell her everything, I'll get help, I promise just please-”

“FRANKIE STOP!” you shouted, rounding on him. He finally fell silent, allowing you a moment to breathe, to think. “I can't do this anymore.” your voice said broken. “If you really loved me, if you were actually going to leave her you would have done it weeks ago when you said you would. If you didn't want to be with her, why were you still sleeping with her, why did you get her pregnant-”

“I don't even remember it.” his voice came back broken and his knees gave way, his back leaning against the open kitchen door. He was sobbing now.

“Frankie, you need help.” you said to him tenderly as you made your way towards him. You sat on the floor beside him, your head leaning on his shoulder. His head slumped against yours in defeat.

“How did I fuck this up so bad?” he asked you. You didn't answer. You didn't need to. “I wish I had a time machine, like that car in that movie, back to the future,,, or that hot tub in that stupid movie Benny made me watch.” he started, his voice calming. “I wish I could go back to when I first met you and tell you how I felt about you. I wish I had told you I loved you the moment I saw you. I wish I'd never let Will or Santiago have the chance to fuck you before I did. Maybe then you would be the one carrying my child right now and not her.”

You let his words hang in the air. You wished more than anything that things could be different right now but they weren't. Frankie had a drug addiction. He had cheated on his girlfriend with you. He had promised you he would leave her but he didn't. Instead he had gotten her pregnant. You had been willing to over look so much for Frankie but for your own sake you couldn't do it anymore. There was a child involved now and there was no way you were gonna hang around and make this situation more difficult for everyone. “I'm gonna go to Italy.” you told him. He looked at you lost.

You had gotten the call that morning. You had been wondering all day whether or not you should take the job but now you saw it as the only option you had. You both needed space. Frankie needed to be there for Laura, for his kid and you couldn't be here as a temptation for him. “My supervisor called this morning about a job in Italy. I think I'm gonna go. I think we both just need some space away from each other to clear our heads.”

“How long?”

“I don't know. Could be a couple of months, could be longer.”

“I love you.” he said again after a moments silence, hoping it would change your mind, hoping it would make you stay.

“Promise me you'll get help Frankie.” was all you said. You were on the next flight to Italy the following morning.

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@icanbeyourjedi @theshiningharmony @darnitdraco @kesskirata @wyn-dixie @rosiefridayrogersunday @actual-spawn-of-satan @clydesducktape @asta-lily @honey-hi @heythere-mel @heidi-toevs @wigofokoye @choricenter @goodgriefitsawildworld @lostgirlheather @d0uwannkn0w @justdrawings101 @nicotinebirds @bisexualolympus @babyratt19 @cookiecat22 @peterhollandkait @a-bang-for-your-bucky @asta-lily @codenamewife @lazyunknownwerewolf @emmy626 @natura1phenomenon @fanfics-that-hit-my-feels @fangirl-316 @thisisthewaytofiction @rosiefridayrogersunday-reads @aficwhore @slayerx147 @alberta-sunrise @itspdameronthings @nano-pax @bunnypascal @niki-xie @eowynshairflip @mamacitapascal @dobbyjen @t3rradactyl

#triple frontier #triple frontier x reader #what benny doesn’t know #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #santiago garcia #santiago pope garcia #santiago garcia x reader #will miller #william ironhead miller #will miller x reader #benny miller

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bokettochild · 3 years

Note

Hey Ketto, I'm not sure if you are taking any requests rn, but I've had a rough time of it recently and if it's no bother or hassle, could I request a fic where Time gets comforted by Warriors? Something with cuddles and hair petting, and Time getting to be held. Only if it's no bother. - Nick @thesacredtwink

Of course, Nick!

Sorry I didn't see this until just recently, but I whipped up something for you as soon as I could. I hope it helps, luv, and if you want more please do not hesitate to ask!

Time has been acting strange since the last switch.

At first, none of them questioned it, after all, leaving the ranch made them all a bit down, Time especially however, their leader usually sprung back to himself within a few days of travel time, going back to making jokes that made the others groan and offering advice and aid to their younger heroes. This time however, Time had only gotten worse, the shadows under his eyes growing nightly, the older hero falling silent and stern and very nearly snappish with the others. Only this evening, Warriors had seen Time lose his temper with Wind when the kid had been bubbling around him all day, and while the sailor took the scolding and tired ‘you’re just too much, Wind’ like a soldier, Wars had seen how the kid had retreated to Twilight and Legend during dinner, clinging to the both of them with misty eyes and keeping himself strangely silent while Time brooded on the other side of the fire.

The captain sighed to himself. If his boys were having trouble getting along, not just adjusting to being on the road again, then it was his place as a father (brother?) to step up and see what the problem was. After all, Time would tear himself up about this later, so he needed to nip it in the bud now before the man did something that would make the following guilt later even worse.

Time was seated on the far edge of camp that evening, and unlike most nights on the road, the man had left his sword in its sheath, himself still clad in his armor as the others shed their excess layers, and a blue ocarina was cradled in his hands, eyes distant and brows pulled low as he stared off into the forest. Not brooding then, sulking, and he wasn’t quite sure if that was better or worse in the moment.

“Room for one more?”

Time’s blue eye flickered to him for a moment with a dark scowl, the man shaking his head tiredly and pulling himself up.

Oh shoot, a royal sulk! Time was usually fine to let someone sit next to him, even when he was brooding, but if it was so bad that he didn’t even want anyone nearby? Oh goddesses, Warriors had his work cut out for him.

Dinner that night was a cold affair, the younger ones trying to prompt Wind into anything resembling conversation as Legend poked the sailor’s side, and the older ones exchanging worried glances as they looked from their sulking leader to each other. Usually, someone would break the stillness with a joke or a tease, but Legend’s snark only made things worse when Time shot the vet a look after he had made a jab at Warriors, and while the captain appreciated the defense of his honor, it was reminding him much too much of the war when Time had been a gremlin ready to wreak havoc on anyone at the nearest hint of insult to his father-figure. And while he rather doubted that Time could pants Legend (no pants, and their leader hopefully knew better now that he was older) it was an uncomfortable reminder of the kid’s worse days when nothing could get through to him and Warriors had to be very careful to hide his flask where the kid wouldn’t find it.

When arranging watches, Time had just grunted and moved to the edges of camp and Warriors found himself wincing.

“I’ll take second watch.” He told the others. “Time’s claimed first- don't ask, that’s what that huff usually means. Wind, you’re on Twilight duty, make sure the rancher doesn’t wander off again this evening, alright?” That earned a smile from the kid however hesitant, and while Twilight looked mildly offended, Warriors mentally blessed the rancher for not protesting the comment.

“Yessir, Cap’n.” Wind offered a sharp little salute, and he couldn’t help but reach over and ruffle the kid’s hair as his chest had swelled with pride. They’d worked on that salute a thousand times and now it was as clipped and smooth as any officer’s, even better than many of his men. Maybe he should have the sailor give his soldiers a few tips he chuckled to himself as the others sorted out watches; Legend taking the one directly after his and Hyrule the one after. Wild was on morning cooking duty, so the kid was ordered to rest for the night to avoid any sort of unfortunate mishaps. Usually, it wasn’t a problem to let the wild Champion take final watch, but if his plans (of course he had plans, did you doubt him?) were going to work out, the kid would need to be well rested to prepare the breakfast he’d asked for in the morning.

Knowing glances were shot his way by the others, Sky and Twilight both clapping his back and Legend tugging his scarf with an impish smirk as the others headed to bed, silent wishes of good luck ringing clear across the camp as he was left alone with their leader while the others settled in for bed.

He waited until the sun had set properly and the snoring of the others had begun rumbling around the camp, Twilight’s throaty snorts and Wind’s rumbling ones mixing with Four and Legend’s more soft snuffling ones. Hyrule and Wild lay silent and curled up, each snuggled into one side of the cuddle pile that had formed with Wind in the center, the sailor clinging to Twilight and Legend both in his sleep and dooming them to be smushed in by the other heroes. Sky, at the head of the pile, drooled slightly in his sleep, apparently uncaring that the others were using him as a pillow, and with one hand lost in Twilight’s dark hair. It made him smile as he took them in, pulling himself up to go and ensure they were all tucked in warmly before he turned his attention to the brooding warrior on the edge of their camp.

Time was still fiddling with his ocarina, eyes downcast and almost misty as the older man sat on the edge of camp, and he had to stop for a moment to collect himself before confronting him; Time looked miserable.

“Guilt hitting you yet for yelling at Wind?” He drawled, coming to sit next to the other and carefully arranging his scarf where time could grab it if needed. The man was no longer a child, but even so the blue fabric was a comfort to most of their odd little family, and scoldings or long talks were always made easier when it was available to hide under.

“A bit.”

“If it helps, he knows you didn’t mean it.”

Time slumped in place. “I still said it. Wind looks up to me now, I-” The other cut off with a sigh, tired eyes and weary heart both dimming as he watched.

“Right then, what’s eating you?” At Time’s startled expression he offered a knowing frown. “I helped raise you, Sap, I know when you’re taring yourself up over something and I’d half to be as blind as you to not tell when somethings hurting you. So, what is it?”

Royal blue blinked slowly, a match for his own and so terribly distant as Time turned back to the forest, thumbs trailing over the smooth porcelain of the ocarina. “I’m worried.”

“For?”

“For Malon.” Oh shit. “She wasn’t feeling too good when we left and-” Time’s face twisted up, eye glimmering as the man stared up at the stars, pain twisting his expression and straining his voice as one hand had wound into the prepared scarf. “I’m not there. Talon’s getting on in years and if something happens when we’re gone-” Time’s voice hitched, not quite a sob but broken all the same, and like a trigger was hit Warriors was already pulling the other man into his arms, holding tight as Time’s shoulders shuddered under his grasp. “I’m worried, Pops.” Came the broken whisper. “What if-”

“Shhhh.” Like a million times before his hands were running through short blonde hair. It had been ages since he’d trimmed either of his boys and Time was getting shaggy again, something he was grateful for. Running his hands through the kid’s hair had always helped him calm, and it seemed to still be effective even ow, Time melting further into his embrace as he hummed softly, rocking ever so slightly in place. “Malon’s a strong woman, she’ll be fine. People get sick all the time, Sapling, this isn’t anything to fuss over.”

“She couldn’t get out of bed the other morning.” Time breathed against his chest, the ocarina falling to the ground as both of the man’s hands had wound into the blue scarf instead.

Warriors tried to steady the stutter of his heart as he clutched the other a but tighter. “Is that so?”

“She’s been awful nauseas too.” Time choked out. “Wars, I-”

“Has she had random dizzy spells and weird cravings? Maybe gets sickened at the mere idea of certain foods but also likes eating things that even a pig would turn away from?” Oh, goddesses let this be right.

Time’s blue eye stared up at him curiously. “Y-yeah, how’d-”

The captain choked back a snort. “She’ll be fine, Time. Ladies get that way sometimes. My own beloved was that way for a while too, it passes in time, and there's few ill effects.”

“What ill effects?” Time shifted uneasily, pulling away to stare at him better.

“Exhaustion mostly, some pain, and loss of sleep, but,” He tilted his head with a knowing grin. “It’s well worth it in the end when she’s okay again. You’ll want to talk to her about it next time we get there,” if the bulge of Malon’s stomach didn’t give her away first. “But she’ll be alright.” Time stared at him in disbelief, brows pulling together in a doubtful frown that had him huffing in mock offence. “Wat, you don’t believe me?”

“Battlefield experience as a medic-”

Wars cut Time off with a snort. “Battlefield nothing! I was fighting my loves illness before the war even started. It’s not something that catches, I’ll have you know, and as long as she takes it easy, something I trust Malon knows as well as the next woman, she’ll be fine.” He reached over to tig Time’s ears making the other shy away with a strained laugh, only earning a hair ruffle “Stop fussing, Sapling, your lady love will live just fine.”

Time actually outed at him for a moment, something which quite frankly looked ridiculous on the man’s face and made him bust up laughing as the other flopped against him. Absently, his hands drifted back into Time’s shaggy hair, humming softly as Time continued to lay in silence, eyes staring up at the stars and ears twitching slowly.

“Tomorrow,” He tugged one flickering ear pointedly. “You need to apologize to Wind.”

“Trust me, I intend to.”

“Good.” He grinned, flopping his scarf across the other’s face. “But for now, rest, kiddo, you’re a right grouch when you're tired and I don’t mind pulling double shift for a night.”

“I’m-”

“Not fine, and not staying up. Past your bed-time squirt.” He tugged the ear again, earning a soft growl from his adult kid as Time shifted.

“I’m still in my armor.”

“Then change.”

Time pulled himself up with a huff, shucking his armor and letting Wars help him with the buckles and belts before the both of them settled down again. Tomorrow night, the leader’s metal shell would need cleaning, but for now, he’d let himself out to be seen and held, head nestled in Warriors’ lap as the captain played with his hair.

Time’s breathes evened out to join the cacophony of rumbling snores of the others. Warriors smiled, ruffling his son’s hair fondly and turning his eyes towards the moon.

#linkeduniverse #linked universe #dad warriors #lu warriors #lu time #lu malon #mentioned #mamalon #more so than usual #time gets grouchy when he worries #hints at #pregnant malon #time is a good husband #warriors is married #feel free to insert your own ship there if you like #for #thesacredtwink my beloved #fluffics

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ohdearhiddles · 4 years

Text

request: What about a one shot where there's a really big age gap between reader and tom and one night the reader tells him that she feels like she's holding him back from settling down/family etc. and he comforts her..... basically fluff please? thanks!!

TITLE: With You

WORD COUNT: 1914

AUTHOR NOTES/WARNINGS: fluff fluff :) i have a problem with writing too much. i hope this was okay!!

The door to your bedroom opened softly, revealing a tired and disheveled Tom. He had been out all day for interviews and public events, working hard even when he was technically not meant to be working at all. His curls were more than just a little messy; he looked as if he had run his fingers through them a countless number of times throughout the day. As your eyes locked with his, he smiled. You smiled back at him, knee bouncing up and down as you sat at the edge of your bed, book in hand.

“How was your day,” you questioned him, curling your leg underneath you in order to turn in his direction. Tom loosened his tie and sighed before plopping onto the mattress beside you.

“Long,” he responded, nothing more and nothing less. You knew that Tom was having a rough time recently from all the new interviews he had to take part in as his latest work premiered. He was always so kind when being asked questions about not just his work but his life as well. Despite his kindness, it still took a toll on him when interviewers seemed to ask all the wrong questions. From the way he was acting, he most definitely had gotten asked all the wrong questions today.

Instinctively, you reached out to run your fingers through his hair, earning a soft hum of appreciation from your older boyfriend. You knew better than to pry into what’s upsetting him immediately after he had just found a second to relax. When Tom wanted to talk, he would talk. He always did.

You maneuvered yourself closer to him, laying on your side with one arm propping your head up as the other rested on his chest while your hand remained in his hair. By this point, Tom’s eyes were closed as he enjoyed the small gesture you were displaying. As your fingers continuously ran through the locks on his head, his hand made its way onto your thigh where he, too, began administering gentle caresses. It was almost as if he was finding solace in being able to reciprocate the comfort you were providing.

The two of you sat in silence for a few more moments before he opened his eyes and tilted his chin up to look at you. “How about you?”

“Hm?” You hummed in response, not quite sure what he was referring to. “Oh, my day was alright. I just got home from work not too long ago.”

It had been only a month or so since you started your job, and it was safe to say that your employers never failed to remind you that you were a newbie. Sure, it was tough on you, but you didn’t let that stop you from getting the job done. Tom knew it wasn’t exactly easy for you at the workplace because many of your coworkers had already recognized you as a celebrity’s girlfriend, poking fun at the significant age gap between you both.

Tom was 39 years old, a bit older than anyone you had dated in the past, especially because you were still {Y/A}. Between the two of you, the age difference wasn’t that big of a deal, but not everyone saw it the way you did. At first, this was something you said you could accept. Love was about acceptance; at least, that’s what Tom would say. One year later, and these words alone didn’t seem to be quite enough to hold your worries at bay. Looking into his eyes, you could see how tired he was, and you wanted nothing more than to wipe his worries away, but you didn’t know how.

“They kept asking about you today,” he sighed, not because he was upset but because he didn’t want to worry you about it.

“What were they asking about,” you asked, not sure if you wanted to know the answer.

“Well,” Tom started, “they were asking if we were planning on getting married, how our schedules work, if you plan on being a stay-at-home mom since I travel for work.”

Your eyes wandered around the room until they settled on the buttons of his shirt. If you had kept your eyes on Tom, you would have noticed that his eyebrows had knit together at your reaction, his worry only increasing. A minute of silence passed before you realized he was probably waiting for you to react to what he was saying. If you were being honest, you didn’t know what to say.

Was there a wrong or right answer? Were you supposed to tell him what you had planned for the future?

As your mind raced a hundred miles a minute, Tom’s hands had found your hips as he urged you to straddle his lap. With your knees on either side of him, Tom placed his right hand on the small of your back, holding you steady as his free hand pushed his body to an upright position. You were slightly elevated and his eyes were level with your neck. The position only granted him the access he needed to leave soft kisses along your collarbones and up your neck. Your fingers grasped the back of his neck when he stopped, and you took the opportunity to press a gentle kiss to the bridge of his nose.

“Y/N,” he exhaled, grip tightening around you. “Their questions had me thinking.”

You stilled, not wanting to know where this conversation was going at all. In an effort to keep him from talking, you pressed your lips to his. Of course, Tom knew what you were up to, but even for a split second he also enjoyed the distraction from an otherwise serious topic. The distraction only lasted a few seconds before you felt his hands on your cheeks as he pulled you away from him. In the blink of an eye, his expression had turned serious once again.

“Y/N,” he tried again, this time holding your face centimeters from his own. “We’re going to have to address these things sooner rather than later.”

You sighed, leaning back from his grasp as your hands fell to your sides. “Okay,” you replied.

“I love you,” he started; his words sent shivers down your spine. “I don’t want to be the reason this relationship falls through, though.”

You tilted your head, not quite understanding what he meant, and he noticed this. He grinned sheepishly before letting out a sigh of his own. You had a feeling these sighs were only the first of many to come in this relationship.

“Your job, are they still giving you a hard time?” He questioned.

“Well, no,” you tried to say, but the look in his eyes immediately showed that he didn’t believe you. “Yes, yes they do, but it’s simple stuff. It’s not like they’re harassing me or making my life entirely too difficult. It’s just a little extra workload here and there.”

His right hand reached up to rest on your cheek, brushing the area beneath your eye. Tom smiled sadly before speaking again, “Darling, I don’t want to be the reason your job is difficult, nor do I want to be the cause of the bags under your eyes. If this continues, you’ll be working yourself to death by the time you’ve fully settled into things.”

Shaking your head adamantly, you firmly disagreed, “It’s nothing coffee and a few days of overtime can’t fix. I can handle it.”

“I’m sure you can, but,” he paused. You wish he hadn’t because your heart stopped beating the second he stopped speaking, impatiently waiting for him to carry on. “This is your dream job, yes?”

You nodded.

“Who am I to make your dream job more of a nightmare?”

“The man I’m in love with,” you answered quickly, knowing where he was going with this already. If he wanted to end this relationship because your job was getting a little too much, what was he going to do when other things started to go south? “You think you’re holding me back from loving what I do?”

It was Tom’s turn to nod. You laughed, almost bitterly, at his thoughts.

“Thomas, you think you’re holding me back?” You asked, voice rising in pitch. Standing from your spot in his lap, you let it all out. “You’re 39; you want to settle down. You want to have a family. Your family wants you to settle down and have a family. I’m not quite sure I’m ready for all that, and you want to say you’re holding me back? I can barely wrap my head around finally starting my career, let alone starting a family right now.”

Tom was standing now, worry etched into his features as he took in your distraught stance. Your hands were in your hair, gripping tightly as if you wanted to rip it out. Your eyes began to sting as tears of worry threatened to fall down your cheeks. With your chest heaving as breathing seemed to get harder by the second, you turned your back to him. You didn’t want to see him get worried over your own feelings of not being able to give him what he wants, and as much as he would like to pretend he didn’t know that you were uncertain about the future and what it might bring, he couldn’t ignore it now.

Tom’s hands reached forward to lightly grip yours, attempting to gently pry your fingers from your hair. As he wrestled your arms to your sides, he pressed his lips to your forehead, softly shushing you until you finally allowed him to comfort your mini meltdown.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured as he wrapped his arms around you. “I didn’t know you were carrying all that with you, I’m sorry.”

You shook your head, knowing that you needed to apologize for semi-yelling at him for something you shouldn’t have even gotten mad at. “No, I’m sorry. It’s just - I sometimes think maybe it’s better if you find someone else, someone who can give you that family and kids because I’m not ready. I’m not ready for marriage, and I’m most definitely not ready for motherhood.”

At the sound of your suggestion, Tom released his hold, eyes now trained on your face. When you looked up to meet his gaze, he looked almost mad. Before you could say anything else, he closed his eyes and let out another deep sigh.

“If it’s not with you, then what’s the point?” He spoke with his eyes still closed. “Yes, we have things to work out, and the future to talk about. And yes, Y/N, I want a family and I want children, but I want that with you. Don’t tell me to find another woman when I’ve already found the person I want to be with. Age, race, or whatever, none of that matters to me as long as it’s with you.”

You stared at him blankly, not knowing how to respond to his declaration. It was almost as if he was proposing to you; part of you wanted to glance around to see if he had a ring in plain view, but you knew he wouldn’t propose like this.

“But-” you began.

“No, no ‘buts.’” Tom opened his eyes and was quick to cut you off this time. “Take all the time you need until you’re ready to take those steps. I’ll be here waiting alongside you every step of the way.”

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston imagines #ohdearhiddles imagines #thomas william hiddleston #hiddleston imagine #imagines #age gap imagine

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xbellaxcarolinax · 4 years

Text

Heartbreaker- Part 3

Pairing: Modern Ivar x Female character/ reader (She)

Word Count: 6332. Yikes.

Warnings: Sexual content, language, angst

Moodboard@peterquillzsblog

AN: The third part of this thing I did for @youbloodymadgenius 400 Followers Writing Challenge. I’m a bit insecure about this part, and it was hard to write but I hope ya’ll like it. Shout out to my girl @shannygoatgruff for helping me and encouraging me with the writing process. You da best.

Part 1, Part 2

...

The stars were mocking her, she was sure of it.

Her eyes were glued to her ceiling, the stupid LED’s sparkling brighter now that the sun had completely set and the moon had taken its place. She started learning her constellations when she was 10, the age when shit at home started to hit the fan. It was her attempt at an escape to avoid her parents fighting in the other room. She ignored the yelling and banging against the walls by running to her tiny window and staring out into the sky in the hopes of catching sight of Orion’s Belt or any of the dippers. The stars were nicer then, comforting her as she did her best to drown out her mother’s screaming. They weren’t so visible now that she lived in Oslo, the city lights blocking everything that glowed in the sky. She had to settle for the cheap projector she purchased off amazon when she first called the city home, and it had been enough for her to get by until now. It ridiculed her, the fake stars shimmering together as if to form a smirk.

Fuck that.

She reaches behind her nightstand, yanking the cord from the wall with force, cutting off the starlight and leaving her ceiling pitch black. The candles were still flickering as the only light source, the scent of roses still strong. At least it smelled nice. Flopping back against her pillows, she runs her hands down her damp face from her salty tears, dropping her arms to her sides and dragging the sheets over her still naked body. She hadn’t moved since he left. She couldn’t move even if she wanted to. Her body felt rooted to the mattress, her skin glued to the sheets. She gives the dark ceiling one last glare before rolling to her side, burying her face into the pillow where Ivar’s luxurious hair had left the fragrance of his coconut shampoo and his Armani cologne. She was fucking pathetic.

Sending him away felt like a mistake.

She wanted to feel powerful kicking his ass out. She wanted to feel in control and confident watching him leave, but she didn’t. He wasn’t even angry. As soon as she told him to leave, he silently gathered his wrinkled clothes thrown about in their haste. In rigid movements he dressed himself, grabbed his crutch, and turned to look at her over his shoulder, his eyes scanning the shape of her body under the thin sheets. He said nothing, just stared at her with this look of longing, like they were the most unfortunate pair to grace the earth. It certainly felt that way. Then he reached over, holding her head gently to place a kiss on her temple before leaving her bed. All she wanted to do was to cry and call him back as soon as she heard her front door close with a soft click.

The facade immediately collapsed and the smirk slipped from her lips, settling into a deep frown. Her eyes welled up with tears and cascaded down her cheeks without so much as a fight. She had felt a heaviness in her chest, a burning that ached over her as if Ivar himself had reached inside her and ripped out her heart. He had broken it, so why did it hurt just as much when she tried to hurt him?

Because she loved him. She loved Ivar.

She was in love with him. Completely and hopelessly and stupidly in love. Like a fucking idiot. She loved him when he visited her at the museum. She loved him when he took her home. She loved him when he took her to bed. And she loved him more when she watched him leave, his expression forever implanted in her mind like a photograph. She’d never seen such a look on him before.

When the hell did it start to get to that point? She wasn’t too sure. It started simple enough, boundaries were set, and they were both happy with what they had. The sex was great, and even greater still when she realized her feelings were getting involved. She found love in the simplest things. She felt it in their little touches whenever she handed him something, in the smile that lit up his face when she made his favorite meal of steak and potatoes, or the way he looked at her when he knew she was wearing something particularly naughty under her clothes. Or maybe she loved him from the moment they met at that fucking party. Apparently it only takes the brain 2 seconds to fall in love with someone. She couldn’t even remember where she’d read that. Probably from that corny lifestyle magazine she picked up while waiting her turn at the dental office. Whatever. The damage was already done.

She fights to ignore the delicious throbbing between her legs, her body craving more of him and his touch. It bothered her, how her body was betraying her. With a sigh, she shifts away from Ivar’s scent, curling into herself and making a mental note to wash the bed sheets as soon as possible. A bath would be nice, preferably with lots of bubbles, but she was too lazy. She’d just have to wake up earlier.

She takes even breaths to calm her heart rate as she watches the candle on her nightstand flicker, hoping she’d find sleep soon.

Morning came a lot quicker than she hoped.

She was the epitome of a zombie, which meant she’d need her morning coffee. Her eyes were sensitive against the morning light and her body ached from more than just a sleepless night. She took a quick shower, fed Benji, and made her caffeinated drink. She was in complete autopilot, that is, until there was a knock on her door. Irritated at the early disturbance, she goes to the door with half a mind of what was on the other side of it.

Pink daisies. Twice as many as before. This time, they were arranged in a stained glass vase, much like the windows of a cathedral, with vivid colors of green, blue, and red, depicting a simplistic design. It must have cost him a pretty penny no doubt, but money was never a problem for him. It was lighter than the porcelain vase, but still heavy in her hands. She places it on the counter, her fingertips skimming over the silky petals as gently as she could without damaging them. They were beautiful, but she found herself unable to admire them. She had a melancholic view of them now. They couldn’t be her favorites anymore.

There was that white card again, hiding within the stems of the bouquet. She hesitates, her fingers grasping the rough textured paper, reluctant to peer inside in fear of another hurtful message. With a shaky breath she flips it open.

I’m sorry.

Love, Ivar.

The words were written messily, unusual for him as he had perfect penmanship learned from his years in boarding school. Again, the water from the vase dotted the card, causing the black ink to bleed a bit. Her fingers follow the streaks down to the edge, picking up some of the faded pigment. It was as if he were the one crying this time, asking for forgiveness with fucking flowers. Either this solution worked for him in the past or he was just really fucking stupid.

She bites her lip, fiddling with the card before opening her junk drawer and tossing it inside. She didn’t have the strength to get rid of it. She carefully takes the vase in both hands, setting them down on her coffee table and arranging her candles and other knick knacks around it until it pleased her. She sits on her sofa, watching Benji put both his paws on the surface of the coffee table, curious of the new scent in the flat. Pulling her phone from her back pocket, she searches her contact list, going to her blocked numbers. Ivar’s name was the only one on that list.

Unblock?

She pauses, her finger hovering over the button. One tap, and she would be signing up for more heartbreak. Then the image of the blonde appeared in her mind, her in bed with Ivar, smirking and devious. Mocking.

It wasn’t worth it.

With a sigh she tosses her phone onto the table with a loud clack, the corner smacking against the edge of the vase and spooking Benji. She sucks her teeth.

Forget it.

…

Ivar runs his large thumb over the smooth cream colored domino piece, watching Hvitserk deal the pieces out to him and Sigurd. He’s been in a foul mood since the night he left her flat and he’s been hugging alcohol and cigarettes to his side like long lost friends, specifically Patrón and Marlboro. They dulled whatever strange feeling he felt that fluttered in his chest whenever he thought of her.

Normally, women were never a problem for him. It was always the same routine. He’d find himself a pretty girl, date her for a bit, and find another one when he got bored. He’d tell them that love was out of the equation and that was it. There were a few that grew attached, but he’d nip it in the bud before it could escalate. Others were understanding. They’d have their fun and go on their merry way to do it over again with some other asshole. It was supposed to be simple. So why was she making things so fucking difficult?

Well, he wasn’t being entirely fair, he had to admit. They were both difficult. She had fallen in love with him after he warned her not to, and he couldn’t bring himself to keep away from her after he’d sent her away. He had a routine, dammit, but now all he finds himself wanting is a fucking routine with her. Like maybe a normal one. He had gotten use to her, her smile, her touches, her scent, fuck. How long had it been? A year? The longest he’d ever been with a girl. Seriously. And now Freydis was up his ass for attention. He knew the bimbo didn’t feel anything past physical attraction for him. It was just for his time and money, which he didn’t mind at first, but the bitch was terrible in bed and an unpleasant person to be around.

And so he hoped she’d appreciate the flowers. Women loved flowers, right?

Ivar gives the longest sigh he could muster in order to keep his thoughts at bay, deciding to stare at the domino in his hand. It had 2 giant black dots, and the longer he stared at it, the more they appeared like scrutinizing eyes, judging him and his decisions. He slams the piece face down on the table with a glare. Fuck, he was going crazy.

"Where'd you even get these?" He grunts, snatching up his forgotten beer and taking a sip. It wasn’t tequila but it’d have to do for now.

"Bjorn bought them for me from Cuba." Hvitserk says pointing at the little wooden box they came in with the Cuban flag expertly painted on the surface.

"He brings domino's but no cigars?" Sigurd grumbles, arranging his pieces away from the prying eyes of his brothers, “I’d rather cigars.”

"Domino's are way cooler than cigars, Sig," Hvitserk argues, "And maybe Bjorn doesn’t like you enough to bring you fucking cigars, but forget that. What I really want to know is why our baby brother here looks like fucking shit." Both the older brothers turn to look at Ivar with knowing looks, ready to tease if need be.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Ivar argues, slamming his first piece down to commence the game. Maybe he wasn’t sleeping much these last few days. And maybe he had bags forming under his eyes and wasn’t eating much, preferring his alcohol and chimney sticks, but he wouldn’t go as far as to say he looks like shit. Then again, he wasn’t looking into his bathroom mirror much either.

“Hvits is right. You look like a kicked puppy, and not even a cute one.” Sigurd snickers, placing his own piece down with that stupid little smirk on his face.

“There is no such thing as ugly puppies.” Was the grunted reply.

“Point is, you look like shit. Have you been sleeping? We know how much you love your beauty sleep.”

“And fucking,” Hvitserk chimes in, placing down his domino, “I think Ivar has us beat. He’s competing with Bjorn at this point.”

“Or maybe it’s that little vixen of his causing trouble. How is she doing by the way? We haven’t seen her in a while.” Ivar flares his nose at the nickname that Sigurd had given her. He fucking hated it now more than ever.

“Shut. Up.” He snarls, sliding his domino piece hard enough to push the rest off the table.

“What the fuck, Ivar! If you break my shit, I’ll-”

“So this is what you guys do when I’m not at the office?” Ubbe bursts in through the door of their little lounging area, a frown forming on his lips as he eyes them in pure displeasure before they settled on the game pieces, “Who’s idea was it to play dominoes when we have clients blowing up our fucking phone’s? And drinking beer? That’s just brilliant. Assholes.”

“That’s why your girl is the secretary, Ubbe, she can handle it.” Sigurd waves his hand around, glad that Ubbe’s outburst overshadowed Ivar’s. When the youngest got mad, it wasn’t pretty, but it was fucking entertaining.

“It was my idea, by the way,” Hvitserk chuckles, placing all the pieces that fell back on the table top, “Wanna play? There’s more beer in the mini fridge.”

“You’re all fucking garbage.” Ubbe mutters, but heads over to the fridge to pull out a beer before plopping down on the empty chair beside Ivar with a sigh, “Before I forget, Ivar, Torvi says some guy just came by to drop something off for you.”

“I’m not expecting a package.”

“You sure? I’ll tell her to bring it in.” After a few minutes, Torvi peeks her head in through the crack of the door before fully opening it, a bouquet of wilted pink daisies in her hands. The color drains from Ivar’s face as the blonde approaches, handing him the flowers with this odd look on her face. Who would send Ivar fucking flowers anyway? And dying ones at that. His brothers immediately start to laugh at Ivar’s stunned look, another session of teasing on the way.

“You have another admirer, little bro?” Hvitserk chortles, mixing the domino pieces for a quick shuffle before dealing them.

“The flowers look like shit.” Comments Sigurd, leaning back against his chair. Ivar, still bewildered into silence, blinks stupidly. He stares at the wilted daisies, the petals easily falling off when he brings his fingers to touch them. They really did look like complete shit. Just like how he felt.

“There’s a card clipped in there. You gonna read it or what?” Ubbe taps his youngest brother's shoulder to elicit some kind of reaction from him. Ivar composes himself before quickly snatching the white card. It was one he had already written a message in by the looks of it. The card was bent at the edges, and he recognized the black ink from his favorite fountain pen.

Finally summing up the courage to read the message, he flips the card open, his previous simple apologetic words were crossed out. A new message was written below it that had his little cold heart hammering in his chest. He bites his lip, his blue eyes scanning the 4 words over and over again.

Sorry isn’t good enough.

…

The Tune ship is a fast sailing vessel able to transport passengers quickly across 100 meters. It is speculated that the vessel was a warship, able to carry its passenger and light cargo farther distances at a much faster-

“Ahh, there you are. In the library just as I assumed.” She quickly removes her eyes from her laptop screen in favor of the intruder that addressed her. She immediately stands, pushing it aside and placing her hands behind her back. The museum director, Mr. Kent, chuckles at her nervousness, smoothing a hand down his pale beard. He must have been a blonde in his youth as his hair had a faint yellow glow when under sunlight. He was a decent man of English origin, specifically from Winchester, who had taken over as the museum director about a year ago. He was a man who loved to dress well, fancy suits and shoes to demonstrate his abundance of money, but it wasn't haughty, not like the Ragnarsson’s. Mr. Kent came from even older money, and apparently from a line of kings that ruled England centuries ago. He had a massive reputation, to say the least. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m actually in need of a favor. Do you have a moment?”

“Of course, Mr. Kent, what can I do for you?”

“Please,” He chuckles, “Ecbert is fine. As for the favor, my grandson will be moving from Winchester in a few short weeks, right before the gala for the Tune ship exhibit. I’d like for him to shadow you during your tours, if that is alright with you?”

“Oh! Yes, of course. It would be an honor.” Fuck no, it wouldn’t. The last person that shadowed her was super fucking annoying and ended up getting fired anyway, but since this was Ecbert’s grandson, it would be different, he’d have privilege. Hopefully he wasn’t douche.

And shit. The fucking gala. She’d almost forgotten about it. It was the only event that the museum held in which she could attend, dress up, and feel pretty, but it was the one event that made her more nervous than anything else. She’d be surrounded by the richest people in the country, patrons of the Viking Ship Museum and other prestigious institutions and universities. And champagne, lot’s of champagne. Rich people knew how to party.

“Excellent,” He smiles, clapping his hands together as if to solidify their agreement, “Don’t let me take up more of your time, I know you're doing your research for the new exhibit. I’ll be happy to give you access to the archives if you’d like? You might find something of interest that isn’t in the scholarly journals online.”

“That would be fantastic, Sir, thank you.”

“Have a great day.” She watches the older man leave, before plopping back down onto the cushioned seat with a sigh. He wasn’t as intimidating as their last asshole director, but she still treads softly around him. You can never get too comfy with those above you.

She did some more research for another half hour before checking her watch. Another tour of the Oseberg ship was scheduled in a few minutes and she would be free to go home and feel sorry for herself and her love life. She puts away her laptop in her purse, quickly rushing over to her office to freshen up before the tour. It was a busy day at the museum as they were now at the start of tourist season, which meant the museum allowed for bigger groups to be guided, and more people meant more noise and more irritation. Walking toward the entrance of the museum, she scans her eyes over the group of the afternoon, suddenly hoping to find a pair of blue eyes looking back at her. But that wasn’t the case. She frowns. He wouldn’t come looking for her after that fucking stunt she pulled. She shouldn’t want him to look for her anyway.

She sighs, plastering the fakest smile on her face before greeting the group.

Her phone was truly the devil. Honestly, did it intend to constantly notify her on Ivar’s posts and images? And since when did he post so damn much? She’d have to turn off her notifications, or block him off of Snapchat. Actually, why not just throw the whole fucking phone away? Ridiculous. She grumbles to herself, wondering why she hadn’t deleted him off of any social media apps yet. There was an answer to that, she just didn’t care to admit it. She was never into that stuff anyway, just keeping her accounts for communication purposes for her friends and family back home. It was getting rather lonely. Her time was mostly spent with Ivar, and now that they’re having their little rift, she realized her lack of friends. Had she really revolved her life around him? Shit.

Stretching her legs down the length of the sofa, she makes herself comfortable for the stupid shit she was about to do. She grabs her phone, scrolling through her apps and goes on Instagram. Ivar had posted 3 new photos. He was out at some bar in the city having a good ass time it seemed. His best friend, Heahmund, was in all of them, probably as a chaperone since Ivar couldn’t handle his liquor much. Heahmund was a good friend for that and Ivar was lucky to have the British fuck look out for him.

Ivar’s story was filled with clips of him goofing off. He was totally drunk, she could tell by how lidded and unfocused his eyes were, and how pink his lips were from constantly pursing them over a glass. His hair was all fucked up and out of its usual bun, as if he were fucking someone right before the video was recorded. Almost immediately after the thought, a drunk Freydis comes into the shot. That explained it. She should really throw her phone away.

Freydis giggles at the camera before placing her lips to his cheek, trailing them down his neck in sloppy kisses.

A rage boiled within her and she felt her fingers tighten around her phone. She needed to calm down. He was doing his own thing and she might as well do hers, though it was much easier said than done. The other videos he posted were of him taking shots of whatever it was, most likely tequila, and grinning into the camera like an idiot. Or maybe she was the idiot. Why should she mope around while he was having the time of his life? She knew how to have fun!...Right? Well, sometimes. Okay, maybe not. That party she met Ivar in? It was an invitation she had refused countless times. She couldn’t be bothered with the guy who begged her to go, but she went anyway due to her lack of socialization at the time.

Going out and partying was never fun when she was always the sober one. She did drink of course, but her tolerance was a lot better than most, say, like Ivar. She couldn’t count with her fingers the amount of times she had to call an Uber to get his ass home. The very few times she’d gone out with his brothers, it always ended with the same outcome, except Ubbe would end up saving their sorry asses.

Ubbe was the sweetheart, why couldn’t she have felt this way about him instead? Right, he had a girlfriend. She grumbles to herself, thinking she's better off alone.

…

“Where are you going?” The scent of alcohol had rooted itself deep within Freydis’s pores, her breath tickling his ear in an unpleasant manner. She stops him when he slips off the bar stool, pulling him by the collar of his shirt to bring him back to her side. He didn’t like that. He didn’t like how her hands felt on him or the look she wore. He didn’t like any of it. The loud trap music that blared from the speakers had activated him earlier that night, but now it made his head ache something terrible. The bass seemed to be vibrating right through him and he rubbed the side of his temple to subdue the growing headache. He reached out to stabilize himself on the bar counter. He was so fucking drunk.

“I gotta pee. Get off me.” Ivar grumbles, pushing her away with little grace. Clingy bitch.

“What?” The blonde scowls, her eyebrows arching and her lips set in a tight line. Shit. He said that out loud?

“Nothing.”

“I think he called you a clingy bitch, actually.” Heahmund repeats Ivar’s demeaning words, a chuckle escaping his red stained lips from the wine he was drinking. This was the fun part of the night for the older man. Ivar had no filter when he was drunk. Well, he never really did have a filter, sober or not, but it was a lot funnier when he had alcohol in his system. He could be ruthless.

“I fucking heard him, asshole.” Freydis snaps, seemingly sobering up now that she was angry. Heahmund breaks out in a smile to which she glares in return.

“I gotta pee.” Ivar announces again, not bothering to look at Freydis before stumbling towards the restrooms. He belches after letting out a series of hiccups, pausing to place a hand on the wall to steady himself. He was so fucking drunk. How many shots of Patrón had he taken? 3..4..? He started counting out loud, bringing his unoccupied hand to his face in order to use his fingers. Wait, there weren’t enough fingers on that hand. He stumbles again when he lets go of the wall, using the other hand to make his calculations. 5...8? Shit, he lost track. Forget it. It was a lot of Patrón.

Using his shoulder, he bursts in through the restroom door, mumbling an apology when he runs into someone. Ignoring the blurry image of the guy scowling at him, he makes his way into a stall and pisses his life away, his head resting against the cold tiled wall as he scrambles to gather his thoughts. He wasn’t happy. The alcohol wasn’t making him happy. Freydis wasn’t making him happy. What the fuck was wrong with him? He was a simple man with simple pleasures yet for some reason, a basic routine and a basic girl weren’t enough anymore. This was all her fault. Why was she torturing him without even trying? In his intoxicated state he could still remember how her voice trembled when she cried and how her eyes looked when they glossed over with tears. How drunk did he need to be to admit that he had hurt her? Really fucking drunk. Like now.

He slams the red door of the stall open, not even flinching when it banged against the stall beside it, maneuvering himself clumsily over to the sink. Gripping the porcelain, he leans forward to get a good look at himself through the streaky mirror. His eyes were so low he could barely see himself, cheeks flushed bright pink and lips matching in color. When did his bun get loose? He looks at his wrist hoping to find a hair tie but scowls when he finds none. He grunts in annoyance, turning on the tap to wash his hands before dragging his wet fingers through his hair. The cold water felt good on his heated face and he closed his eyes for a moment. He gazes at himself one last time before coming to a decision. He needed to talk to her. Right now.

Digging in the pocket of his simple denim jeans, he whips out his phone, struggling to find her contact name before pressing the call button and bringing the device to his ear.

You have reached the voice mailbox of 45-

Fuck. He forgot. She blocked him.

He wanted to throw his phone in frustration. Why did she block him? Did she not understand that he needed to talk to her right now?

Oh wait. Snapchat. Snapchat has video calls. That’s it. Ivar immediately takes a fat finger to scroll to the app, forcefully pressing down on the little ghost in haste. Finding her name in his contacts list, he presses the little video icon, hoping she’d answer. After a few seconds he almost gives up, but then his screen lights up, and he is rewarded with her tired eyes.

“Hey,” He breathes, noting the dim light in her room, “Were you sleeping?” He slurs, and immediately curses himself for sounding so stupid. He clears his throat in the hopes of gaining his language skills back.

“Ivar?” Her voice was heavy with sleep. It was exactly how she sounded when he used to wake her up in the morning with soft, lazy kisses to her shoulder. He missed that. “It’s like 2am. What are you calling me for?”

“I...I don’t know. Missed...your voice.” The words poured out his mouth like vomit. Actually, he was shocked he hadn’t gotten to that point. He threw up at least once after a hard night of drinking. His eyes fell shut as he leaned his head back against the wall beside the sink. God, this speech impediment was bad. He hears her snort tiredly on the other end.

“You’re drunk.”

“Mm...noooo, no. Mm not.”

“I can smell the tequila from here.”

“Wait, really?” His eyes pop open as he brings his phone closer to his face. He couldn’t focus all that well, but he could make out her sleepy features. Those pretty lashes of hers brushed over her cheeks with every lazy blink, and her messy hair was placed in a high ponytail at the top of her head.

“No.” Was her flat reply, pure irritation seeping through the word. Ivar stares at her displeased look for a moment longer, sighing in an almost dream like manner.

“You look beautiful.” He answers back, sliding down the wall to sit in a much more comfortable position. He didn’t care if the floor was dirty, he was drunk, and he didn’t want his legs to start hurting like a bitch.

“Shut the fuck up,” She says, “Words of a drunk.”

“I’m being serrrrious,” Ivar whines, “You always look amazing, you know that?”

“Right. Is Heahmund still there?”

“Yeah,” He pouts, “Why? You’d rather talk to him? You like him or something?” Ivar had never been the jealous type, but he was whenever it involved his brothers or Heahmund. When he had started seeing her, their interest zeroed in on her like fucking hawks, and so he made it abundantly clear to them that she was off limits. She was his conquest, no one else’s. So no, he wouldn’t consider himself the jealous type, but everyone else needed to stay the fuck away from her, even if she wasn’t his to play with anymore.

“No, Ivar, to make sure you’re gonna get home okay.” She sighs, shifting in her sheets and rubbing her face in frustration, “And it seems you will.”

“Aw, you worry about me?” He grins stupidly, his mood shifting wildly as he rubs his phone on his sweaty cheek as if to send her affection.

“No more than you do for me. How’s Freydis by the way?” The bitterness in her tone was enough to bring him down from whatever high he was feeling. Ivar scowls, shifting the phone back so they were now directly looking at each other. He blinks, trying to clear his head again. Freydis. He forgot about her already. And he didn’t really care anyway.

“Clingy bitch,” He muttered his words from earlier, “I don’t wanna talk about her. I wanna talk about you.” He almost laughed when she pinched the bridge of her nose in annoyance.

“What about me, hmm?”

“I dunno,” He shrugs, his eyes searching hers through his fingerprint covered screen before passing them over her visible form again. She was wearing that one t-shirt she favored, the comfy one with the large neckline that always slid down enough to expose one of her smooth shoulders. Her messy hair and tired eyes reminded him of the many nights spent together tangled under his sheets. It made him swallow thickly as he brought a hand down the center of his jeans to ease the growing ache. Fuck, he needed to get his shit together. Still, in their silence he conjured up images and ideas in his head that he certainly shouldn’t at that moment, but fuck it. He licks his lips, feeling the sly grin stretching across his face at the words his brain had given to him, ready to spill from his mouth, “Maybe I just want to talk about the way your back arches under my hands, or the sounds you make when I-”

“Ivar,” She stops him immediately, her face blooming that pink color he loved, “Kindly shut the fuck up.” She looked like she was about to say something more, something much harsher and meaner, but she stopped herself. Instead, she takes in a breath, rubbing her eyes, and suddenly, she didn’t seem all that tired anymore. “Did you like the flowers?” She asks instead.

“Huh?” His eyebrows curve in confusion as his hazy mind tries to decipher the meaning behind the question. What was she talking about? Flowers? What flow-Oh. Right.

Sorry isn’t good enough.

He sighs, leaning his head back against the tiled wall. He could hear the transition of trap music out in the bar to some basic pop he hadn’t heard on the radio in years. He was in no mood for Kesha.

“I hated them.” He mutters truthfully. The wilted daisies made his heart sink. He’d never felt that way before. Was that how he made all those other women feel? He chews the inside of his cheek, ignoring the pulse behind his eyes and the ache in his head. Finally, the nausea kicked in and his stomach churned for the inevitable. He swallows thickly, running his hand through his messy hair, her eyes following his every movement trying to read his expression. Even in his intoxicated state, he made it hard for her to read him.

“This is a lot harder than I thought it would be.” He says miserably. Why does he fuck everything up? If he had never gone to that stupid party in the first place, he would have never met her, and he wouldn’t be feeling that way he does now. Like complete trash.

“What a shame,” She says, cocking her head to the side, her ponytail brushing against her cheekbone, “Just take your own advice, and try not to fall in love.” She gives him one last look before she hangs up, having him stare at his screen for a few seconds to understand what just happened. He remains seated on the dirty bathroom floor for a few moments longer, continuing to ignore his churning stomach and the tightness of his throat.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Heahmund bursts in through the door, immediately grabbing hold of Ivar’s arm and helping in lifting him up to his feet, “You’ve been in here for 20 minutes. Freydis left in a cab.”

“Good for her.” Ivar grunts, shoving his phone back in his pocket. He pushes Heahmund away, going back to stand in front of the mirror. He looked sick, sweat building up near his hairline.

“What’s wrong with you, hmm?” The older man questions, crossing his arms and using that tone on him as if he didn’t have 4 fucking older brothers already.

“Being a fucking idiot, that’s what.” Ivar says, closing his eyes as his chest burned with that familiar sensation.

“Finally feeling bad about what you did, huh?” Heahmund questions, “You know, no amount of fucking flowers and alcohol is gunna fix anything or make you feel better. You needed a reality check. She gave it to you.”

“And you call yourself my friend, traitor?” Ivar managed to say before pushing past him and into a stall, heaving out all the contents from his tequila filled stomach.

…

The Tune ship exhibit was coming together.

The fragments of the ship were strategically pieced together to form the remains of the ancient ship to its former glory. Well, most of it anyway. It was a fraction of what it once was in the past, but it was still an impressive archeological find, and although it wasn’t as massive as the Oseberg or the Gokstad, it was still considerable in length. She felt like a speck of dust standing beside it despite its lack of framework. She observes the rotted wood and the grooves within each ancient plank, wishing she could reach out and touch it; to feel what they must have felt like a thousand years ago. It’s been 2 years since she began working at the Viking Ship Museum and she still found herself in awe at every artifact that entered their exhibits. She supposed it was the bookworm in her. Ahh fuck. That’s what Ivar calls her.

She immediately frowns, her face twisting in displeasure. Somehow, her thoughts always went back to him, and that irritated her greatly.

“Hello?” The unrecognizable voice echoes throughout the empty exhibit. She looks over her shoulder at the intruder, her gaze gravitating to meet the clearest blue eyes of a boyish young man. The blackest hair she’d ever seen frames his blushing cheeks and the tips brush softly over his shoulders. She blinks at him, cocking her head.

“Uhh, hi?”

“I’m sorry,” He lets out a nervous chuckle, looking around the unfinished exhibit to avoid meeting her eyes from his embarrassment, “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He had a gentle voice, a hint of shyness in the undertones. And extremely British.

“No it’s fine,” She approaches him, sticking out her hand to greet him with a handshake and a small smile, “You must be Mr. Kent’s grandson. I wasn’t expecting you so soon…?”

“Alfred,” He answers, grasping her hand and offering her a timid smile back, “It’s a pleasure.”

...

@a-daydreamers-day @heavenly1927 @didiintheblog @inforapound @a-mess-of-fandoms @leilabeaux @shannygoatgruff @syrenak @soleil-dor @walkxthexmoon @zuxiezendler @homeyzeus @redenzione @mariaenchanted @laricebabe @hecohansen31

There are some of you that Tumblr won’t let me tag! They are in bold. I’m sorry 😭

#ivar #vikings #vikings ivar #alex hogh andersen #ivarfanfiction #vikings fanfic #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless

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nikki-romero · 3 years

Text

The Wild Flower (Tomoki Matsuba x OC) Prologue

It was finally the long-awaited moving day. I was moving into an apartment by myself. My dad helped me get the perfect apartment. The negotiations had gone smoothly and it was time to move in. I decided to walk to the new apartment to learn the new neighbourhood better.

My cousin and I had stopped and checked the map we had.

"Hmm, it looks like it's this way." My cousin, Ayame, pointed ahead of us. The pedestrian light turned green. "Come on!" She rushed across the street. With how excited she was getting, you'd think she was the one starting a new chapter of her life, so to speak.

"Wha-! Ayame!" I called after her. I quickly shoved the map into my bag before running after her. She turned around to wait for me, and her eyes widened.

"Hotaru! Watch out!!"

I looked to the side and saw a white limo heading towards me. I gasped but managed to leap out of the way before it could hit me, right into a puddle of ice-cold water.

"Hotaru! Are you alright?!" Ayame came running up to me, panicked.

"Peachy." I looked at my soaked clothing in utter dismay. Just as I was about to get up from the ground, a gentlemanly man dressed in black stepped out of the limo. A butler? I stared dubiously at him as he reached out his hand.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Oh, I'm great," I replied sarcastically. I had the right of way. I should not have had to escape death so narrowly. And I wasn't about to take his hand either. I shot him a nasty glare as I got up by myself.

"Your clothing... This is my fault. Allow me to make it up to you."

"What the hell was that? Don't you know how to read a road sign? Jesus Christ, you could have killed me!" I scolded him.

"You're right, I am so sorry." He bowed to me. "I'll get you a change of clothes," the man said gently.

"I don't need it," I snapped.

"Please, I insist. I can't leave a beautiful young girl looking like this. For one thing, my employer would be angry with me."

"Hotaru," Ayame whispered, "Maybe you should accept his offer. He looks like he feels really bad."

"You're too nice," I whispered back before turning back towards the butler. "Fine, whatever."

He smiled as he opened the door of the spacious limo and ushered us inside.

"My apologies. I should have stated earlier. My name is Aoi Shirafuji. I'm a butler to the Ichijo family," the butler introduced himself.

I stilled. "Ichijo?" I repeated.

"Oh, you know Mr Ichijo?" Aoi asked, looking somewhat concerned.

"No, I've just heard a lot about the Ichijo Group," I managed to force out. "The amusement parks the company has built is really quite impressive." I forced a smile. Somehow I felt like I just stepped on a landmine.

We arrived at a large and impressive mansion and Aoi took me to a room with a large full-length mirror and closets full of a wide range of clothing. "This way. Choose whichever you like."

The clothes were both my style and my size. It sent unpleasant shivers down my spine; I felt sick.

"Does a girl our age live here?" Ayame mused. I didn't answer. "Hotaru? Hey, are you okay? You seem a little tense." She furrowed her brow.

"Mm," I choked out. I didn't feel particularly eager to talk about it. "I'm... going to get dressed. Would you mind waiting outside?"

"Uh, yes, sure." Ayame knew me too well. She knew I wasn't being myself.

I took a shaky breath. Then another. Another. I took several deep breaths until I felt slightly calmer. I really didn't want to be here. Feeling like I wouldn't explode, I grabbed the first dress I saw off its hanger, not bothering to even look at it.

There was a knock on the door as I finished getting dressed.

"Yes?" I replied though I hadn't finished fastening the hook of the dress yet. It wasn't Aoi who entered the room.

"I'm Tomoki Matsuba. I'm one of the butlers here. I'm here to pick up the garments that require cleaning," the butler said. Bow-tied, black-suited and bespectacled, he exuded a rigidness befitting of a butler.

"Right. My cousin; did she...?"

"She went ahead to the garden," Tomoki responded.

"Oh." I bit my lip. Now what? I couldn't reach the clip on the back of my dress. I took yet another deep breath." Would you mind helping me fasten the hook on my dress? I can't quite reach it," I said.

"Please turn around." I did as he said and turned my back to him. He swiftly fastened the hook at the back of the dress before speaking again. "I'm going to do your laundry. Would you like some tea while you wait?"

"That would be lovely, thank you," I answered.

"This way." I followed Tomoki to the garden where Ayame was already waiting for me. She was sitting at a table, drinking from an elegant tea set.

"Kyo Aizawa. I'm a butler. Would you like anything else to drink?" Yet another butler introduced himself to me.

"The tea will be just fine, thank you," I replied formally as I sat down. Kyo promptly poured tea into the beautiful cup. "Thank you," I smiled up at Kyo once he was done.

"It's an original black tea blend using roses from this garden," he informed me.

"It smells wonderful."

"I recommend first tasting it black." A delicate pattern covered the teacup.

"This is Queen Rose, is it not?" I inquired, inspecting the cup. It suited the garden, but I was too on edge to enjoy it. Kyo didn't look the least bit surprised that I knew that.

"That's correct. It was produced in the early 18th century at the Raines factory." I nodded as I delicately held the cup and took a sip.

"How do you even know that stuff?" Ayame asked me. My only response was a small smile. Ayame cocked an eyebrow at me, inspecting my lips, and then my eyes. She gently placed the cup in its saucer and leaned over the table. "Hotaru?" she lowered her voice so only I can hear.

I shook my head. "Don't."

Ayame frowned but left it at that.

"It's delicious," I said after having tasted the tea, but the truth was I could barely taste anything. Silence fell upon the garden. Kyo didn't seem to be the talkative type as he watched over us. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed another butler approaching, a charming smile on his face. This family certainly had a lot of butlers...

"What's the matter? You look so serious," he commented.

"I always look like this," I replied calmly.

"Itsuka Matsuba at your service. You met Tomoki earlier. Last name's the same," he said cheerfully.

"Brothers, I take it?"

"That's right. Now, how would you two like some freshly baked scones?"

"Scones sound nice, don't you think so, Hotaru?" she asked, a little too cheerfully.

"Thank you," I replied. We were stuck here until my clothes got cleaned so we might as well.

"The strawberry jam is made with organic strawberries from our farm, and the clotted cream from milk from our cows." Was that supposed to impress me? Without responding, I cut open the scone and took a small bite.

"It's very delicious," I said before taking another bite. After eating, I elegantly wiped my mouth with a napkin and glanced at my surroundings. The garden was well taken care of. It was filled with gorgeous flowers and the landscape was really quite breathtaking. "You have a lot of pink flowers and roses here," I noted.

"We're growing them for a celebration," Itsuki replied.

"A celebration?"

"It will be our employer's birthday in a month. And his daughter will be introduced to society on the same day," he explained. It took everything I had not to tremble. Not to react in any negative way. I swallowed.

"Is that so? I'm sure she must be wonderful," I said, keeping the bite I was feeling out of my voice.

"She is. A bit of a diamond in the rough. But that'll make training her all the more worth it." I had to keep myself from barking a laugh, and almost faltered.

"Oh? In my experience, I've found that the rough diamonds are far more valuable than refined ones." I flashed him one of my most dazzling smiles. His eyes widened.

"Oh, how do you figure?" he asked.

"I apologise for not being able to put this more delicately, but in this society, I find these 'refined'," I air quoted the word, "diamonds to be little more than sheep." Itsuki didn't hide his shock at my words, and I smirked ever so slightly. "Of course, I don't blame them. They were raised that way. You know, to follow someone else's orders; someone else's plan for their lives. It's been imprinted on them since the moment they were born and it's all they know. Whereas a diamond in the rough, as you put it, is quite rare in high society, but personally, I find it invigorating. It's like a breath of fresh air in an otherwise suffocating world to meet someone who is willing to against the status quo to do what they believe in. You could even say it's like defying gravity, which, in and of itself is already a very impressive feat." I chuckled. "But, what do I know? I'm just a teenager." I didn't fail to notice Ayame's dubious expression directed at me.

Yet another butler walked up to us, holding my freshly cleaned clothes.

"Sorry I kept you waiting," he said. I had to admit, I was taken aback by how attractive he was. But he had a certain vibe that reminded me of my brother, Eisuke, and that usually only spelt bad things. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Yuma Akagi, and I'm the Ichijo family's head butler." Yuma bowed to me.

I smiled. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"I would like to apologize for the actions of one of our butlers today," Yuma said.

The corner of my mouth twitched. "I appreciate it. I'm just glad no one was hurt," I added. Yuma nodded.

"Meeting like this was, I think, fate. I hope... that you and I will meet again somewhere." I forced a chuckle as I looked away. If we did, I'd choke all of them. Yuma smiled significantly as he took my hand, then he gently kissed the back of it. The gesture was familiar, but it never got any easier to bear. "You were in the midst of moving. I'll have the limousine take you," he said.

"Thank you," I replied. I quietly watched Yuma give instructions to the other butlers.

After changing my clothes, Ayame and I got into the limo together with Yuma.

Ayame gave me another worried look as she was dropped off. "Hey, um, call me. Okay?"

"Sure." I nodded.

"Again, I am very sorry about today," Yuma said. It seemed like his attention was focused solely on me.

"It's alright."

"How did you find the house?"

"It was gorgeous. Absolutely breath-taking," I replied.

Yuma smiled, brimming with elegance and grace, but I could tell he wasn't actually buying a word I said.

We weren't far from the new apartment when the limousine came to a sudden stop.

"Are you alright?" Yuma's arms were around me, steadying me after the abrupt braking. I felt myself stiffen; my blood ran cold. In a panic, I pushed away from him. "Miss?"

"Sorry, I just don't handle physical contact very well." I shifted uncomfortably.

"I... apologize," Yuma said as he moved away from me. I shook my head.

"It's fine. But is there a problem?" I asked, looking away from him and out the window in an attempt to get rid of the tension in the atmosphere.

"It appears the road narrows up ahead. The car can't continue. This is as far as we can take you," Yuma explained.

"Here is fine. Thanks for bringing me this far."

"Before you go, might I ask how you found our service?" Yuma asked. An odd thing for a butler to ask.

"Oh, your service was superb." I got a sudden idea. "You're definitely on Geo's level."

"Geo?" Yuma asked. The corner of my lips tugged upwards. I got him. Hook, line, and sinker.

"My dad's butler," I replied innocently.

"Your... Dad?"

"Oh! I just realised I never introduced myself. Apologies. I'm just so used to people knowing I am. I'm Hotaru Ichinomiya."

"A pleasure, Miss Ichinomiya." Yuma smiled, but it was forced.

"I know this is probably common knowledge, but my dad, Akira, adopted both me and my brother, Eisuke. You see, my biological father abandoned me and my mother a long time ago."

Yuma's façade almost faltered, and I saw that. I was right; he knew!

"Abandoned?" Yuma asked, almost hesitantly.

"Yep. He didn't even show up for my mother's funeral after she died."

Yuma looked away. "I'm sorry to hear that. Perhaps there was a reason he couldn't take care of you?"

I leaned back in my seat. "I don't care."

"You... Don't care?" God, how many more times was he going to feel inclined to make me repeat what I said?

"I don't. No excuse he could have would ever be good enough."

"I'm sure he must love you." I could tell Yuma was choosing his words very carefully without divulging too much information.

"You can't love someone you don't know. I've never even met him. Or talked to him. You see, the way I see it, blood doesn't mean anything. Genetic doesn't mean anything. I'll tell you what does mean something though: When I needed a dad, Akira was there. Akira is my dad. And my so-called father was little more than a sperm donor." Yuma almost choked on his words, and I chuckled. "Not the most delicate choice of words, but it's the truth. The thing is, you don't get to be a dad just because you share DNA. He wasn't there when I needed him the most, and he has no right to take up that role now." Yuma was speechless. "But I'm sorry to dump all of that on you like that. That was really silly and unfair of me. Please, forget I said anything." I made a show of giving a nervous laugh.

"Not at all." Yuma knew I was full of it. And I knew he knew that, but he didn't say anything more.

"Well, it's getting dark. I really should be going."

"Of course." He got out of the car before I did and held the door open for me. I bowed politely to him and turned to leave. I was happy to see the moving truck in front of the building when I finally got there.

"Excuse me. I'm sorry I'm so late. I'm Hotaru Ichinomiya."

"We've brought everything inside. Have a great day, Miss." With that, the movers left. I stood still for a moment and frowned. They brought everything inside? I didn't have to guess how they did that. I had a really bad feeling about this. I just hoped to god I was wrong. I inserted my key and unlocked the door.

"Welcome home, Miss Ichinomiya."

I wasn't wrong...

I was unable to hide my disdain as the butlers bowed their heads gracefully. I slammed the door shut behind me. The composure I put so much effort into keeping all day crumbled in an instant. I stared at them, not saying anything.

"We're here to serve you. Starting today." Aoi said. The butlers brought me slippers. I glared at the slippers, then at them, and crossed my arms.

"Well. I wish I could say I'm surprised," I snapped scornfully. I slipped my shoes off, not bothering with the slippers as I walked into the living room and sat down on my sofa. Resting my elbow on the armrest, I pressed my forefinger against my temple and my thumb beneath my chin. "Well go ahead. Give me the whole speech about why you're here."

Itsuki cleared his throat, uncomfortable. "Do you remember when I mentioned our employer's daughter?" he asked.

"Uh-huh."

"That girl..." Itsuki started, only to have his sentence finished by Tomoki.

"... is you." I didn't respond. "But... you already knew that."

"And that surprises you, how? I have the power, money and resources to do just about anything. You really think I'd go through life being oblivious and naïve without looking into who my father is?"

"You're going to be a sophisticated woman by the time of our employer's birthday," Kyo said. Sophisticated. I could socialise quite well in and I knew how to conduct myself, but there were many in high society who would argue that I wasn't quite "sophisticated" or "traditional" enough. Men in high society liked controlling everything, and I had a reputation for going against the tide. But I've never been bothered by that before and I wasn't about to start now.

"Right. Your employer, Kazuma Ichijo. My so-called father."

"Yes." Aoi smiled. I bet women were putty in his hands with that smile. The stupid ones anyway.

I didn't say anything, and the tension in the air grew ever more palpable. I didn't take my eyes off the butlers either.

As the glaring continued, the front door opened and Mr Head Butler walked in.

"Why, hello there, Miss Ichinomiya," Yuma grinned as he unceremoniously locked the door.

"Oh, great. The cavalry's here," I said sarcastically.

"Yuma, she knows," Aoi said.

Yuma grinned. It was a sinister grin; the same one Eisuke got whenever he was plotting something. "I figured as much. Everything you said in the limo... You knew all along who Mr Ichijo is."

"What did she say in the limo?" Itsuki asked, curiously.

I snorted. "Believe me, if I'd known you were Ichijo butlers before I got in that limo, I never would have accepted your half-assed offer. But then again, something tells me whether I accepted it or not, we'd still all be here right now."

"Enough. I cannot allow and Ichijo to utter such vulgar words," Tomoki said with a scowl.

I snorted and rolled my eyes. "Oh yes? Try and stop me, four-eyes."

His scowl turned into an expression of both shock and offence.

"Well as fun as this has been, everybody out. Before I report you for break in and entering."

"I didn't expect you'd treat us like crooks. Not when you're the one violating your lease." Yuma held out a piece of paper.

I snatched the paper from his hand and skimmed through the contract until my eyes stopped at a particular 'special feature'. "Personal butler?" I read out loud. And right at the bottom was Akira's signature. My dad wasn't stupid. No way would he have signed this without checking every detail and have the family lawyer go over it for emphasis. Which could only mean he knew about this and didn't tell me.

"We had you come to the house to make the idea more palatable," Aoi said.

"Yes, yes. You set me up. I figured that out hours ago." I got up. "I don't believe this," I mumbled as I grabbed my phone and went into my room. I slammed the door shut and furiously dialled my dad's number.

"Yes?" He didn't look at the caller ID before answering.

"Hi, Dad. It's me," I said in a voice so sweet it sounded sickening even to me.

"Hotaru! I was going to call you in the morning. Have you settled in?" he asked.

"Yes, about that... Did the lease for my new apartment perhaps come with a tiny detail you forgot to mention?" I spoke through clenched teeth.

"The lease?" Akira remained silent for a few moments as he thought. "Oh! You must be talking about the butler service. It was a special they had just for your apartment. I figured having a butler would make your life a little easier."

My eyebrow twitched as I closed my eyes in exasperation. "So you did know about it."

"Of course. You think I'd sign something like that without thoroughly checking every word on it?"

"And you didn't think to warn me about it?" I breathed.

Akira paused. "You're upset..."

"Damn right I'm upset! Dad, you've been duped!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Those butlers! I wouldn't be surprised if they disguised themselves as real estate agents. They probably played on your worry as my dad, too."

"Hotaru, you're not making any sense."

"They're Ichijo butlers! They orchestrated this whole thing! The apartment, the lease, the butler service. All of it! All so they could, and I quote, 'turn me into a sophisticated woman' for his birthday party."

I heard Akira breathe hard over the receiver in an attempt to maintain his composure. "I'm calling Yuzuru."

"What's he going to do? They're practically untouchable, and not because they work for Ichijo. They planned everything to the finest detail and slipped through all the right loopholes. Everything on the lease is legal and you knew about the butler service when you signed it, so we can't even sue them for not explaining certain details on the contract. There's nothing we can do."

Akira paused. "You're right. But there's nothing on the lease about you following their rules. No conditions about you taking any kind of lessons from them. I doubt I need to tell you this, but you don't dance to the sound of their pipes. You dance to yours."

I smirked, relaxing a bit. "You know it, Daddy."

"Good. I'll call you tomorrow. Love you." I could hear the smile in his voice.

"Love you, too."

I took a deep breath before opening my door. Of course they were still there, and they likely heard every word I said to my dad, too. I took one annoyed look at them and moved to the kitchen.

"All sorted out?" Yuma asked sarcastically as he followed me into the kitchen.

"Why bother asking when you heard my entire conversation," I retorted.

There was a moment of silence before Yuma doubled over with laughter.

"I think this will be very interesting indeed," he said as he looked at me with amusement.

I didn't bother responding as I put the kettle on; nothing good could possibly come from interacting with him. I turned around and leaned against the kitchen counter, crossing my arms over my chest.

Yuma's sinister smile returned. I raised my eyebrows in a motion for him to get to the point.

"All you have to do is accept our training on behalf of our dear employer. It's only a month," Itsuki said.

My eyes flitted to him. "No," I said flatly before turning my back to them.

"You had etiquette lessons, but we need to make doubly sure you didn't miss anything. Not to mention kick that flighty nature of yours. Otherwise, you'd just be an embarrassment," Yuma replied with a broad smile.

I barked a laugh. "Wow. That is just hilarious." I turned back to him. "I already told you how I feel about him. And I know you know I meant every word. But just in case you're still processing, allow me to break it down for you. I can barely stomach the thought of breathing the same air as your oh-so-wonderful employer. He can go fuck himself for all I care. And you would be damn lucky if I decided not to embarrass him and his company on purpose, which, by the way, I'm still undecided on." Tomoki opened his mouth to say something. I pointed my finger at him without looking at him. "You say one word about my language, I swear to god I will punch you."

Yuma sighed, exasperated. "How you feel about him doesn't matter. We made a promise to him and we intend to keep it."

I snorted. "Good luck with that." I turned back to the now boiled kettle and prepared some camomile tea. God knows I needed it.

"Alright, it's time you choose," Yuma said. I could hear the amused smirk in his voice.

"Oh, I get a choice, do I?" I retorted.

"Who would you like to be your butler?" Aoi asked.

Next Chapter

#tomoki #tomokimatsuba #butleruntilmidnight #voltageinc #otome #visualnovel #romance #crossover #ichinomiya

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ii-newcomers · 3 years

Text

29. Pushing the Frontier

"Girls, today I’m teaching you a new game.” I said in the car on our way home for one of Angie’s monthly visits.

“What is it Mr Lopes?”

“Is it a surprise, Dad?”

“No, Princess, I can start telling you about it now.”

Whenever we brought her home from school she would be in the back seat talking about the things she wanted us to do when we got home.

“Angie, stop touching yourself, someone could see you from outside.”

We soon figured I had to sit on the back too, to keep an eye on her, or she would start touching herself right then, and that would have been unsafe.

“I’ll say it’s just an itch. It is an itch.”

You never let her be demanding, but it was still fun to hear talking crazy horny.

“Do as she says Angie, don’t get into dangerous habits.”

She composed herself.

“Princess, at your young age you have mastered your gag-reflex.”

“Thanks Dad, I do my best.”

“Today I’ll show you something called a deepthroat,” you said.

“Sounds nice Dad, just the name makes me tingle.”

“It’s great Flo,” said Angie. She wasn’t into gagging and I hadn’t forced her anymore, but she kept on surprising us with her sexual savvy. “There’s nothing like a good-sized cock down your throat. No, there is. Lots. Anyway.”

Aware of her contradictions and not minding a bit, you smiled at her. In the few months since she came into our lives you two had become very close, her skill at enhancing the pleasure you could give me being her main virtue to your eyes. I could see in the rearview mirror how Angie eyed you at your mention of your tingling, then holding herself from going to you and searching for the site of the sensation you were referring to.

“I can’t wait to see your dad fucking your throat Flo,” to which you replied with innocent giggling.

When we got home you took care of your belongings with your usual care, before coming to me with a smile and an open attitude to be taught. Angie had been wandering from my room to yours, consumed in anticipation.

“Come, Princess. Lay down on your back on Daddy’s big bed. Let your head hang down from the edge.”

Angie had already stripped and was reaching for my pants for me to follow her lead. You looked at us with your face inverted, having adopted the position I instructed. I allowed her to follow her impulses and engage in a thorough and dedicated fellatio.

“Okay Flo, now open wide. This will be easy for you. All you have to do is swallow your dad’s cock and not gag.” She had taken the reins and we allowed her to do so, it was pleasurable to have your little friend play the role of an experienced woman. In a way it was more than a role.

I slowly pushed my phallus deep inside your open mouth.

“Fuck Flo, you look so hot with your throat getting swollen by your dad’s cock.” She gently ran her fingers over your throat as I shaped it from within. When I withdrew she gave you a luscious kiss, spilling more of your saliva on your face in what could have seemed a careless manner, but we knew to be skillfully choreographed for the effect of a ravaged face in you.

“Flo, your mouth is so good to get fucked by your dad’s cock.”

She then moved over to take my phallus in her mouth.

“My turn Mr Lopes. I mean, could you please fuck my throat sir?” She giggled at her pretense of submissiveness.

As usual, without waiting for permission to be granted, she climbed on the bed and adopted the position in question. You, always placing the wellbeing of others first, sat up and gently rubbed her vagina as she proceeded to show her prowess in the maneuver you had just been presented with.

“Lick my pussy Flo, while your dad fucks my throat.”

You took turns, practicing intake while the other caressed the one receiving, a few cycles before turning into our more usual fares, that time in a much more gentle manner with you, my little princess.

As the afternoon turned into evening, after a light dinner break, we were back in the main bedroom.

"Come Flo, get closer, have a look at your father's cock going in and out my asshole."

Closer you could better enjoy the view, staring with your mouth half open.

"Do you like it, Flo? Do you like seeing how his cock stretches out my asshole? Get closer."

Some days I would perform only a vaginal penetration, others I would follow with the anal sex she enjoyed so much. This was one of those days.

“Yeah.” To your transfixed stare, I withdrew and her anus showed the natural dilation induced by me.

"Flo, lick my asshole please. Lick it now that it's gaping."

I nodded to your silent request for permission and did as she requested, around the rim and tickling it with your tongue. She moaned loudly and flexed her sphincters, opening and closing.

"She's blinking Flo. I'm sure you'll get it in no time my baby girl."

"Of course Dad, I will." You nodded and smiled. There it was, you had an assignment.

Later on it was your turn to have your anus penetrated while she was watched close up.

"Let's see that blinking now Flo." she said when I withdrew

We had been having such a good time you had forgotten, then you flexed your muscles down there.

"There we go princess, that's a nasty anal freak for Daddy.”

“You know Flo, you can also blink with your dad's cock inside your asshole. Give it a try."

I got in again and you again flexed, this time as I slid my phallus back and forth.

“Good girl!” I said.

“Hey! Don't I get any credit?“

“I do appreciate your concern for my daughter's education Angie.”

“Thank you Mr Lopes! Do I get your cum today for that?”

“You do Angie, thanks to Flo having such a sweet and selfless character.”

***

Part of Angie’s charm was her unbound enthusiasm.

“Mr Lopes, what’s the most times you’ve cummed on the same day with Flo?”

It was late afternoon. We had already had the sexual entrée of that Tuesday’s visit. We had moved on to have Angie over for the two consecutive nights every month. We were going through a heat wave that summer, so a late dip was called for and we were resting by the swimming pool.

“That was the first time he fucked my asshole,” you speaking in my stead was another sweet way of tending to my comfort. “He cummed three times, and pretty much in a row.”

“You guys need to give me more details of all your wild fucking.”

“We keep nothing from you, Angie dear.” I said in a soft tone. She already knew the limits I had set, she only needed a reminder now and then. The rough treatment you enjoyed so much, for her had been only a welcoming rite, after which keeping her in line was an agreeable chore we shared.

“Angie, we shouldn’t talk like this here.” you spoke in a low voice, not a whisper, which by its very nature has an even greater pull on prying ears.

She clasped her hand on her mouth, then broke in laughter and her pretense of alarm.

“What are you talking about, you just … yourself.” she caught herself from falling into explicit language again, always in a lighthearted tone.

“Yeah. Still, what’s the rush, we can go on talking about it inside.”

“Okay.” She replied with partially veiled impatience.

Our stay outdoors was shortened by her curiosity. She had endeared herself to us and we didn’t mind her stretching the bounds.

“Can I masturbate on your bed Flo? I promise I won’t shout too loud, the neighbours will never guess what freaks we are.”

We were on our way to change our swimming suits in our respective rooms. We had gone each our own way, but she spoke well within earshot.

“Come here, Angie dear.” I called her from my room.

“I’m dressing, Mr Lopes.” Short pause. “Should I go anyway?”

You both took my silence in the affirmative and walked in, you behind her, stark naked, into my bedroom.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with it Angie, but I intend to spare a few of your orgasms from masturbation.”

“Alright.” her anticipation was transparent in her grin. “So...”, our attention prompted her, “how many times? Three?”

She crawled on the bed, laying on her back, her knees up and spread open, despite my offer she was caressing the inner face of her thighs.

“Yep,” you crawled to her side, “three. You know, my first time getting my dad’s cock in my asshole was special, I’m glad I got it then.”

“I bet you’re glad. I mean, I don’t mean to be demanding sir, but we’ve never had you cum more than once.”

“Maybe this will be our first time, Angie dear.”

“Dad, you don’t have to.”

“Of course not princess, but as long as it’s fun I wouldn’t discard it a priori.”

“Yeah, I can be a lot of fun.” she said, moving on to stimulate your nipples with her tongue. “Hey, while we’re at it, when are you planing to start fucking Flo’s pussy, Mr Lopes? Flo, you don’t know what you’re missing.”

“Angie, that is quite a momentous event to make it part of a light-hearted record-breaking.”

She hesitated and paused, probably discarding comments contradicting my statement.

“It’s okay Angie. Dad knows what’s best for me, and that’s all that matters. I love what we do, and I know I’ll love what he’ll be showing me later on. Like you say Dad, all in dew time.”

“That’s right princess. Now, let’s not digress and get back to the current order of business.”

We went on to what could seem a fairly long run, above two hours, but for us was what we had grown accustomed to expect.

“Am I gonna get to see the fireworks again today Mr Lopes?” she said, shortly after you two had done your playful sharing of my semen. We were sprawled on my bed, close together, caressing each other.

“Angie, quit pressing my dad.”

“Don’t worry Flo, I feel under no pressure.”

“So?”

“Let’s see after dinner, Angie dear.”

We donned our comfortable lounging loose clothing and went to the kitchen. Once there, she strove to take my attention away from setting up our dinner together, the way we usually do.

“Angie, he said after dinner.”

She was pressing her backside against my still flaccid penis, though her insistence was having some effect on its size.

“Okay. Sorry Mr Lopes.” Her sweet insincere apology. “But I can tell you’re ready for it, aren’t you?”

“What can I say Angie? You have a truly uncanny ability to read a man’s sexual disposition.”

“Thanks. Yeah, I’ve made the best of my little time, you know. I’m just a little girl.” She said giggling.

We went on with our planned order, to start with the dinner.

“Now?” She said, as soon as we finished dessert.

“Dishes.” I instructed. She caught up with my meaning. There were simple duties that couldn’t be pushed aside.

She took care of the chore by herself, proving once again the overwhelming power of motivation.

“Hey, don’t start without me! That’s not fair Flo, you get to fuck him every day.”

You had sat on my lap, giving shape to my erection.

“Not every day Angie, I wish. Only every other week.” you replied, stretching your arms above you, back to reach my head, your body giving way to soft twitching from the anticipated pleasure.

“Yeah, I know. Whatever. You still do it twice as much as I do, and you get to suck his cock every single night too.” She had finished and was coming over to us.

She stood by our side, as if she were uncertain for a second on her course of action. She never was, she could mould into any arrangement we could, when she hadn’t started one of her own making.

“We’ve never fucked in the kitchen guys. Have you?”

“I’m not much into sexual games involving food Angie.” I replied, providing information you had never needed me to make explicit.

“Who said anything about food? Let’s fuck in the kitchen. You know, cock, not cook.” She reached under you to make physical her meaning.

You jumped off my lap.

“Sounds fun. Would you like it, Dad?”

“It’s highly unlikely I won’t like anything coming from you princess.”

“Look, he’s already hard.” She carefully extracted my rapidly hardening penis, her description almost true.

We recreated her suggestion, and though it was undeniably pleasurable, we didn’t feel strongly inclined to repeat it on another occasion, I took you two to my bed for my culmination.

“We made it.” She sighed deeply.

“You have cummed lots Angie, what’s the big deal with Dad cumming more times?”

“Flo, guys can’t go on fucking after they cum. I thought you knew that.” She teased you. “So, it is a big deal, not all that many girls can pull it.”

“We just fucked for two straight hours, just in the afternoon, not counting the morning. You can’t keep it up much longer yourself, even you need a break after a while.” It wasn't arguing, not in the charged sense, you were only developing your line of argumentation. The loving tone made all the difference.

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s fun. I don’t know, I just find it fun, get a guy hard over and over. Don’t you?”

“It’s not fun if Dad isn't having fun.”

“I can tell when a guy’s having fun, can’t you?”

“Angie, you will learn with time that sexual stimulus and response are not synonymous with the joy of sex.”

“Teach me Mr Lopes.”

She enjoyed sometimes pretending to have an intellect duller than what I could tell was the case, she never missed my meaning.

“Dad,” you had gently verified the absolutely drained state of my penis. “Don’t listen to her.”

“Mr Lopes, would like to give me a chance? Let’s break the record.”

“It’s okay princess, I won’t keep on insisting in an endeavour that’s only meant to be enjoyable. Go ahead Angie, I’m all yours.”

“I don’t need all of you, with all due respect, sir.” Giggling as she sat on my chest, falling on my penis and enveloping it in her mouth, easily fitting inside in its diminished state.

As soon as she started, while I was under the impression her efforts were going to be in vain, you came up with your remarkable resourcefulness.

You took the sex-toy we had grown fond of, and used it in her vagina and anus, stimulating her sensible areas with its vibration, then penetrating her; in the proper, hygienic order. As she demonstrated her appreciation for your initiative, you added your tongue into the mix.

Your presentation and her response was all that was missing.

“Flo, you’re a genius.” she said in a pause within the fellation she was now able to perform properly.

“I just know my dad really well.”

“Let’s not stay in the figure Angie.” I said as I got off from below her and went into action, to show her the deed had to be completed, and our enjoyment had to be the justification of her exercise.

After half-an-hour I knew cutting that last leg short was going to be necessary in order not to lose the initial momentum for my erection. It wasn’t a splendid climax, but it was pleasurable all the same.

“You’re welcome Mr Lopes.” she said, my semen dripping from her lips.

“Angie!” you gave her a playful slap on her shoulder.

“Granting your whim was highly enjoyable, let’s leave it at that.”

“Thank you Mr Lopes.” she said, mellowing into a warm embrace with you as she corrected herself, with an endearing shade of apology in her expression of gratitude..

We were so happy about everything.

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angrylizardjacket · 4 years

Text

take me to your heart

Summary: Lola's never had a proper Christmas, and after this one, she still hasn't, but Tommy's a surprisingly good gift giver. Set during the tour with Roxie, but well after she's departed.

A/N: Written on my phone, v Christmas. Warning: Lola n Nikki give each other dirty gifts but the fic is sfw. Tommy-centric. Also idk if he's genuinely greek orthodox, he might not be idk

[run to paradise]

----

"Sharise wants to do something for Christmas," Vince sighs, his heels resting on the table of the tour bus. Lola, at least, looks up from her magazine with a frown, though she seems to be the only one paying attention.

"She's in LA."

"We'll be in Phoenix by then, its not that long of a flight," Vince answers quickly, and Lola goes back to her magazine. "I don't know what to get her."

"A six-pack and edible panties," comes Nikki's answer, half distracted where he was trying to write lyrics. Vince's expression, however, wrinkles.

"Have you ever bought a present for a lady who wasn't Lola?" He snaps, crossing his arms, and though he can't see Lola's amused expression, he hears her snort of laughter.

"Yes," Nikki responds flatly, finally looking up, "but incase you haven't noticed," he gestured around to the bus, which was filled only with the band, as well as Doc and Lola, "none of them are still here."

"That's correlation, man, not causation -"

"You know what? Fuck your five dollar words, man, I was trying to help." Nikki snapped, picking up his notebook in a huff and heading to the back of the bus. Silence fills the air, Vince sulking a little, Tommy just looking between Lola and Vince. Mick, who was trying to nap, sighs deeply and shifts in his uncomfortable seat.

"Is that all you've ever gotten for Christmas?" Tommy asks and Lola's response is surprisingly honest.

"Zero expectationsl, zero disappointments; drink, eat, fuck, like any other day." She does give pause there, the magazine rustling as her grip tightens just a little, and when she lowers it, there's amusement in her eyes. "Also, grape is the best flavour."

"What?"

"For edible panties."

"You guys are absolutely no help." Vince declares. Mick just laughs at that.

Lola's never been too bothered by not having a proper Christmas, she and Nikki live a pretty secular life when they weren't dabbling in Satanism, and the others were usually too busy doing their own things around the holidays to notice the pair's lack of any sort of traditions. Usually they'll buy each other booze, or some sort of joke present, but its never been a particularly sentimental time for Lola, not that anyone had really noticed her apathy enough to care.

Until now.

The holidays have always been a sentimental time for Tommy, and though he'd strayed from his Greek Orthodox roots, he still took it as a chance to show his family how much they meant to him, and now he was feeling like a fool for leaving his band-family out for so long.

What the hell could he get them that they didn't already have?

Nikki was easy, as it turned out. One quick phonecall home, his father spends about twenty minutes rifling through the junk Tommy had left from hia teenage years, and a poster, heavily creased and golden with age, is waiting at their next hotel, express shipped. Nikki didn't want or need any fancy packaging, so Tommy bought a big, yellow envelope and put the poster inside, along with a lighter he'd bought at a gas station. It looked cheap, a bit rough around the edges, but he was pretty sure Nikki would appreciate it all the same.

Mick was a little more difficult, seeing as he was almost guaranteed to throw out any joke gifts, or amything he didn't want. It feels like a cop-out, to just give him booze - expensive booze, mind you - instead of something sentimental. As luck would have it, Tommy finds himself scoring blow in an alley beside a pawn shop, and once the deal's done, he spots an iridescent alien-head keychain. He tapes the charm to the bottle of booze, amd slaps a bow on it, and is satisfied.

He and Vince have been exchanging Christmas presents since high school, as long as they were in the same town. Mostly they're joke presents. Tommy's had this year's picked out for months; a Malibu Barbie he'd repainted himself with Vince's stage make-up. Vince he didn't need to worry about.

Lola was a different story. She lived her life in the shadow of the band's, her existence, her belongings, were a patchwork of their leftovers; her creature comforts were consumables, and while she always took whatever she could wherever she was, it was because she could, not because she wanted things. What can you get for the girl who seems to want nothing, and still gets everything?

"Lola doesn't want things, she wants experiences, opportunities," Vince is the one who Tommy finally goes to for advice, and was the only one who Tommy knew would be actually helpful. They're in Vince's dressing room now, Tommy polishing off a bottle of Jack while Vince touches up his own eyeliner. Tommy's frowning, still at a loss, and he lowers the bottle. Their eyes meet in the reflection of the mirror, and Vince visibly hesitates before speaking again.

"Have you ever heard her play piano?"

Christmas rolls around and they're stuck in a hotel in Arizona. They're finishing the tour in LA just days before New Years Eve; the end is so close they can all almost taste it.

Sharise invites them all to dinner, well, she invites Lola when she learns that Lola's never had a proper Christmas dinner and 'the rest of them can come too if they want'. Tommy feels like Santa, laden with gifts, as he gets to the private room they had booked at the nicest resturant in town that was still open. He'd spent the morning organising Lola's gift, and was glad to have a break to eat before he gave it to her, or more accurately, took her to it.

"We were meant to bring presents?" Lola looks immediately panicked when he steps inside with a rather full backpack. She starts patting down her pockets as if hoping to magically find a pile of gifts there. "I didn't- I mean like I didn't bring them- its just drinks- nice drinks -" she clarified, but Tommy grins brightly.

"It's chill, Lols, I just saw this stuff around and thought it would be nice, its not a big deal," with that he laughed a little self consciously, "and dude, I'm sorry but I don't even have a thing to give you."

Lola can't help but be a little put out by that, still strangely childish in ways that continue to baffle Tommy, but he hopes she'll appreciate his gift, even if he can't give it to her with the others.

They do exhange gifts; Tommy gives Sharise champagne, and she seems more amused by his gift to Vince than Vince is. Vince, for his part, gives Tommy an ornate fountain pen, which has Tommy confused at first, while Nikki roars with laughter, pulling out an incredibly cheap ballpoint with a bow on it.

"You guys are fucking assholes," Tommy scowls once he realises, though by now even Lola's snickering. The scar from where Roxie had stabbed him several months ago begins to ache, just a little.

Mick, like Lola, doesn't have any gifts either, but he passes her a lighter and gruffly tells her he found it on the bus, that it was her's and that this isn't a gift. He does, however, smile at the keychain Tommy gives him, and in a few days, Tommy will see it looped around the handle of one of his guitar cases.

To no ones surprise, Nikki puts a six-pack and a pair of cheap, grape flavoured, edible panties on the table, and slides it gracelessly across the table to Lola wearing a shiteating grin. Mirroring his smile, Lola reaches into the inner pocket of her jacket, and flicks him a little cardboard package. Its unmarked, nondescript, and absolutely no-one at that table trusted Lola to have put something appropriate in that box. Everyone waits with a sort of morbid curiosity as Nikki shakes the box, giving pause before opening it.

"It vibrates." Is all Lola says as he holds up the bright purple cockring, smile on his face giving away how genuinely amused he was with it.

"Presents are cancelled," Sharise declared with faux exasperation, but Tommy's already protesting, holding out his own gift to Nikki.

Sharise hands Lola a small present as Nikki unwraps his. For Lola, its new black lipstick and eyeliner, and for Nikki, its an old poster of his band, London, and a cheap lighter. Nikki's expression is unreadable, blinking slowly at the poster, the room's gone quiet enough that everyone can hear it crinkle in his hands as he looks up at Tommy's smile.

"It's the one I used to have on my wall, man; my folks kept all my old posters, I thought you might wanna burn the shit out of this one." He gestures to the lighter, nervousness bubbling in his stomach, unsure of how Nikki feels about it, his face still a little shocked.

Little by little, Nikki's lips turn to a smile, a bright, beaming, genuine grin. He practically launches himself across Mick to wrap Tommy in a hug, fierce and bright. Mick grumbles, but Nikki just crows about how weirdly cool it was.

"Yeah, i figured arson and petty revenge are like, two of your favourite things," Tommy babbles, hugging Nikki back, quietly pleased with himself. Its a strangely endearing moment, and when Tommy looks over at her, he catches Lola's adoring smile as she watches them, but its gone quickly.

Dinner is fun, between the bottles of rum they finish off between them and the lines of coke they have for dessert, which Sharise mostly abstains from, they don't really get out of line. Except for when Nikki sets the poster on fire with the candle in the middle of the table, and he ends up getting kicked out.

Whatever, he was mostly done anyways.

After dinner they all go their separate ways, but Tommy catches Lola before she gets too far. She's tipsy, grinning in the cold night air, happy to let Tommy lead her where he may. Lacing her finger with his, her free hand swings the six-pack Nikki had gotten her, while she hums a tune Tommy recognises but can't place.

They come to a stop outside of the Hall where the band were due to perform the following night, their equipment bus parked and quiet beside the building.

"Nothing's in there yet; we're bumping in tomorrow morning," Lola says, her hamd still in his. Tommy just grins, pulling a set of keys from his pocket, jangling them enticingly.

"So we've got the whole night."

Inside, in the middle of the stage, lit by a single warm, golden spotlight, sits a grand piano. The whole building is empty, save for the two of them, and Lola's grip on his hand tightens. All words leave her, eyes going wide and surprised.

Walking forward, she heads towards the piano, but she doesn't let go of his hand, gently tugging him along with her. His name leaves her lips, a disbelieving, reverential utterance. The lid is already lifted and she carresses the keys with her free hand.

"You didn't have to-" she turns to him, expression awed, but he gives her hand a squeeze.

"Merry Christmas, Lols."

Stepping up to him, her hand is gentle on his cheek, far more gentle, more tender than he was used to her being. Leaning in, they kiss softly, in sync, fitting together as they always had, as they were always meant to. Pulling away, Tommy's grin is fond as he kisses the tip of her nose. Untangling their fingers, he gestures wordlessly to the piano.

Lola sits, hesitates, listening to Tommy's retreating footsteps.

"Where are you going?" She asks quietly, fingers dancing across the keys as she plays a quick scale.

"Vince told me-"

"That snitch." Lola laughs softly, before adding, "'told you I don't like an audience, didn't he?" Tommy agrees, still paused halfway to the door. Lola is quiet for a moment, and she stops in her movements, but then she starts up again, and Tommy's heart is in his throat as he hears thw opwning bars of the song he'd been working on for almost a month amd a half now. The song's not yet finished, but he'd know the opening to Home Sweet Home anywhere.

"Can you stay?" Lola's voice is barely audible above the music. "If you want to, I'd like you to stay." And she doesn't know the lyrics, so she keeps playing what she's heard him play a hundred times over.

"I didn't know you knew this that well," Tommy finds himself smiling, walking back to the piano, to sit down beside Lola where she's shifted over to make room for him. She's smiling too, genuine, actually a little bashful, and she's still playing when she admits her thoughts.

"It's shaping up to be one of my favourites."

#tommy lee #nikki sixx #tommy lee x oc #tommy lee imagine #nikki sixx x oc #nikki sixx imagine #vince neil #mick mars #motley crue imagine #motley crue #mgk #machine gun kelly #daniel webber #douglas booth #iwan rheon #the dirt #the angry lizard writes

39 notes · View notes

gworlinterrupted · 4 years

Text

Dreamboy Episode 6: Jupiter’s Lifeless Moons transcript

Hi! I was looking online to see if anyone had been doing Dreamboy transcripts and I saw that there was nothing after episode five, so I’ve started on the rest, episode six first. Sorry in advance for any spelling or grammar mistakes, I’m dealing with lots of run on sentences here. Anyway I hope you enjoy, more transcripts to come (I’m gonna try to do all the bonus episodes and such). Also: if you’re looking to hire a transcriptionist for your podcast or anything else please feel free to shoot me a message, I’m always looking for work

Enjoy! If you’d rather have a pdf copy I’d be happy to send that to you too.

DANE

The dream is different this time. It starts in the dark like always, but this time I'm laying down. I’m curled up on something rough. I lift my head up. I feel like I'm moving. Oh my god, I’m inside the fish. I’m laying on its tongue. But it’s like it’s tongue is the whole bottom of the inside of the fish, and the inside of the fish is huge. It’s like the whole thing is hollow, and it has ridges like the inside of a throat. I stand up and look around. It’s daytime outside and the light is coming through the mouth and eyes like windows. I just stare at that ghostly daylight face, swaying slowly side to side as the fish swims. I have this sudden urge to look out, to look out of the mouth. So I walk to the front of the tongue. I walk right up to its giant jaws. The bones lay open just a little bit, and then they close and I feel the water come in, wash over my face, push my hair back. Outside I can see the tops of rocky spires, like underwater mountains or something, passing underneath us, and I want to see, I want to look but that means I have to lean my head out of its mouth, between its jaws. I think about it. Another intake of water blows my hair back.

[WATER RUSHES IN]

The mouth is exactly the height of my head, and I reach out and touch the bone jaw, and then I pull my hand back and wait. Nothing. Maybe the fish doesn’t know I’m in here. I reach out and touch the jaw again, but this time I leave my hand on it. Nothing. Just the rhythm of swimming. God, it feels so sharp. I swallow, and I lean my head out over the razor edge, and I look down into the water at the rocky spires passing underneath, but they aren’t spires, they’re not mountains, they’re buildings. The tops of tall skyscrapers all fuzzy and covered in moss and algae. It’s a whole city. It’s downtown Cleveland.

[SWOOSHING NOISES]

DANE

I wake up. The bright, late morning sun is coming through the windows of the guest bedroom, and my hand immediately goes to my dick, but it’s soft.

[SOFT MUSIC]

DANE

I get up and put on my wrinkled red shirt and slog my way to the zoo for work. On my way I text Luke, just a simple “hey, WYD”, but he doesn’t answer. He never responded to my goodnight text last night, either. Like, maybe he’s mad? About the cakes? I don’t know. I almost walk into traffic because I'm staring at the message thread. I stop at Settler’s Coffee, and I text him again. I say “I had another fish dream, they’re getting weirder.” I watch my phone intently as I cream and sugar my coffee. I use the simple syrup even though it’s hot coffee, just to have a hand free for my phone. But nothing. I get to work. Maybe he’s still asleep. He is pretty nocturnal. Work is stupid, we’re understaffed so I spend six and a half hours straight at the roller coaster podium. I stop saying that whole de-briefing room line about three hours in, and I text Luke a few more times, but he still doesn’t answer. And then I run out of things to text without feeling like a crazy creep. Now it’s a half an hour before close and I'm only just now getting a lunch break because Tammy Jammers, who usually watches the ride while I’m out on break, called out sick today. She said she had food poisoning, but I know she’s just hungover. Her last Instagram post was at three A.M. last night, and it was a picture, taken with a flash, of Taco Bell that she put on a plate. I go out to the main drag to get food like I always do, but the only food place still open is the hot dog stand, and I just can’t with those. They’re like the same temperature and texture as a human body so they make your mouth feel like it’s kissing someone you don’t like. Hot dog? Lukewarm dog more like. A breeze blows. [sighs] It’s getting colder, so I go back inside into the hall of history which is just this longstupid hallway

[OPERA ARIA IN BACKGROUND]

in the same building as the roller coaster. I have to walk through it every day when I go on lunchbreak, but I never actually stop because I only get thirty minutes for lunch break, and it takes twenty minutes just to get through the fucking food line, so I have to run through there, and it’s just like dusty plaques and old maps and stuff. There’s like a few old exhibits that don’t work. It’s, like, where grandparents go to hang out on hot days. Which you would think meant that they had more places to sit down, but.... I look down at my phone again. Nothing. There’s also this weird music playing, and it’s skipping like…. I look up and see a wall with the words “who's who” painted really big on the top of it, and underneath there’s like a bunch of buttons with flaps. I run my finger around one of the buttons and just like accidently the button pushes in and this voice recording starts to play. It’s Kritch!

ELI KRITCH

You love grapes and naps. Before your life here at the Pepper Heights Zoo, you were an animal pioneer for NASA and actually went into space! After that, you spent many years at an interstate sideshow in the Florida Panhandle doing a high society routine. To this day you still listen to opera to fall asleep. Which Pepper Heights animal friend are you?

DANE

The recording ends. I lift up the flap. It says “you are the chimpanzee, Madam Beauregard.” Great. That’s creepy. I look back down at my phone. Still nothing. It’s not that I like... it’s not that I like need to talk to him or anything, it’s just that, like, it’s just the not knowing is fucking awful. Like, just text me back! How hard is it to text somebody back? I look back at the wall. There’s an arrow pointing to a smaller button next to Madam Beauregard’s name, and it says “push button to hear your favorite aria”, but the music is stuck in which totally explains the skipping music. Jesus Christ, it’s probably an actual CD player behind this fucking wall with this place. I look at my phone. Fucking nothing. Earlier in the day, right after I asked if he was mad, I saw the little dots

VOICES [sung]

Where is Luke?

DANE

You know, the little dots that mean somebody’s typing back. And I… I watched them, and then they disappeared and they never started again.

VOICES [sung]

Where is Luke?

DANE

And ever since then my head has just been full of all the little voices that say all the little things..

VOICES [sung] Where is Luke?

Ughhh Jesus fuck, now they have music. That’s great.

VOICES [sung[

Where is Luke?

DANE

Yeah I don’t really care where he’s at. And why are there so many buttons in this exhibit? Like, there’s no way there’s this many animals that still live here. Like, most of the exhibits are shut down, these animals are probably dead.

VOICES [sung]

Losers

DANE

And the seven that are here are like not the kind of animals you want to push a button and hear about, right?

VOICES [sung]

Losers

DANE They’re like, retired circus freaks and movie animals that can’t work anymore.

VOICES [sung]

Losers, losers, losers

DANE

It’s like this whole place just attracts washed up showbiz animals.

VOICES

Just like you!

DANE

[sighs] Yeah thanks I connected that. I look down at my phone. Again. Nothing. Again. I don’t even know why I keep checking. I mean, I turn my vibration notifications on so I wouldn’t have to check but I still check. So I open up instagram to see if he’s posting there, but he’s not. It’s just the picture that he posted late last night. The one of the blue hand on his neck that we took in front of the tunnel. It’s already got like three thousand likes, Jesus Christ. I check my texts again. Why am I checking it, I'm holding it. So I open up Grindr. I check his profile. He’s not on. It says he hasn’t been on in hours. So I open up my texts again and I just look at it, I just LOOK. UGHH why won’t he text?!

VOICES

Cause he’d rather spend time with strange old men than talk to me.

DANE

It’s like they practice in there while I’m sleeping, Jesus. I look back up from my phone. Now I’m in front of some sort of ice age diorama, like, why? There’s a caveman standing over a wolf that he’s just killed, and there’s blood everywhere. And behind that, really small in a cave, there’s a woman and a child, waiting for him all terrified. But right next to the cave in the dark where you can’t see is another wolf, and nobody sees it. And then another face appears in the glass. I turn around. It’s Kritch. Or, like, Kritch’s face, on a TV, in an exhibit on the opposite wall. I walk over. He’s younger. It’s weird seeing young Kritch, I mean it’s like still my boss but, you know, smoother. It’s some sort of like special news piece from like twenty years ago.

KRITCH

Oh I certainly think the people over at Stonefall Labs can appreciate what we are doing over here. And for the record I do not believe that they are covering up any discoveries of alien life. That’s quite frankly preposterous. I can assure you they were in fact only only doing a geological survey of the moons of Jupiter, on contract from NASA, like they say. I just think they came up at the end of that, did more to make a big deal of it, we all have swings and misses sometimes, but I thought I’d take my own swing.

DANE

Boy, his smile hasn’t changed, that’s for sure. The video ends and there’s a black screen with a logo that says “The Zenarc Corporation”. I see my face in the screen.

[SWOOSHING NOISES/MUSIC]

DANE

It’s taken me a couple weeks of working here to piece it all together, but I do sort of know a little bit about what Kritch’s talking about in this video. See, in the late fifties the Stonefalls built this private research and development site called Stonefall Labs on the other side of the woods from the zoo. All sorts of things were developed there over the years, everything from, like, ketchup recipes and zip-ties to lots of darker things I’m sure we don’t know about. Like they famously patented the first answering machine, for example. It was as big as a room. It got sabotaged by this secret group of secretaries, though. Which is a cool story, but later. Anyway, because of some sort of technology that they had patented, they got a contract from NASA in the eighties to survey Jupiter’s moons to look for the possible presence of a specific isotope of helium called helium two. Now, scientists thought helium two was going to be like the rocket fuel of the future, it was going to revolutionize space exploration they thought. And this was all public knowledge there was even a little article in the paper, but nobody really cared. However, Stonefall labs found nothing. Zip. And at first they just said that there was problems with their equipment, but then weeks went by and then months and they said nothing. And they stayed quiet for so long that it started to attract attention, and people started to say maybe they in fact had found something a lot more interesting than helium deposits on the moons of Jupiter. Which, of course, that blew up like a house fire and pretty soon there was this huge conspiracy theory and speculation and a media frenzy. But at the same time while that was all going on, the young Elias Kritch had just taken over the helm of the Pepper Heights Zoo from his late father, Eddie. Despite the fact that another Kritch in charge of the zoo was like the last thing the Stonefalls wanted. But Eli was intent on leaving his mark, and he vowed to turn the zoo into a profitable enterprise, rather than just another suckling on the Stonefall money teet. So he said “I have an idea, how about a full on theatrical roller coaster experience called Jupiter’s Lifeless Moons”. The whole story inspired by the controversy. It was supposed to be this stepping stone into becoming a real amusement park, but he never made the money back. Like not even close. He put the zoo into permanent debt. The Stonefalls never let him live it down. And it only took a couple of years before the entire context was completely buried anyway. Pretty soon, nobody remembered anything at all about the Stonefall Lab’s Jovian lunar survey scandal, you know. But the ride stayed and here it is after all these years. The video starts to replay, Kritch starts talking again, and I start to walk away but I notice something I didn't see before: a rough disk with a hole in it hanging from a string around young Kritch’s neck. A disk with a hole in the middle… John Stonefall. What the…. I check my phone.

VOICES [sung]

Where is Luke?

DANE

Still nothing.

VOICES [sung]

Where is Luke?

DANE

Why can’t he just text back?

VOICES [sung]

Where is Luke?

DANE

Whatever.

LADY 1 [sung]

And could he really actually like me?

DANE

Yeah, probably not.

LADY 1 [sung]

Maybe I fucked it all up again

DANE

Probably.

LADY 1 [sung]

Maybe I’ll never know again

DANE

Whoa, that seems a little melodramatic

LADY 1 [sung]

Why do I even care?

DANE

You know, I don’t even care

LADY 1 [sung]

Do I even care?

DANE

No. I don’t think I even care.

LADY 2 [sung]

This is textbook patriarchal communication

MAN 1 [sung]

Maybe he’s not answering for a reason

DANE

I.. I know he’s mad at me for eating his cakes.

VOICES

Guilt!

DANE

Which, I did eat his cakes.

VOICES

Guilt!

DANE And lie to him

VOICES

Guilt! Guilt!

DANE

Ughhhhh

DANE [sung] Why do I feel guilty?

VOICES [sung]

Resentment

DANE [sung] I mean it’s not that big of a deal, Cora’s just a crazy lady.

VOICES [sung] Resentment

DANE [sung]

And the cakes were sent to the wrong house

LADY 2 [sung] I don’t know if that is true

DANE [sung] Why do I care? I don’t even like him at all

VOICES [sung] Where is Luke?

DANE Wanna know where he’s at? I’ll tell you where he’s at.

DANE [sung]

He’s off somewhere being young and stupid

HIGH VOICES [sung]

Haul him off, haul him off, haul him off!

DANE [sung]

He’s off somewhere not knowing what he wants

VOICES [sung] We just met

DANE

Yeah, we just met.

VOICES [sung]

We just met!

DANE [sung] He’s too laid back

LOW VOICES [sung] Too laid back

HIGH VOICES [sung]

Sleeps on the floor of an empty house

DANE [sung] I wish I could sleep on the floor in an empty house…. But I can’t!

DANE

Cause I have real responsibilities

DANE [sung]

Like he doesn’t do anything

HIGH VOICES [sung]

Do anything

DANE [sung]

Maybe he does and I just haven’t asked

VOICES [sung] Do anything, I didn’t do anything

DANE [sung] Maybe I’m the one

VOICES [sung] NOPE

DANE

Being a total dick

VOICES [sung] NOPE DANE Maybe I’m being a dick

VOICES [sung] I didn’t do anything

VOICE 1 [sung]

He’s just a narcissistic twink!

DANE Yeah

VOICE 1 [sung]

He’s just a narcissistic twink! DANE

Yeah

VOICES [sung]

A narcisistic, masochistic, fetishistic, sorta cryptic, dirty little selfish fucking twink! Who would rather be hit by strange old men than talk to me.

DANE Yeah, but I don’t care.

VOICES [sung] I don’t care!

DANE

I gotta get outta here. Where are the doors, where are the doors, I just need some air. I fall through the double doors, out onto the main drag. Oh, god….The air is cool, but it feels good. There’s, like, silence for a minute. At least in my head. I hear an age-guesser guessing his last customer somewhere.

[AGE GUESSER SPEAKING IN BACKGROUND]

DANE A smattering of laughing through the trees.

[LAUGHTER]

DANE

And I reach for my phone out of like instinct.

VOICE 1 [sung]

Where is Luke?

DANE

But then I stop myself because this is stupid

VOICE 1 [sung]

Where is Luke?

DANE

Like it's annoying that...

VOICE 1 [sung]

Where is Luke? DANE Like there’s some, some sort of..

VOICE 1 [sung]

Where is Luke? DANE

My body seems to have a question. Like a body question.

VOICE 1 [sung]

Where is Luke?

DANE

That it keeps asking.

VOICE 1 [sung]

Where…

DANE

My phone vibrates in my pocket! I pull it out. It’s a Grindr message. I open up the app. Oh, he’s cute. His message just says “hey”. It also says he’s only 200 feet away. I look up and look around. I don’t see anyone who looks like him. I look back at his profile. He’s playfully flexing his arm in his photo and making a goofy face, standing shirtless and soaking wet next to a pool in someone’s backyard somewhere, and his dark hair looks darker because it’s wet, and his underarm hair is pasted to his body in little black flames. His headline says Alex. I look at the time. I have twenty minutes. [sighs] Fuck it. “Hey”, I say. “What’s up”, he says. “On break”, I say. “Me too”, he says. “You work at the zoo?” “No, Stonefall Labs. I came to get a hot dog”. Wow, yuck, really? But I couldn't pass up the opportunity for a bad joke so I said “ah, you like weiners, huh”. Coy emoji.”LOL, yep”, he says. Then, “do you?”, and immediately he sends a picture of his dick. Whoa. Fuck, it’s huge. It’s thicker in the middle and curves really dramatically, and it’s so hard in the picture that it looks like a dead thing that’s swollen up on the side of a path. “Wow” I say, “I’d love to put that in my mouth some time.” Coy face. “You should”, he says, “how about now?” “Where”, I say. “Men’s bathroom by the Dippin’ Dots. No one’s ever in there. I’m by there now.” Fuck, my heart is racing. The zoo closes in half an hour, and there’s like nobody here, and he’s right, that bathroom is so out of the way that nobody uses it hardly. Even the Dippin’ Dots guy won’t be there cause he’s watching the rollercoaster for me right now. I look down at his message again. Then at the clock. Seventeen minutes left. My heart is getting quicker. [sighs] ”Okay”, I say “I’ll come now”. “I’ll be waiting inside”, he says. Okay. A few seconds later I’m cutting across the main thoroughfare. Walking quickly. The breeze is cool on my face. The stands are mostly all closed and the rides are shutting down. The few people that are out are all workers, all walking the same direction to the front gate. Their faces lit from underneath by their own phones. I come around the corner by the closed up Dippin’ Dots stand, and I stop. There it is. The squat, gray bathroom building with that rusty water fountain on the side that hasn’t worked for so long that an out of order sign is no longer required. I see the door of the men’s bathroom. It’s closed, but there’s an edge of seering white light all around the heavy metal door. Okay, okay okay okay okay. I walk up to it. I look around. Nobody. The whole building seems to have a low hum. I take a breath, and I open the door. There’s a loud metal creak as the door opens.

[CREAK]

DANE And the door catches on the concrete floor and doesn’t shut all the way. I kick it a couple times until it does.

[DOOR SHUTS]

DANE

The metal bangs ring and echo off the tile. Then I round a tiled wall into the bright restroom, and I see him, standing at the far left urinal, his back to me. He doesn’t look back or move, the cold white lights buzzing and flickering all around. I check the stall on the other side of the little room. It’s empty. It’s door off one of its hinges and hanging there like an open jaw. I walk up slowly to the far right urinal, side eyeing the guy. I keep a urinal between us. I get there and I start to undo my pants. The light directly above the urinals is buzzing, loud. I glance over at him, but he doesn’t look back at me or anything. He doesn’t talk or move or acknowledge me at all. Like, what the fuck? I mean it’s definitely him, and he’s standing away from the urinal so that I can see his dick but he’s just peeing. I look back at the wall, and then I look back over at him. He is handsome, though. He’s a few inches taller than me and muscular, in baggy Carhartt pants and a large dirty gray t-shirt. There’s paint on his elbows and grease on his arms. I look back straight ahead. Okay, now what? I start to panic. I try to pee, but I really don’t have to go. One more time, I look over. He’s done now, shaking his dick. God, even soft it’s big. But he’s still ignoring me. He’s still shaking it, like, way longer than he should. Okay, it starts to get bigger as he swings it around. And then he starts pulling on it, and I'm just standing there watching him out of the side of my eye, holding my own dick in my hand. God, it’s getting bigger and bigger and less floppy, and slowly his pulling turns into gripping and stroking, and it gets thicker and tighter until after about a minute it’s as thick as I saw in the pic earlier. God, it looks angry, and I'm watching his hand run the length of it back and forth, trying not to look like I'm looking, lost in the rhythm, when I hear it- a voice coming from everywhere at once. I look up at the side of his face, straight at it. The lights above flicker a little. It had to be his voice, but he’s still not looking at me. He’s just watching his hand move over his own dick. But as I'm looking at the side of his face I see his lips move, and I hear his voice again.

ALEX Come here. Get on your knees.

DANE I take a breath, I turn, and I walk up next to him. I can smell his cologne, and I kneel down in front of the urinals. The floor is hard and a little wet on my knees, and I try not to think about why. He turns, swinging his dick toward my face, and finally his eyes look down into mine. The light is buzzing and pulsing above him, his body’s like a silhouette, and then he reaches down and puts his fingers in my mouth. They smell like solvents and metal, and he feels around like he lost something in my teeth. And it doesn’t seem like this would be hot but, god, something about it really is. And then he opens my mouth wider with his fingers and takes them out and traces the wetness of my spit up my face, and then grabs my hair and slowly puts his dick in. Past my lips, and then past my tongue, gentle but also steady. I feel it hit the back of my throat and stop. He grabs my hair harder and looks down at my eyes. I don’t know how, but I sort of nod with my face and eyes and make a sort of “uh-huh” sound, and he smiles and puts more pressure in his thrust. And I feel my throat iris out like a dark, wet camera. And he slides all the way down, until my face is against his body. He just holds me against him, and he breathes. I feel the entire inside of my throat and head stretched over his dick. I feel it reaching down into my chest. I feel like a butterfly on a pin. His smell fills my nose. It’s a thick, sweaty smell- the smell of baseball and locker rooms and the back of the bus. He just looks down at me, and I look up at him, and the light buzzes.

[BATHROOM DOOR OPENS]

DANE

The metal bathroom door. He takes his dick out of my throat.

[DANE GAGS AND COUGHS]

DANE It almost makes me puke. I scramble to my feet and quickly get to the urinal. He turns and does the same. We both just stare at the wall in front of us, become strangers again. I hear someone round the tile wall behind us. I hear Alex zipping up his pants and flushing, quick. I do the same. I wipe the water from my eyes and I go to leave, but as I turn, I see the person who entered. It’s the Dippin’ Dots guy, Trey.

DANE [to TREY] Oh, hey man. Wait, you’re not still watching the ride...

TREY [laughs] Nah. I guess some little girl dropped her teddy bear on the track, so I closed it up early, but I left her number on the control console.

DANE

But you didn’t go get it?

TREY

Fuck no. I'm not climbing all those jank-ass ladders.

DANE [to listener] Alex brushes past Trey and heads out of the bathroom. Trey doesn’t even look at him. It’s funny what straight boys just can’t see in bathrooms. I watch Trey disappear into the slack jaw of the stall without even trying to close the door, and then I hear him start to pee.

[PEEING NOISES]

TREY

Later, dude!

DANE I get back to the roller coaster, it takes like twenty seconds. I go into the side door

[DOOR OPENING]

The door shuts behind me.

[DOOR SHUTTING]

And I take a breath. That was fucking intense. It all feels like it didn’t happen, but it just happened like a minute ago. I can still smell the dude on my face. Whoa [sighs]. All the colored lights and space music are gone, and the big overhead lights are on, but I know Trey’s dumb ass didn’t do any of the other closing duties. I walk up to my podium and I see the ride is switched into its standby mode, which means that both cars are nestled into the shuttle bay, and the power is off to the ride. In order to turn it all back on again, you need to put a special key in and turn the red lever, then you hear a big “kerchunk”, and the whole building sorta comes alive and the lights change and the music starts, but now it just looks like bad props and old paint in a bright warehouse, which is what it is. There’s the note Trey was talking about, though. It just says “little girl lost teddy on ride” and then a phone number. There’s not even a name. The keys are next to the note. I take them both and put them in my pocket.

[KEYS JANGLING, POCKET RUSTLING]

DANE I finish the rest of the closing duties: sweep and mop the floors, wipe the glass on the doors, wipe the coaster cars down, and when everything’s done, I go through the utility door into the underbelly of the ride to look for the damn teddy bear. Under the ride there are work lights, these bare bulbs hanging from scaffolding, but they definitely don’t work, so I pull out my phone and turn on the flashlight. It smells like laser tag. You know, that... that special effects smoke that they use. Half the time when people drop something we find it in “The Net”, and we’re supposed to check “The Net” once a week but people never check it. Also, the net is so old that it has rips and tears and whole sections that have fallen down. It’s like the web of a giant spider that got bored and said “fuck it” and crawled away years ago. So, often things end up on the dusty floor, twenty or thirty feet below. I walk to a place where I can look up through the skeleton of the rollercoaster into the net by the big turn. That’s usually where people drop things, the big turn. No teddy bear. I point my phone light down onto the concrete floor below it. Nothing. Anything new down in this dusty world is immediately visible for its lack of gray dust fuzz. If it has color, it’s new. But I only see an endless field of small, linty shapes. Look, there’s one last place that things occasionally do end up. The moon platform. See, in the middle of the ride there’s this platform where the coaster stops, like full on stops, and this video plays. It’s supposed to be the surface of the moon that you land on, and it’s where you meet the alien that makes the name of the ride ironic, I guess. I’ve never actually ridden the ride so I don’t know, but, like, a rollercoaster with a video in the middle sounds like an awful idea. I’m standing at the base of the ladder to the platform, looking up. I give it a shake.

[LADDER RATTLING]

It’s so loose that it wobbles and buckles all the way up, moaning and creaking. I hear a screw fall somewhere in the dark.

[SCREW FALLS]

DANE

[sighs] I take a breath and start to climb.

[LADDER RATTLING]

DANE

I feel the swaying pull of my weight on the scaffolding. Jesus. More creaking. I just climb faster and faster, I just try not to look. Finally I get up to the top of the platform and pull myself up and dust myself off.

[DUSTING OFF]

DANE

I stand up and look around. The platform is decorated to look like the rocky surface of a moon. Foam rocks, gray paint, that kinda thing. Still no sign of a teddy bear, though. I start to look behind the foam rocks. Maybe it got thrown. But then I hear a sound, a huge “kerchunk”. The work lights go off, the colored lights come on, and space music starts. The building groans, and something huge and metal begins to slither below me. Fuck, someone’s turned on the ride! I scramble to find the ladder in the dark, but I can’t, and I hear the coaster rumbling in the walls, it’s getting closer. Fuck! I don’t know what happens if I’m up here when the coaster comes, so I try to find the ladder again, but one foot slips off the edge of the platform. Holy fuck, I like almost fall. Jesus it woulda killed me, it’s like thirty feet straight down. The roar’s getting louder and louder and louder, I pull my leg back and I scoot behind a foam rock just as the coaster rounds the corner.

[COASTER WHOOSHING]

DANE There’s a person in it. The coaster slows and stops, locks into place. The screen lights up and the video begins, and in the light of the video I see that the person is Kritch, sitting in the middle front seat of the coaster, watching the screen, his arms in front of him on the lap bar. The moonscape continues in the video, making it look like the surface of the moon goes on for miles, and then there’s like eery moon music playing. Well, then a green alien emerges from behind a rock in the video, and it gets closer to us cautiously, and then it starts to speak.

ALIEN IN VIDEO Greetings, earthlings aboard Shuttle 5. I’m a representative for the race of beings that has inhabited Moon 34 of the planet you call Jupiter for millions of years. Your civilization has remained unaware of our existence until this moment. We mean you no harm. We have no weapons, our technology is meager, but we know why you’ve come. The resource you seek is plentiful here, but its retrieval would destroy our home and lead to our certain demise, as we depend upon it for sustenance. We will restore your communications momentarily. However, we beg of you, do not disclose our existence to your superiors upon your return. You must report no helium two on Moon 34, the future of our species rests in your hands, earthlings of Shuttle 5. Good fortune and tidings to you.

DANE The video ends and the coaster comes unlocked and starts again.

[COASTER STARTING, ROLLING]

DANE

Kritch faces front, and I see him wipe his eyes. I must have stood up during the alien’s speech. I crouch back down and hide again quickly. Fuck, I hope he didn’t see me. I listen to the coaster disappear down another hill as the onboard computer says “malfunction, malfunction, returning to Jupiter base [unintelligible]. The roar fades. [sighs] I breathe out. Then I get up and start feeling around for the ladder. A few minutes later, I fall through the utility door back into the launch room, almost coughing from the fake smoke. What the fuck was Kritch doing riding a kid’s ride all by himself in the middle of the fucking night? [sighs] What a weirdo. I hear the coaster make the last of the big turns. I just wanna get out of here, so I slip out quickly the way that the kids come out, through the debriefing room. The debriefing room is just a room with two big light-up buttons under a sign that says “MISSION REPORT”. I stop. The buttons… The buttons. I’ve never really understood them before now. There’s a red one and a green one, and the red button says “no helium present on moon” and the green button says “helium present on moon”, but it’s the green button that’s worn so much that it’s barely legible. I get closer. The glow of green gets brighter on my face. I don’t understand, the kids rat out the alien? That’s fucked up. I reach out and touch the green button. It’s rough from years of well-behaved, terrified children. But then, and I don't know why really, I reach over and press the red button. It blinks three times.

KRITCH

Good choice.

DANE [to listener]

It’s Kritch. I didn’t hear him slip in.

DANE [to Kritch]

Oh, um, I was... I was just uh leaving.

KRITCH It’s okay.

DANE [to listener]

He walks up beside me and looks at the buttons.

KRITCH

It is curious.

DANE [to Kritch]

What’s curious?

KRITCH Well, I didn’t expect it either but it’s true. All the kids push the green button.

DANE [to listener]

He’s not looking at me. He’s staring at the green button, his fingers running over that same rough patch.

KRITCH They tell the truth because they know they’re supposed to or they will get in trouble. But the grown-ups? They choose red.

DANE [to listener]

He looks over at the red button. His hand drops and his smile flattens.

KRITCH Because they know the truth about trouble.

DANE [to Kritch]

What’s the truth about trouble?

DANE [to listener]

He turns towards me. I can see that his eyes are still wet, and his suit is, like, way too shiny, and it’s reflecting the red and green lights. He takes a step towards me.

KRITCH That you’re always in trouble.

DANE [to listener] And then leans down until his face is like right over mine.

KRITCH And sometimes a little lie can really help with how much.

DANE [to listener]

The zoo is deserted. It’s after close now. All the lights on all the rides are out. Kritch said he would close up the ride and that I could go, so I started to head for the gate. I haven’t checked my phone in a while, but just as I'm reaching for it I hear something.

[ANIMAL CRYING]

DANE

A crying sound. Zoe. I stop. Something is different about the sound this time.

[ANIMAL CRYING]

DANE

I turn around and walk slowly along the side of the huge building that houses both the rollercoaster and Zoe’s enclosure. The sound usually sounds like it’s far away, like in a cave, but this time it sounds very close. I round the corner and there she is, only like fifteen feet from me, in a small cement stall with an iron gate around it standing over a drain. She yelps when she sees me.

[ZOE YELPS]

DANE I scream a little bit and turn to run around the corner, and boom! I almost run into someone.

DANE [to person]

Oh I'm sorry I…

DANE [to listener]

it’s Jennifer.

JENNIFER Did you miss me?

DANE [to Jennifer]

Fuck. I should have known I'd see you. Wherever there’s shadows and secrets there you are a sneakin’.

JENNIFER Look who’s talking. You’re the sneak tonight. Sneak.

DANE [to Jennifer] What are you even doing here?

JENNIFER What are you even doing here?

DANE [to Jennifer] I’m at my job. It’s a thing grown-ups do.

JENNIFER Pssh. Grown-up? Nice shirt. I’m here for the rally, stupid.

DANE [to listener]

She holds up a flier to my face, like a brat. I recognize it from Emily’s porch yesterday. It says “save Zoe rally at the zoo”. Fuck, that’s today? I don’t even know the date. I look back down at her stupid face.

DANE [to Jennifer]

You know what? You oughta go back and say hi to your little friend Zoe, stick your face through that gate and see if she’ll kiss ya’.

DANE [to listener]

Jennifer looks at me with almost pity, and then she starts laughing.

JENNIFER [laughing]

DANE [to Jennifer]

What’s so funny?

JENNIFER

[laughing] Oh, Zoe can’t hurt me.

DANE [to Jennifer]

Why not?

DANE [to listener]

She steps closer to me. She’s holding a piece of cardboard with “SAVE ZOE” written on it.

JENNIFER Because Zoe the zebra is dead.

[THEME MUSIC]

ELLIE HAYMEN Dreamboy is co-created by Dane Terry and Ellie Haymen. Developed and directed by Ellie Haymen. Written, composed, and performed by Dane Terry, featuring Cecil Baldwin, Avery Draut, Michael St. Peter, Jake Sellers and Chris Weingarten. Sound Designed, Engineered, Mixed and Mastered by Christopher Weingarten at Bananappeal Studio. Edited by Alexander Charles Adams. Creative Producer and Assistant Director: Ashlin Hatch. Associate producer: Adam Cecil. Executive Producer: Christy Gressman. A very special thanks to Night Vale Presents. You can find us on Twitter and Instagram @dreamboypodcast. For more info and for merch check out dreamboypodcast.com.

#dreamboy #dreamboy podcast #night vale presents #do i have to put a disclaimer? idk how these things work. this isn't my podcast i'm just a fan

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chiefhopalong · 5 years

Text

Public Indecency - Jim “Chief” Hopper x Reader

Pairing: Chief Jim Hopper x Reader Word count: 2,800 Summary: A simple one shot involving truck sex with The Chief of Hawkins Police himself. Warnings: sex, language, vaginal penetration, cum shot.

You didn’t have to beg him too much, but it did take a little convincing to get Jim to get you in his police truck after you’d been drinking. It was clique, but there was something about seeing him in that truck that just did it for you. When you saw him driving around town, arm resting halfway out the window, a cigarette dangling from his lips, you couldn't help yourself. You wanted the man. When he stepped out of his truck, his long legs in pants that had gotten a little snug over the years, and with his shirt stretched tight over his chest, you needed him.

The flirting wasn’t difficult, Jim was a single man, and he appreciated any attention he got. All you had to do was glance at him a few times while he was at the bar on a particularly slow night, and he did the rest. He slid up next to you and began talking. A few more drinks in and the two of you talked until last call. It was then you asked him if he drove his truck to the bar.

A few more flirtatious lines were exchanged and then a tab was paid. By that time, the two of you were the only two left in that bar. He walked you out of the bar with his hand on your hip. The small parking lot was empty except for the owner’s truck. Jim opened the door for you and watched you get in. He stood close to you, close enough that when you turned to get in the truck, your hip brushed against his leg and your arm brushed against his chest. He was warm and firm. You settled into the truck and put your seatbelt on. Jim leaned in through the door frame, having to duck down to be able to see inside.

You turned to him and he immediately kissed you. It was rough and wet and tasted like whiskey. He grunted into your mouth and you moaned back. His large ran ran from your shoulder down to the right side of your waist, his other arm rested on the top of the door frame. Your hands grabbed at the flannel covering his chest. His silence and control was maddening; Jim had been cool and calm all evening, while he smoked and drank and smirked at you. You had been trying to maintain your control all evening and had been constantly flustered by everything he did.

His beard scratched our cheeks, his lips were soft, and the tongue he had slipped past your teeth was making your brain go fuzzy. You had been processing things a little slower since you’d been drinking for the past few hours and wondered momentarily if Jim felt the same. You suddenly pulled away from him and asked and blurted out your question.

“Are you drunk?” You asked. Your eyes were still closed and your hands were still gripping onto his chest.

“A little,” Jim said and chuckled.

He ducked back down to kiss you. You turned your head slightly, so he began licking and sucking at your neck.

“Should you be driving?” You asked.

You couldn’t help the little moans that fell out of your mouth while Jim continued to suck and lick and scrape his teeth across your skin. He grunted some type of response and reached down to unbuckle your seatbelt.

“Nope, probably not,” He mumbled into your neck.

He then began pushing you back into his truck, laying you down so he can climb in after you. You had to maneuver your body awkwardly out of the way of the gear shift, but once you moved back that, you were able to lie on your back. Jim stood at his truck door and smiled at you. He looked around the outside of the truck, making sure no one was around. The bar owner was, but he was no bother. He knew everything about everyone in this town in a way that only a bartender in a small town can. He always kept secrets.

Jim ran his hands over your thighs, gripping onto your thighs hard while he felt you up. You tried to reach out to grab his belt, but he pushed you back down.

“Stay there,” he said. Jim’s voice was rough. He smiled when he saw you eyes widen and you nod. “Why did you ask me if I had my truck?”

You paused for a moment and looked to your side. He unbuttoned your jeans and started pulling them down your legs. He pulled them off far enough so they pulled at your ankles, but they weren’t able to fall off passed your shoes. You don’t know why that question made you blush, but it did.

“I like seeing you in it,” you said softly.

“You got a thing for cops?” Jim ran his hand up and brushed his fingers against the front of your panties. You arched your hips up towards his touch and he smirked when he pressed his fingers against your core and felt how wet you were.

“Not really, I’m not sure, maybe,” you stuttered. “For you, I do.”

Jim laughed and shook his head before he leaned down to kiss you.

You sat up and reached out to touch him, pulling him closer to you so you could kiss him again. Your hands fumbled with the buttons on his flannel, taking them off one by one while he continued to rub between your legs. His other hand snaked under your shirt and lifted your bra passed your breasts so he could play with the sensitive skin of your nipples. You arched your hips up further, silently begging him to touch you more. You finally got his shirt unbuttoned and tore open the fabric. He had an undershirt on underneath and you groaned with desperation as you tried to lift his shirt over and off of him.

Jim stepped back from you and took off both his flannel and his undershirt. He threw them on the floor of his truck. You swallowed hard as you looked him over; his thick arms and broad shoulders lead to a big chest lightly covered with hair. He had a small gut, but his entire body looked so strong and when you reached out to tan your hands over his bare body, you could feel his muscles underneath his soft skin.

Jim let out a sharp breath and a deep growl from within his chest at your touch. His fingers dove back between your legs and continued to play with your covered sex. By now, your juices had completely soaked your panties and you were aware that you were desperately grounding yourself against his fingers. You could feel the pressure rising between your legs, spreading through your lower stomach and starting to make your thighs quake.

“Jim, fuck,” you panted out. You tilted your head back and closed your eyes. Jim reached his hand under your shirt and playing with your nipple again, tugging at you harshly while he did. He pressed his fingers into your panties harder, finding the hardened nub of your clit through the cloth. You immediately began to cry out. “Oh god, there, there, please, there.”

Your thighs shook while you came; your hands reached out and scraped down Jim’s chest, trying to hold onto something to ground you. He kept rubbing, pulling out every little bit of your orgasm while he continued to punch and tug at your now swollen nipple.

When the last of your orgasm had fizzled out, you let your hands fall done Jim’s bare chest to his belt. Slowly you began undoing the snaps, pulling the buckle off and then unsnapping the button. Jim’s drew lazy circles all over your now completely soaked panties, his hand inside your shirt switching to your other breast, and beginning his delicious torture on your other nipple.

“You’re lucky no one is here,” Jim said softly. He chuckled at you as he batted your hand away from his crotch and pulled his cock out himself. “Can’t imagine anyone would have missed how loud you are.”

You bit your lip and felt a small amount of shame in realizing how loudly you just came. Any shame was overshadowed by the burning that was ever increasing in between your legs. You found that cumming in the back of Chief Jim Hopper’s truck like that turned you on more than you thought it would. You knew that you had wanted him to take you in his truck, but the added fact that anyone could have just seen you two hadn’t crossed your mind until right now.

Jim noticed your response.

“You like that? Being somewhere someone could see you?” He asked.

He was stroking himself in front of you. His other hand moved out of your shirt to tear your panties down your legs, letting them fall halfway down your calves, a trail of your wetness being pulled away with them to coat your inner thighs.

“Yes,” you managed to admit quietly.

Jim pulled your shirt over your head, and pulled your bra up to your collar bones, exposing your breasts but not quite taking it off of you.

“What if someone saw you now?” Jim asked. He put his hand back between your thighs, cupping your pussy in his hand briefly before he slipped two thick fingers inside of you and began pumping them slowly.

You didn’t know how to respond, but the idea excited you, and so you moaned. You let out a deep, guttural moan that surprised even you. You didn’t expect to be discovering a whole other side of you that evening when you began flirting with the chief, but you were glad you were. Jim continued fingering you, alternating between slow deep strokes in and hard, fast strokes that left you whimpering and shifting underneath his touch, but not quite reaching climax.

Jim looked down at you wiggling below him, with your eyes closed, and lips parted. He smirked. A pretty thing like yourself came across his path from time to time, but it was becoming increasingly rare for him to get to spend time like this with anyone. Jim felt like he was losing his edge, that with his age and with the small town rumor mill that talked about its chief of police constantly, he was starting to lose his appeal.

Those doubts faded when he heard you whimper and moan desperately underneath him. When you reached your hand out to start stroking his cock for him, gripping it at the base and running it slowly and firmly up to his tip and back down again, those doubts all but disappeared.

“Chief, fuck me,” you whimpered.

Jim removed his fingers from you, squeezing your clit once as he did, making your hips buck and pussy clench with need. He let you use your hand to guide him into your entrance, pressing his hips into yours as he entered you slowly. Jim traced his fingers, slick with your juices across your lips and pushed them inside of your mouth as he began to pump into you, his large, thick cock stretching your walls and giving you that perfect full feeling that caused wet heat to spread through you lower body.

Jim bucked his hips into you in long, rhythmic strokes. You continued to suck on and moan around his fingers, your hands grabbing onto his arm, chest, back, whatever you could reach. He panted above you, grunting when he heard your moans. Jim started fucking you harder as he took his fingers out of your mouth and put his hand behind your head, gripping your hair in his fist.

With his other hand he held onto your hips, holding you steady when you began to shake. You wanted to wrap your legs around him, but with your pants and underwear still danging by your ankles, you couldn’t do much more than lie there and let him fuck you.

This fact was not lost on you. A part of you enjoyed knowing that you were limited in your ability to move. You shited your position only when Jim grabbed your thigh and bend your legs upwards more, bringing your knees to your chest and turning your hips sideways. The new position made his cock rub you in a new way, your pussy clenching onto him with each stroke. You felt every single movement inside of you and shake your head back and forth, moans and “oh my god” and Jim’s name falling from your lips like a mantra.

You came underneath him suddenly, thighs shaking, screaming out a string of incomprehensible words and moans. You knew you were loud, and you could hear Jim grunting and moaning above you between your own cries.

He fucked you through your orgasm, watching your body shake, and then go slightly limp, and then tense up when you came down from your high, and rapidly approached a new one. You realized that Jim was moaning out his own string of words. You could make out the phrases “so fucking wet”, “cum for me”, and “such a good little slut”, inbetween his grunts. The last little phrase sent you over the edge again, and you dug your nails into the seat of his truck, as you came again. You arched your back off of the seat, tearing away from your back as your sweat had made you stick to the leather. Jim’s fingers still tangled in your hair tugged at you delightly painfully as you felt his thrusts became more erratic and felt his thighs quake against yours.

You knew he was close and just before you could shift backwards so he’d pull out, he did so himself, rapidly stroking his own cock as he came over your still quaking thighs. Jim collaseped on top of you, finally letting go of your hair and moving his hand from your now sore and swollen nipples.

“Fuck,” Jim said with a laugh.

He ran his hand through his hair and stood up. He wiped his cock off with his hand and buckled his pants back up.

You laughed softly yourself and watched him put his clothes back on. You sat up, but continued to lie on the seat of his truck. Now that Jim had stepped back from you to put his clothes back on, you could feel the cold night air rapidly drying your sweat and his cum that was on your thighs. You pulled down your bra and shirt and sat up, looking from your legs, to Jim, and back again.

“Oh shit,” Jim said. “Sorry.”

He looked around his truck for anything to wipe you off with. He found some old napkins in the back of his truck and handed them to you. You scoffed, but took them, wiping yourself off with the rough material. You threw the napkins on the ground and Jim turned around and picked them up, mumbling something about littering. You pulled your underwear and pants back up. While you did, you were laughing at the Hawkins Chief of Police picking up the napkins from the ground and walking to a nearby trashcan to throw them away.

He came back and looked at you still sitting in his truck, hair a mess, beard burn on your cheeks. He had to admit, he was a bit proud of himself for making you look like this.

“Can I get a ride home?” You asked softly, hoping that even though this was the first time you met the Chief, that he’d still be willing to drive you home. “If you’re sober enough now.”

“I’m fine,” Jim said, his tone was harsher than you’d heard it before. You’d struck a nerve. “Get in.”

He drove you home mostly in silence. You realized just how quiet of a man Jim was. You’d always seen him as such a large figure in town, it never occured to you until now just how contemplative he was.

He kissed you goodnight when he dropped you off. The two of you didn’t exchange numbers or make any indication of an intention to see one another again, but you weren’t expecting that. You noticed that he waited until you had made it inside and waved back to him that you were okay before he drove off.

When you got home you locked the door behind you. You checked the clock: 3:30am. No one you knew would be up now, but you desperately wanted to call, at least, your best friend to tell them what had happened. That would have to wait until the morning. It wasn’t like you to want to contribute to the Hawkin’s rumor mill, but at least you’d be able to spread the rumor that the Chief of Police was worth spending an hour or two with.

…

Please let me know if you want to be tagged. Any feedback is welcome. Thanks for reading!

#jim hopper x reader #jim chief hopper x reader #chief jim hopper x reader #hopper x reader #jim hopper x you

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slutforgoodliterature · 5 years

Text

Thor x Reader - Bump n’ Grind

prompt: you meet Thor in a revel and begin to get hot n heavy in the crowd

warnings: grinding, fingering, Voyeurism, smut, slight alcohol use

You were lost in the music, bodies pushing on you from each side. This revel was like none you’d ever been to; there were hundreds of people, ten times the amount of drinks and these strange purple berries you were quite hesitant to try.

The people around you seemingly had no qualms ingesting them, but their pupils grew to be twice the size and they immediately pounced on the nearest person in a sexual frenzy.

There was another reason this revel was so grand, and the main reason you were there:

Thor Odinson was rumoured to be coming.

So far you’d seen no sign of the god of thunder, but you were easily distracted by another glass being thrust into your hand. Without hesitation, you threw it back, savouring the warmth in brought to you.

Trance-like music filled the air, as did the shouts and laughs of the people around you. Most of them were around your age or a bit older, intoxicated as hell and grinding up on multiple people.

Your sleeveless white linen dress clung to your sweaty skin, showing off every curve and dip of your body. One pair of roaming hands were on your waist (a good looking soldier behind you) and another pair were skimming up your arms (a seriously attractive maid of some sort with flowers in her dark hair.

You smiled at her and pulled her close, letting the throng of bodies move your own with the beat of the music. Eyesight hazy and head spinning, you allowed yourself to drown in the revel, your worries and obligations gone until morning.

You scanned the crowd for another drink when your eyes met a pair of brilliant blue ones. You took in his shoulder-length blonde hair, strong jaw and full lips before your brain caught up with you.

That’s Thor Odinson.

No one else seemed to have noticed him, but to be fair the sky could begin falling and they wouldn’t notice. You were trapped in his gaze, like a moth to a flame, and watched him as he made his way through the crowd to you, never taking his hungry eyes off of you.

You found yourself being pulled towards him by an invisible force, helpless to stop your feet from shuffling towards the hulking god. Once you met him, he trailed a thick finger up your arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. You were completely mesmerised by him; he was even better looking in person. So pretty it hurts.

He let out a deep laugh and you realised with a jolt that you had just said that out loud.

“My lord, I am so sorry, I-” You bowed your head in respect, and also to hide your flushed cheeks, but a firm hand under your chin forced your head back up.

“It’s alright, my pet.” He stated in his honey-like voice which sents shivers down your spine. “I get it quite a lot.”

You were able to overlook the arrogance because of course he would get that all the time, have you seen the guy?!

“Th-Thank you for your understanding, my lord.” You stuttered, your entire being focused on the hand he kept under your chin. He hummed in appreciation at your comment.

“I like you calling me that.” His eyes darkened and he moved forwards to crowd your space, leaving less than an inch between his hard body are your shivering one. “You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you?” He mused, drawing his other hand around your waist and pulling you flush against him. He eyes dropped your heaving chest, your breasts very visble through the thin, wet and white material of your dress.

“Thank you, my lord.” You thanked him again almost breathlessly, studying his face and committing it to memory, but the memories of revels were always hazy. Hopefully, this would not be a moment you did not recall in the morning.

Thor's head dipped down to your shoulder and he began placing hard, opened mouth kissing along your exposed skin, his beard scratching deliciously against your soft skin. You mewled, craning your neck to the side to give him more space. He trailed kisses all the way up to your jaw and then to the corner of your mouth.

There, he stopped, torturing you with want and desire. He held eye contact with you as he leaned his forehead against your own, his hot breath fanning your face.

“What is it that you want, my pet?” His lips were turned up in a sensual smile, his gruff voice melting you into a pool of lust.

“You, my lord.” You muttered, your eyes staring at his lips hungrily. You watched as his tongue darted out between them.

“Who am I to disappoint a maiden as fair as yourself?” He finally closed the distance between your lips, his hot mouth enveloping yours with such a force you were surprised you didn’t fall through the ground.

His hand wrapped around your jaw and tilted your head up so he wasn’t straining his neck as much, as he was a good couple of heads taller than you and an easy 90 pounds of pure muscle heavier than you.

Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling at the strands and eliciting a groan from Thor. In response, he grabbed your ass through your dress, kneading it roughly. With one hand, he lifted you off the ground causing you to squeal and break the kiss, wrapping your bare legs around his torso.

“Hold on, love.” He growled in your ear as he walked a few long strides to the nearest wall and crushed you against it. The cold stones bit into your back, making you gasp and arch your body in Thor’s.

He grabbed your wrists with one hand and lifted them over your head, pinning them above you. His other hand skimmed up your thigh, dragging your dress up with it. The sounds of the revel faded away as he presses his hips into yours, grinding against you.

The feeling of his thick clothes and his even thicker member against your barely covered heat was driving you insane. You tugged at your wrists, trying to free them but his grip tightened around them as he continued to move his hips against yours.

“Play nice, little bird.” He growled into your ear, his own breathing hitching with each thrust of his hips. The pressure felt incredible, but you wanted more. Needed more.

“My lord, please...I-” You were cut off by your own moan following a particularly rough jerk of his hips. “I need you to...” You trailed off, squirming under his intense gaze.

“Yes?” He teased, the hand that wasn’t holding your wrists dipped between you to cup your heat lightly. The tiny amount of friction he was providing drove you insane. “Say it.” He ordered, his voice carried the power of the god of thunder.

“Touch me, please.” You groaned, trying in vain you rub yourself against his hand but he didn’t allow it, always moving his hand away when you needed his touch the most. But once you said please, he was eager to oblige you.

His fingers dipped below your underwear and stroked up your slit. He moaned in appreciation.

“So wet for me, for your king.” He sucked on a spot under your ear and stroked you again, causing you to positively purr in pleasure.

You tugged on your wrists again but to no avail.

“My king, let me please you.” You groaned and earned a low laugh in response.

“Not just yet my pet, there’ll be plenty of time for that later.” His fingers finally found their way to your entrance, and you could feel a thick digit pushing against your walls. “Right now, I’m going to unravel you.” His promise made your toes curl, or maybe that was the finger he was currently pushing inside you.

Your legs tightened around his waist, straining to keep yourself off the ground, but they were becoming shaky and you swore as you began to slip.

With a growl, Thor released your hands and gripped under your ass to stop you from falling. At the same time, his finger entered you completely and he curled it inside of you, pressing against a spot that had you seeing stars.

Your hands delved into his hair and tugged, your head falling back against the wall and your neck was bared to the god of thunder. He attacked it, sucking marks across your throat and along your decolletage. You knew he was marking you so the whole world could see just how talented he was, and you welcomed it.

His finger was joined by another, and your walls stretched to accommodate them. The mere size of his fingers had you thinking about the size of other things, making you shiver in anticipation. He continued to move them inside of you, curling them and reaching that spot that drew moan after moan out of your lips.

The loud music drowned them out, and you were too high on pleasure to care that people could probably see what you were doing. But even if they did, all they’d see is you being finger fucked against a wall by Thor Odinson, Ruler of Asgard and god of thunder.

Suddenly, his thumb began to rub quick circles against your clit, sending your mind into overdrive. There were too many sensations to focus on: his fingers in you, his thumb on you and his mouth still working up your neck.

As if sensing you were on the edge, he quickly captured your mouth with his and drowned out your scream of his name as you came. Your legs shook around his waist, your eyes rolling as you saw stars behind your eyelids.

He murmured praises as you came down, his fingers working you through your mindblowing orgasm. “That’s it, my pet. Such a good girl.” He rested his forehead against yours, his own breathing ragged and uneven.

His fingers didn’t stop moving, and the pleasure was becoming unbearable. You reached down and scrabbled at his wrist, begging him to stop.

“Thor, please, I can’t-” You gasped, your body convulsing as another orgasm began building rapidly in the pit of your stomach.

“You can, and you will.” He ordered, his low voice like honey to your ears. He stilled his thumb, allowing you a short respite but the fingers never ceased their movements.

You decided that if he was going to play at this game, you’d go along with it. You gripped him tightly through his pants, palming his erection. His hips jerked forwards and he let out a growl.

“I didn’t say you could-” But you cut him off with a punishing kiss. He was surprised at your sudden strength but you could tell he delighted in it. He moaned into your mouth, regaining dominance as he held your head against the wall with his kiss. His tongue danced with yours and his teeth nipped at your lips.

You found a way under his pants and finally gripped his bare member, which felt like an iron rod wrapped in velvety skin. He gasped and curled his fingers in you more than ever, making a wave of sheer pleasure run up your spine and cause your hair to stand on end.

Your small hand tightened around him and you began to stroke him, starting from the base and flicking your wrist towards the tip. He started to jerk his hips into your hand, grinding against you once more.

His thumb resumed its torturous circles and you chanted his name like a prayer, so close to yet another intense orgasm. This time, you were determined to take him with you. As his fingers sped up, so did your hand, and soon you two were humping each other, chasing your orgasms.

He suddenly added a third finger, and your mind and soul exploded into a million little pieces, floating off in the cosmos. You were registered his animalistic growl as he followed you, spurting his load onto your hand and the front of your dress.

It took a couple of minutes for you to both piece yourselves together, your foreheads resting against one another. By the time you opened your eyes, he was already looking at with such adoration and fascination it made your stomach flip and your cheeks blush.

He removed his fingers from you and lifting them up to his mouth where he licked them clean. You watched all this with wide eyes.

“You surprised me.” He finally spoke in a low voice. “I am not often surprised.” He studied your face, hitching an eyebrow in confusion, but a flustered smile stayed plastered on his face.

“You surprised me, too.” You said breathlessly, reaching up to wipe your sweat-soaked hair of your brow. His hand covered yours and he held it against your cheek, his smile widening as you leant your face against them tenderly.

“What’s your name, little bird?” He asked, and you smiled, the prospect of something new hanging in the humid air.

#thor odinson #thor x reader #avengerssmut #Smut

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heroes-r-us · 5 years

Text

Endeavor|Nsfw alphabet|A-Z|

Hope you enjoy! {ya thirsty hoes} |I’m just kidding i love u|

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

He is a really hard person to read. So, I guess it would depend on how much you mean to him. If your some side fling or a random he picked up from a bar, then its highly unlikely that he'll stay. If he's invested though, like you live with him, or he's keeping you in an apartment of his, then he'll most likely stay and keep you company.

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

I think he'd like either his hands or his cock on himself, maybe his arms too. Since its a fact he's an ass man, I'll have to say your ass and thighs probably.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

Inside. He always cums inside you, but since he put you on birth control, it isn't that big of a deal... unless he decides to give you placebos instead. He second favorite place to cum is on your face, it makes him feel in charge and we all know how much he likes to be the top dog.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

I can't imagine him having a secret since he'd get to do whatever he pleased all the time, and he doesn't strike me as a person who'd keep something he's into a secret unless it's REALLY out there. But maybe he secretly likes it when you praise him. Like telling how big he is, how you love his muscles, and how sexy his voice is. He's really into that.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

*Inhales* Boi.

But for real, like he knows what he's doing. Like, this bitch has what?? Four kids?? Yeah, he could probably make you cum just by talking to you.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Prison Guard and Plow are some of his go-to's, as well as Snowdrop and Downward Dog. If he's feeling gracious... maybe he'll let you face him. (The Fall position)

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

I'm thinking if YOU were making dumbass jokes during sex, he'd end up gagging you so you can't talk. He's hella serious and does not appreciate comedy in the bedroom.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

I think he'd keep it trimmed, but he has no desire to shave it or anything, doesn't put all that much effort into it either.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

He's really rough around the edges, so if you go around saying I love you, he'll take it as a way of begging, mostly because he doesn't know how to react otherwise. He usually has you facing away from him, but sometimes he'll indulge himself and turn you around to watch your expressions. In rare times when he takes it slow, he'll bite at your neck and give you hickies. (Kisses are also rare, as he isn't very into being soft or letting his guard down.)

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

He doesn't do it a lot, mostly because he knows you're at home, and it's much more satisfying doing it with you than with his hand. But on the occasion you aren't home or unavailable, he'll pump out his frustrations quickly, he has no desire to test his limits or be caught from taking too long.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Oh, FucK HeRE wE GO!!

He likes being in charge, and keeping it that way is important. So expect a lot of, Master and Slave, Daddy Dom, Owner and pet and a little bit of Sadism sprinkled in. He probably has a breeding kink too, and if you ask him to impregnate you then he'll probably take you seriously, so be careful what you say in the bedroom. He'd probably like to tie you up and leave small singed areas of flesh on your neck and thighs because you're HIS. There's more but just know that anything where he's in charge, he'd be into.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

He likes the bedroom. Anywhere else is disgusting and he hates cleaning up messes in places where it isn't easy to dispose of the filth. A bed is easy, just change the fucking sheets and you're done. Unless you clean it up, he won't do it. Ironically he may fuck you in public restrooms and since they're already disgusting, he never bothers to clean up the mess, plus he has the pleasure of your extensive embarrassment from your awkward waddle back to your chair. For the rest of the meal, he'll be purring like a smug cat. Well, more like a smug lion.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

He's really into lingerie, especially ones that are really soft and girly. Small things with bows, lace, and garters. He's also very into finding you bound, gagged, blindfolded, legs spread, ass up and head down. If you want him to go really crazy, go ahead and put some lingerie on while in that position.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

Anything that has him in a sub position. Or just something generally disgusting like scat play or some shit like that.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Definitely prefers to receive it, although he doesn't really mind being between your thighs as it gives him an opportunity to mark you, he relishes the way you look up at him submissively when sucking him off.

P = Pace (Are they fats and rough? Slow and sensual? Etc.)

(Lol “Fats”)

He is rough like 90% of the time, but he normally takes it slower as he likes to take his time in pleasuring himself. He used to go much faster but alas, as he ages he admits that slowing down a bit is nicer.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He really has no preference, he likes both proper and quickies rather equally, but he usually has proper sex more often since he hates being rushed.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

I'm not too sure on this one, but I think that he wouldn't be opposed to something a little different. Perhaps a love hotel that accommodates his size would be interesting enough to try. Then he could experiment on you a little bit.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

It depends on how long it's been since he's fucked you. If you had walked out on him in a rage and he had to entice you back, (Which may take around a month) then he'd probably go for much longer than normal. He'd ask you if you missed his cock and tell you that you should feel grateful that he even let you feel the euphoria of it in you.

So, normally 3-4 rounds, but if he hasn't bed you in a while, then all night wouldn't be an exaggeration.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Maybe... but he'd probably only own a couple because he'd rather use his hands. That being said, he really only likes to use vibrators and such on you. If he wants anything more complicated than a vibrator or dildo, he'll take you to a love hotel.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

UGH! He likes to tease way too much, even after you said CLEARLY that enough was enough, he'll keep going until he feels as though you've begged enough.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

I'm stuck between “He's really fucking loud like he doesn't give a shit.” and “He hardly makes any noises except occasional grunts and heavy breathing. He dirty talks A LOT though.”

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

As much as he likes to see you tied up, he's slightly impatient and I can't ever see him spending time carefully constructing an intricate pattern of rope tightly bound onto your skin. He probably dislikes extensive roleplay as well. Listen, he's here to fuck you, not listen to you explain the rules of what being an actual Daddy Dom are. He's willing to play along for a short period of time, really only long enough to get in your pants.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Oh lOrD hAVe MeRcY

I'd say a good 8 or 9 inches, and it's really thick too! (Hell, it would burn the first time he took you. . . get it? BURN. Haaaaa) Also, a few veins and the head is slightly larger than the shaft, and the shaft has a slight curve to it as well.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

It's not as high as it used to be, which is a miracle cause its still pretty high. If he could fulfill his urges whenever they struck... let's just say you'd probably be pregnant.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterward)

Probably not too quickly, he may scroll through his phone until you fall asleep. He has this uncomfortability of falling asleep before you. He doesn't like the idea of you being alert while he's unconscious. (It's probably a superiority thing.)

#bnha endeavor #mha endeavor #endeavor x reader #endeavor mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #my hero academia x reader #pro heroes x reader #mha #my hero academia endeavor #boku no hero academia endeavor #mha x reader #bnha x reader

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thecleverdame · 5 years

Text

The Woodsman - 3

Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader

Masterlist

Summary: A/B/O Fairy Tale - You’re a sheltered, thirty-something princess on the run from your brother, the newly crowned ‘Mad King’ of France. When you’re waylaid by marauders and left for dead in the forest, a gruff woodsman nurses you back to health.

Warnings: A/B/O smut, knotting, language, violence, assault, non-con

Word Count: 32,000

The entire story is complete and available now on Patreon. subscribe for a pledge of $2.50 a month and get access to this and other Patreon exclusive content.

Despite his animosity toward you, Sam is a better man than any you’ve come across before. You believe his words, you trust with all your heart that he would protect you if the situation arose.

He deserves the truth.

“My father, King Henry, died last year.” You look down to your lap, wringing your hands together.

“We heard news of his passing,” Sam confirms softly, watching intently as your facade drops and is replaced by real, raw emotion that spreads from your eyes to your mouth. This is the authentic you, without the dressings of pomp and circumstance, the you he knew was in there if only he could get to it. Sam recognizes it when he sees it.

“As the line of succession dictates my oldest brother, William, assumed the throne.” You continue.

“The one they call the Mad King?” Sam’s eyes narrow. Perhaps beyond reason, he’s looking for an excuse to believe in you. “Did he not treat you well?”

You take a pregnant breath, tipping your head back. Just get it over with.

“When we were children William and I were close, very close. It’s a bond that only grew as we aged. Perhaps he was always a bit of a dandy but I loved him for it. The two of us had an appreciation for the finer things our life affords; the cuisine and modern fashions. Certainly more than any of my other siblings.”

Sam is silent, his arm crossed over his chest.

“It was around the time my father fell ill that I noticed a change in his behavior. I found William talking to himself in his bedchambers one afternoon, but his symptoms would come and go. I should have told my father before he died, perhaps he could have done something, ensured my brother Daniel assumed the throne instead...but I said nothing. I didn’t want to embarrass William in front of our parents, they already thought him weak and I didn’t want to exacerbate the situation.”

“I wouldn’t know until much later what was happening to him, and by then it was too late. You have to understand Samuel, I always knew that William had a proclivity for...men. I found him in the stables with a serf when I was twelve and it was our secret. He’d had a lover for many years, an older man named, Anton, who slowly went insane. As fate would have it Anton passed away just before my father. I thought maybe it was William’s grief rearing its head after losing the person he cared for most but wasn’t permitted to openly grieve for. Then our father pass. He and Anton died within a week, so close together. It wasn’t until after William’s coronation that I saw the rash on his hands, then the ulcers.”

“Syphilis?” Sam asks calmly.

“Yes,” you nod. “His behavior became increasingly erratic. He started to have these delusions of paranoia. He came to believe that there was a secret society of people trying to infiltrate our family, assassins who would stop at nothing to see us all dead. When it was time for him marry and declare a queen he refused every woman in the kingdom. He said he couldn’t trust anyone outside of the family. So he chose our sister Elizabeth. He married our sister and then he ordered me to do the same...to marry our brother, Philip. I pleaded with him but he would hear none of it.”

Sam’s heart drops. He’s pictured you as a spoiled woman running away from a privileged life, perhaps an arranged marriage, but nothing like this.

“When I refused William saw me a conspirator. I no longer had free will. I was given an order from the King on pain of death. I’d be expected to consummate a marriage with…” You stop swallowing tears. “I would not lie with my brother, so I had no other choice but to leave or be killed.”

“You should have told me,” Sam runs a hand over his face. “We could have taken precautions. I certainly wouldn't have paraded you around the village.”

“I think, perhaps, I am still trying to protect William. And I’m scared and desperate and utterly humiliated. And now I am alone.” You feel sick. As if the contents of your stomach might find themselves on the ground in front of you.

“No,” Snapping to attention, Sam grabs your shoulder, turning you toward him. “You’re not alone.”

There’s a soft affection in his eyes that you haven’t noticed before. His face is close to yours and you wonder how you’ve failed to appreciate how handsome he is.

“I should have moved on as soon as I was healthy enough to travel. I’ve brought this trouble upon you and you asked for none of it. If I’m honest, I’d say that I don’t know what to do. When the thieves killed my companions they took everything from me. I’ve nothing left and nowhere to go.”

“You don’t have to go anywhere.” Sam rubs his hands together. “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like.”

“If I stay it will make you a compatriot.” You protest.

“Let that be my concern.” His brow narrows like a father prying truth for a child. “Have you told me everything?”

“Yes.”

“Then you’re welcome here. However,” He stands up, looking out at the fields and he shoves his hands into his pockets. “You’ll have to tell me when your heat comes. I’ll need warning.”

“That won’t be an issue…” You close your eyes at the humiliation of having to explain yourself. “I know you think very little of my husband and the kind of man he was. That the thought of him is amusing to you. But I loved him very much. He was a good man and when he died a part of me did too. Something happened to me, I don’t know what but I don’t - I haven’t had a heat in years.”

You expect some sliver of witty repartee, at least a snide comment about Omegas and your lack of any useful skill, but he says nothing.

Sam simply nods and offers you his hand.

You take it, sliding your palm over his warm, rough skin. There’s a tingle in your chest, something faint and low. If you weren’t so broken you might have a stronger response to the touch of an Alpha, but this is...something.

---

The fact that Sam’s brother is also an Alpha is an inescapable fact. His scent is lighter, perhaps a bit sweeter than Sam’s, but not at all pleasing to the senses. Maybe he’s coming off rut or perhaps his smell is always this strong, all you know is that it makes your stomach turn as the three of you sit down for supper.

“You seem on edge.” Sam leans toward you, lifting his chin in your direction.

“I’m perfectly fine.” You brush him off, ladling stew into a bowl.

Dean pulls his chair closer to the table, dipping a spoon into the concoction and letting it drip back into the bowl. His eyes shift from Sam to you. “What is this?”

“Pottage,” you grimace, looking at him as if he’s a lunatic. What else could it possibly be? “Is there something wrong?”

You spent all afternoon cutting vegetables and adding spices, sweating over the hearth like a common scullery maid. You stink of lard and cooked meat and you most definitely don’t appreciate his apprehension.

“No,” Dean raises his forehead and pouts his lower lip. “It just looks bit runny.”

“I’m sure it’s wonderful,” Sam nods, shoveling a spoonful into his mouth. You watch expectantly as his features tense and he grunts, then starts to slowly chew. He crunches his way through a carrot that should be soft.

Dean sniffs at his helping before digging in and his reaction is far less polite. He spits it back into the bowl as you look on in horror. “I’m sorry,” he raises his hands, palms up. “But I can’t even pretend. It tastes like a salt lick.”

Sam shouts, putting his fingers to his mouth and pulling away with a small piece of bone. “I may have just cracked a tooth.”

You sit back in your chair, defeated. You’d be offended if you had an ounce of energy left, but you’re exhausted. It hasn't helped that Dean’s scent is the only thing you can concentrate on. You can still distinguish Sam’s Alpha in the mix, but it takes concentration.

The version of yourself that first arrived here would be indigent at their reactions, after all, you have tried your best. But you are decidedly not the same woman, so you give up pretense and burst into stomach aching laughter that makes your eyes water. Sam grins and Dean laughs along with you until you’re waving your hand in front of your face. “I told Samuel I couldn’t cook to save my life, but he insisted.”

“I won’t make the same mistake twice.” Sam smiles.

After a more appetizing dinner of bread, cured meat and too much wine, Dean finally leaves and you can breathe again.

“You hardly touched your food.” Sam comments.

“I don’t have much of an appetite.”

“Are you feeling ill?”

“I do have a bit of a weak stomach this evening. I like your brother, and his stories, very much; but he stinks. I’m glad he’s taken his leave. I was ready to go to the barn for the remainder of the evening.”

Sam knows leaps and bounds more about the dynamics of Alphas and Omegas than you, comparatively his knowledge could fill books while you would struggle to write a sonnet. So, he knows that claimed and bonded Omegas are especially sensitive to the scent of other Alphas. His mother could never stand the smell of any Alpha other than his father, it set her on edge and made her stomach turn.

He stinks.

Sam chalks it up to the fact that you’ve been living in his house. All this time around each other is not natural and it’s bound to have unintended effects.

Yes, that has to be it.

---

Time passes quickly as months turn into seasons. Spring turns into a warm summer that inevitably fades to fall. If you had to account for your time you’d be hard pressed to explain where the days escape to. You and Sam find a rhythm that’s tolerable, but often contentious.

It’s still in the early hours of the morning, the sun barely cresting over the horizon as he hands you the list.

“It’s one task, but it’s important. You must get everything in the proportions listed and boil them according to the instructions. It needs to be exact. Do you understand?” Sam implores.

“Yes.” stifling a yawn you place the back of a hand to your lips.

“I’ll be back just after dark. Have it ready by then.” Sam leans down, insisting your full attention. “Are you certain you can handle this?”

“Samuel,” you pick a small bite of the bread form the loaf and pop it into your mouth. “Do you have no faith in me at all? It’s one trip to the village. I am not a child.”

“That’s still up for debate.” He grumbles. He’s been in an absolutely rancid mood for the last several days.

“I won’t let you down.” Dropping a sprig of pine needle into a mug of hot water you don’t even look up as he leaves.

Perhaps if you hadn’t gone back to bed all of this could have been avoided. What’s the saying? You can take the princess out of the castle, but not the castle from the princess.

You’ve never been an early riser and you don’t see the harm in crawling back into bed for just a short while.

When you do awake it’s midday and there’s still plenty of time to make the walk to the herbalist. You assume this concoction he’s requested is for his back, you’ve suspected he’s been in pain for several days. Not only had his attitude soured more than normal but he’s been twitchy and marginally more aggressive.

You dress, gathering a sack and his all-important list, ready to begin your journey. You set up off toward the village at a brisk pace, humming to yourself when you see one of the chickens along the side of the path. The bird is farther from the house than she should be. After several failed attempts you lift her into your arms and walk her back to the coop.

When you open the door to the pen four others dart out, squawking and trotting free around the yard. The afternoon devolves quickly into early evening as you battle chickens and then, by an unfathomable twist of circumstance, the dairy cow that liberates herself from the field.

By the time the animals are secured, the sun is setting and you failed to accomplish the lone task Sam gave you.

You smell him before he’s inside. You’re on your knees stoking the fire when the familiar but unnervingly intense aroma comes to your attention. It’s easy to place Sam’s scent, you know it well, but this is stronger than it should be.

The small door flies open with a bang, hitting the wall with enough force to shake the structure. You pop to your feet as Sam stalks inside. He’s sweating, his mouth twisted in discomfort when he looks at you.

It’s his rut.

How could you have not known this was coming? He’s been showing signs for days and you just ignored them, blissfully unaware of his impending cycle.

“Where is it?” He grits. His eyes flutter shut, teeth sinking over his lip as he scents the air, head tilting from one side to the other. The drink he wanted was for this, a herbal suppression to keep his instincts at bay.

Horrified you step back and admit, “I didn’t...a lot of things happened today and I didn’t have the chance-”

“Run,” he mutters, his expression numbing, visibly struggling to restrain himself. Inching away from the door his eyes go wide and his lip curls. “Run, now!”

“Samuel,” you hesitate as the meaning of his words sink in. Panic surges from your head to your legs and you pick up your skirts and dash into the night.

You make it halfway to the stable before two great hands are around your waist, hoisting you into the air and over his shoulder. Sam plucks you off the ground like a sack of grain and stalks toward the open door of the barn.

“Put me down!” You shout, hammering your fists at his back.

And he does, he drops you unceremoniously onto the hay covered floor and pounces on top of you.

“Samuel, please don’t.” You hit his chest, small hands trying to push him off, but resistance is futile. His large stature affords him easy restraint as you buck under the weight of him. Your flailing legs, kicking wildly, are hampered as he wedges his hips between your thighs.

“Stop squirming,” he snarls, hooking a hand under your knee to bend your leg, letting the heft of his body hold you to the ground. His hand ventures under your dress, one big rough hand grabbing at the bare skin of your legs all the while pressing his face into your neck, drawing in a deep breath before dragging his nose and open mouth across the swell of your breasts.

“Please don’t do this,” tears fall from the corners of your eyes.

“I said stop moving.” He smacks the side of your face with an open hand, strong enough to make a sickening crack. Sam’s eyes are blown wide, crazed by the swell of all-consuming lust. This is not the man who opened his home to you, this is someone foreign and terrifying. He reaches up, pinning both arms above your head with one hand as the other ventures between your thighs.

His fingers poke at the lips of your sex and you screw your eyes shut, turning your head to the side. Without the slightest hesitation, he shoves his middle and index finger inside your pussy, pushing until he’s knuckle deep.

You should be wet for him. It doesn’t matter that you’re not a willing partner, any normal Omega should respond to his rut by making you ripe and ready, but instead, he forces two long fingers into your bone dry snatch and you yelp in pain. If he fucks you like this he’ll tear you open, a realization that makes you fight even harder.

“You’re hurting me,” you scream, a sob tearing from your throat.

“You’ll slick up once I have my cock in you.” He sneers, reaching for his trousers.

There’s a hollow popping sound as a large piece of firewood connects with Sam’s head. His eyes roll back and he collapses, the weight of him knocking the air from your chest.

Dean’s face is above you.

He rolls Sam’s limp body off you with a grunt, looking from you to his brother. “I told him it wasn’t a good idea to stay here with you. He wouldn’t listen.”

You scramble backward, straightening your skirt, wiping tears from your face. Sam’s laid out flat on his back, his mouth open like a fish gulping for air. He makes a faint sound, a pained groan as his head falls to the side.

“Is he hurt?” On hands and knees, you crawl to Sam, putting a hand on his forehead. You inspect him, running fingers through his hair until you find the growing bump at the base of his skull.

“I didn’t hit him that hard.” Dean leans down giving his brother a once over.

“This was my fault.” You confess, smoothing hair away from his face. “If I had just done what he asked none of this would have happened.”

Dean tilts his head toward you. “He never drank the tincture?”

“I didn’t know what if was for, he didn’t tell me...I didn’t have it ready”

“I wasn’t even entirely convinced it would work, especially with an Omega living in his house. You two are playing with fire. If he took you, like this…” Dean shakes his head at you with disgust. “He’d never forgive himself.”

“I know,” you’re defeated. You sit back onto the filthy floor of the barn. “I’ve never seen anything like that before. He wasn’t Samuel, the way he was looking at me....”

“A rut’s enough to make any Alpha react like that, but he’s had you around...it’s not a smart situation for either of you.”

“Should we take him inside?” You propose.

“You’re going inside and I’m taking Sam with me. It’ll pass in a couple of days.”

It’s almost a week before he returns.

Dean comes every morning and evening, tending to Sam’s livestock and handling a growing list of common tasks that you have no pension for. Had someone told you six months prior that you’d be living in a rickety cottage, pining away for a forester, you’d have told them the very idea was preposterous. But you do miss Sam, more than you care to admit.

Sam returns just before dusk, the sun is hanging low over the horizon. There’s a tapping on the door, Sam knocking at the door of his own home before slowly coming inside.

You stand next to the table, hands clasped in front of you, strangely formal for such a moment. You almost forgot how large he is until he’s standing in the same room again, looming over you like a sad, regretful giant.

He clears his throat before addressing you. “I’m sorry, for anything I did. I can’t remember much but Dean said he thinks I might have...hurt you.”

“No,” you reply quickly, taking a step toward him. If he doesn’t remember, you’re not about to make him relive it. “I will admit I was bit scared but no damage was done.” You worry your tone is too upbeat, inappropriate for the setting but you’re just unbearably happy to see him. “I think we both did a few things that we regret...or in my case lack thereof, but I was hoping that maybe we could forgo the apologies and unpleasantness and try to return to what we were. I don’t think we need to speak about it.”

“I’d like that as well,” he smiles tightly.

And it’s never spoken of again.

---

“Let’s see it then.” Sam holds out his hand.

You don’t even want to show him. Sam never misses an opportunity to mention that your elite education has no practical application. He’d gone on and on about finding a skill, anything to make yourself useful, so you recruited Martha to help you. After talking over the options you decided candle making was a good place to start. It didn’t appear difficult.

Sam slows his pace, taking the beeswax from you and examining it. He turns it upside down and right side up as his brow furrows. “What is it?”

“You are not serious?” You’re taken aback by his question. He shakes head and looks back to the mystery object. You stop in your tracks, folding arms over your chest. “It’s a candle!”

He looks skeptically from you to the candle, then back again. “This is a candle? Surely there’s there some kind of mold that one puts the wax into to provide more of a shape.”

“Well,” you concede, “There was a mold but I applied too much heat and removed it before it set correctly.” Sam just stares at you, his face deadpan, and then breaks out into a full body laugh. His shoulders shake and his chest heaves, apparent delight that racks his entire body. “It’s not that funny,” you correct him as your good nature fades.

At least you tried, shouldn’t he focus on that?

“Oh Princess, it is that funny.” He’s laughing so hard that a tear leaks from his eyes and he wipes from his face with his sleeve. “You can’t pour wax into a mold.”

“It is more complicated than it looks, Samuel. I can assure you,” your indignant tones just amused him all the more and he bends over with his hands on knees.

---

He’s told you not to touch the mighty sword that hangs above the hearth. He mentioned it only one time, commenting that it was his late father’s blade and it’s not to be tinkered with, but you want to do something for him. Something special.

You start the day with energized determination. For once you’re going to be the one who has something to offer, a gift. It’s been weeks since his return and you’re ready to pitch in and help. Sam’s been a more than a generous host, managing to take care of your needs as well as those of his livestock and business.

When you were a girl you pictured your father as the ideal of what a man should be. He was an intellectual who spent his days meeting with advisors and surrounded himself with men much more intelligent than himself. He knew one man was simply not capable of understanding the nuances of running a kingdom, so he asked for help when he needed it. He was a kind, fair king and a balanced leader. You thought of this as work, hard work, and to some degree it was.

But the truth is Sam works harder than anyone you’ve ever known. He rises before dawn, tending to the cow and the horses. He feeds the pigs, spreads meal for the chickens and lugs mounds of hay from the barn to the stable. And when he’s done and the sun is up he eats his breakfast, heads off to the woods where he cuts and chops and hauls lumber until the twilight hours.

You don’t expect him home so soon. The sun has just set and you assume you’ll have more to finish the task at hand: polishing his father’s sword. You’re nearly finished, wiping down the blade when he returns unexpectedly.

He’s normally sullen in the evenings, tired from a long day, but tonight he comes through the door with a smile on his face. In his left hand, he has a small sack filled with Bilberries, they’re your favorite. His pleasant disposition fades as his eyes look from you the sword laid over the table.

“What are you doing?” The moment you see his face you know this was a mistake.

“I was just...I wanted to do something for you. You’ve done so much for me and…”

“Put it down.” His jaw ticks and he closes his eyes for a moment. He’s been mad before but this is a fury that’s new, it’s a wave of quiet anger which makes it all the more terrifying.

You set the blade down on the table, smoothing the cloth in your hands before putting in on the table too. “I thought-”

“You don’t think, that’s the whole problem. You’re so used to doing whatever you desire without any consequence that you don’t stop to consider how your actions affect other people.”

“I’m sorry.” Don’t cry. “The last thing I wanted to do was upset you. I just wanted to-” Don’t cry, don’t let him see you cry.

“You should leave.” He commands, resolute.

“Samuel-” You trying to protest, at least explain yourself but he doesn’t give you the opportunity.

“It’s my own fault for expecting anything else. You can’t help yourself, can you? The very idea of someone below your station telling you ‘no’ is a challenge to do otherwise. I asked one thing of you. One. Everything else I offered happily, but you’re so stubborn that you do whatever pleases you without regard for anyone but yourself. You’re nothing more than an Omega without her heat. It’s actually perfect.” He spits. “You’re a princess past her prime who can’t clean or fuck. You’re useless to me.”

His word cut like a knife, taking the air from your chest. No one has spoken to you this way, not even your brothers in midst of some adolescent rage.

“Get your things. If you start walking now you can get to town before dark. Martha will let you stay with her.” He sneers.

“Please do not do this!” You shout, balling your fists at your sides. This has gone more wrong than you could have ever envisioned, but the truth is you should have known better, How could you think that touching something that means so much to him would have pleased him? Between the chickens and the tincture, you’re clearly not in tune with any part of his life.

“Now.” He commands coldly. His glare shifts from you to the sword as he stands with hands on his hips.

You scramble to collect what little you have and stuff it into a small sack, hesitating when you pick up the cloak before setting it back down. With shaking hands, you tie the rope securing your items and head for the door. With a hand on the frame you pause, without turning back you utter “I’m sorry.”

The tears start to the minute the door slams closed behind you. What a mess you’ve made. Sam is the only person you had left, and now you’ve managed to alienate him. It was only a matter of time, he’s been merely tolerating you since he took you in and instead of nurturing a better relationship you’ve made things worse at every turn.

Anger and defeat swelling in your chest, you set a brisk pace toward the village. The cold sinks into your bones as you try to move fast, you doubt it’s cold enough to freeze to death but it’s enough to make the journey miserable.

You should have never come here, never left France in the first place. Your brother was ill and if you’d stayed you might have been able to reason with him, get through to his more reasonable sensibilities. He was sick after all. What kind of sister are you? Abandoning her family when they need her most.

The root catches your foot, twisting your ankle and before you have time to call out you tumble to ground. You land on your knees, with a yelp and promptly fall back onto your backside. Drawing in a sharp breath you lift up your shirt and take stock of your now bloody knees, touching one tenderly and wincing.

You can do this, you tell yourself. Stop acting like a child, pull yourself together and stand up.

But when you try to stand your ankle gives way and you find yourself on the ground again.

You give up. A sob tears from your throat and you cry, defeated, in the dirt.

Sam watches you silently, standing only a few steps behind with his mother’s cloak in his hand. You curse softly between howls, rocking back and forth. While you’re certainly ridiculous he wonders if he’s been harder on you than was necessary. You are, after all, alone in the world.

“What are you doing on the ground?” He asks softly. You jump at the sound of his voice, shoulders twitching in the moonlight.

“I fell.” You hiccup. “You’re right to send me away, Samuel. I’m nothing more than a useless, selfish burden.”

Sam kneels down beside you, covering you with the cloak. It’s a gesture that makes you cry even harder, burying your face in your hands. “Don’t say that,” he sighs.

“If you could just help me get to town I’ll be out of your way. I know you hate me and want to be rid of me, but I’m not sure I can make it to Martha’s on my own. I seem to have hurt my leg.”

Sam smiles to himself in the dark, bending down and scooping you into his arms without so much as a word.

It’s in this moment when you’re balling like a baby, that you admit your own feelings. You wish for nothing more than his arms around you in the night, holding you close and safe. You can imagine what it would be like to hear gentle terms of endearment whispered from his lips. When you really let yourself succumb to the fantasy it’s with visions of his weight on top of you, moving inside you and making you his.

And you know it will never be. Because a man such as Sam could never care for someone of your selfish desires.

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#Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader #alpha!sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester smut #the woodsman

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twitchesandstitches · 5 years

Text

Red Lantern Alighting

In the dark, there was loss.

In ages so often made dark and grim by the selfishness and vainglory of those who measured personal achievement in mountains of the dead, there were plenty who looked up from the bottom of the heap, and found something there.

Jackboots ground down on their faces, and the warlords who destroyed their lives cared nothing for the suffering they wrought. Tyrants, fascists, conquerors and world-wreckers all simply did their thing, and like incredibly inattentive farmers, did not realize what they were sowing.

The people ground down on the bottom learned well what it meant to suffer. To lose everything. And in the pits, in the slave arenas and at the end of an overseer’s whip, they learned the shape of hate.

And one day, on so many worlds stained with suffering, made into something filthy by despair and torment, a red star bloomed in the sky.

And those who suffered the most, burning on the inside, found a clawed hand extended to them.

And in his claws, there was a ring offered out to them.

“Make them pay.”

-------

It was a common rumor, perhaps to pass the time, but there was enough of an edge to it to suggest some panic that remained in the news, all the same:

Ten thousand worlds are burning.

To many across the places touched by the Eunoianet, the magical web of communications, stories, and media that connected the Fleet worlds and kept their culture alive, there was some mild interest. Plenty took the news literally, and organized fire brigade fleets to put the fires out.

Blaster, an Endowed Autobot with a keen interest in xenosociology particularly as related to culture and music, thought something was off the moment she first heard the specific phrasing, and its connections to conflicts on a chain of interstellar empires.

“Ten thousands worlds,” as she told her team, “Is a kenning.” Her team gave her politely incomprehensible looks. With a look of delight, one of her daughters (a minibot named Rewind) eagerly leaned out of her seat, visor shining bright, faceplate wiggling excitedly.

Wicke, possibly one of Blaster’s closest friends in the theoretical engineering sub-sets, opened her mouth to say that she knew what it meant. Blaster shook her head repeatedly. ‘Let Rewind have her moment!’

Rewind spoke up. Like many minibots, she was human-sized; about seven feet tall, but so incredibly thick that she was almost that wide too (at least at the chest-mounted Energon tanks and her impressively massive hips), her heavily plated exterior indicating her preferred alt mode of a tanky attack drone. As she began to speak, her present siblings (both of them beastformers; a moody red robot rhino named Ramhorn and a yellow leonine tracker called Steeljaw) rolled their optics. “Did you all know? A kenning! Is a common term for a culture-specific metaphor, usually tied to folklore. Typically it is a shorthand for a more complicated concept, you see!”

Wicke, shifting about and balancing her gargantuan breasts onto legs easily thick enough to be bust-supporting shelves, nodded. “And what might this kenning refer to, dear?”

The other two of this particular mission winced at Rewind went into a needlessly and painful convoluted explanation with too much time spent on unnecessary asides on cultural context. Bismuth, rolled her temporary optics and tried to nap. A tricky thing considering that to save on space, she had installed her Gem into a fembot shell that at least matched her amazonian, outrageously curvy true form, but one of the things it couldn’t do was sleep. Smaller even than Rewind was arguably the most famous of them all; Toshinori Yagi, better known by his professional name All Might; once a massive tower of muscle and masculine charm, his self-sacrificing job as a Fleet champion had left him an emaciated wreck, his powers too dangerous to access often. Nonetheless, his experience made him a highly skilled mech pilot to channel his spirit. He was doing his best to pretend to be listening but was clearly suffering.

The gist of the lecture, in any case, was this: ‘a thousand worlds is slang, in this little intersection between a dozen or so little empires, for all known worlds’.

“So,” Toshinori said gravely after some thought. “It’s a great deal more serious than even ten thousand individual worlds!”

Bismuth’s fembot shell shrugged its expansive shoulders. “Honestly, you sure it’s even appropriate for us to get involved? I mean, I’m all for intervening, but the people in this area…” Her shell’s emoticon-displaying face cycled through a number of uncomfortable expressions. “They’re not gonna be welcoming or appreciate us.”

“The power structure could use a shake-up,” Steeljaw observed, his voice cultured, deliberately refined. This was the voice of a cat-bot who could somehow hold a cup with his pinky-claw out. It was a strange thing to see from someone who had grown up in a society where setting yourself on fire was considered a good icebreaker. “They’re… well, I shouldn’t SAY they are dreadful tyrants, by and by, but alas…”

“Can we kick their ass?” Ramhorn said hopefully. “Please tell me, we get to do some tyrant toppling!”

They looked at Blaster, to see what her vote might be. She thought about it and shrugged. “Personally I’d rather do what we can if trouble comes to us; I won’t say no to rescue, even if the folks around here yell at us. But actively dismantling their empire, however deserved, is really not a good idea. We’d need to work things out better before we decide if we have the RIGHT to do that or not.”

The ship approached the first world to investigate, and Toshinori’s eyes widened, the modded dark patches around them accentuating his shock. “I… do not believe we will have the opportunity! Look!”

They looked out.

The flames were bright on the windows, even from super-orbit.

They had seen continents, entire landmasses, on fire before.

They hadn’t often seen the landmasses in question rearranged to spell out an extremely crude message.

“...Ah,” Wicke said, wincing. “I suppose the worlds being on fire was not entirely a metaphor, then.”

The ship found stable orbit, relatively safe from most sensors, and with their on-board alchemizers and raw materials, it was a simple matter to build an observation station to live in and wait to come to some kind of a conclusion. If there was a problem with the Fleet’s organization, Blaster mused, it was that waiting for every participating citizen to come to some kind of a consensus took forever, even with cybernetic telepathic stations to work it out. At least with this small group, it was easier to work it out.

Rewind and Blaster were considered the best at stealth to go down and put the fires out; Wicke was undoubtedly the most powerful but her raw power made her inefficient at HIDING her presence, and they weren’t sure if they were ready for confrontation. Bismuth waiting for the all clear (and once she got it, she alchemized terraforming rainfall that put the fires out in days), and Toshinori had many sterling qualities to make him such a paragon, they put his face in the Big Book of How To Hero. Holding back or being stealthy was NOT one of those traits.

Before Bismuth got to work, Rewind gave her report to the others:

“Most strange, so very strange indeed? Did you know, it is very strange for there to be no one left on the planet?”

“The place WAS on fire,” Bismuth had said. Sourly, she had added, “Maybe they were attacking each other… this whole region is a mess of conquerors trying to kill each other. Yeerks looking for better hosts to enslave, elven supremacists, orks that kill everything just to get a better fight out of it…”

Rewind nodded. “Yes, certainly! But, there were NO bodies! Not on the scale that we ought to have seen!” She had paused, looking uncomfortable. “At the very least, those bodies were not killed by the fire.”

Wicke frowned. “What do you mean?”

Rewind was equipped with recording abilities, in her role as a scout. She did warn them first, though, that it would be graphic; Wicke often was employed as a coroner to study the bodies of metanatural encounters, Bismuth was a vetern of many revolutions, and Toshinori had been a hero for a very long time. All of them were acquainted with brutality.

Even so, they were taken aback by the horrors on the screen. “Oh… Arceus’ peg…” Wicke said softly, as they showed them ashen streets and bodies that were by then mostly… pulled apart. Heads were mounted on spikes, and were the only recognizable bit. Everything else had been torn apart, burned so badly and then pulverized into a meaty pulp to coat buildings and streets.

The Fleet was a rough place, and its heroes tended towards extreme fury and ferocity as a rule; nonetheless, this was extreme, even by the standards Wicke knew. “I thought you said fire hadn’t killed them?”

“Analysis indicates that they WERE burned to death, but not by the fires we see. It was a different sort of burning inconsistent with what’s ravaging the planets.

Bismuth had examined several other such photos. She was a ferocious fighter, even by the standards of her Dinobot partners (long since married to them, by this point), but even the greatest savagery of Grimlock or the combined fury of Volcanicus had a point; the shock was intended to terrify the enemy into retreat, or encourage allies to greater morale. This felt more like just randomized lashing out.

Toshinori didn’t much like what he was looking at. “Infighting, perhaps? This is just so… excessive, though. Why would they kill each other so brutally?”

“Rivalries? Combat doctrine?” Ramhorn suggested.

“Or maybe whoever killed them was really angry,” Bismuth suggested. “I’ve done stuff that… okay, not as bad as THIS but… when you’ve been ground done long enough, you’d be surprised what happens when you let that monster off its leash.”

Toshinori considered this. His eyes widened. “Oh…! Rewind, Blaster! You said there were no bodies found, yes?”

“Indeed, sir!” Rewind said. “No bodies besides these!”

“No ashes, then?”

“None that would fit the profile of the bodies, or any traces of incinerated corpses on the scale of an entire population.”

Toshinori looked thoughtful. “Perhaps there are no survivors because they have already been evacuated from the world.”

Bismuth brightened up. “Oh! That’d be a relief.” Perhaps thinking along the same lines as whatever was prompting Toshinori, she compared the visible mounted heads, stabbed on display by whoever had been angry enough to burn the whole planet down, and compared them with all Fleet records of multiversally-wanted villains.

Most of them matched someone on the lists, with the ones who weren’t at least suspected of awful crimes. Bismuth did not much dwell on the evil deeds attached to them; it was sickening to behold, but it was enough to know that very evil men and women had died this day. “Check this out. I compared the skulls to records of some serious bad guys, and they’re all… yeah, the multiverse is better off without them.”

Toshinori nodded. “As I suspected.”

Steeljaw was several times the size of Toshinori (who was tall for a human, but puny by Fleet women standards), but he gave him an adoring look nonetheless. “Sir, do you perhaps have an idea?”

Toshinori looked thoughtful. “Let us at least consider the idea that the downtrodden of this world may have had their opportunity to rise up, at least.”

“You think so?” Wicke said, raising an eyebrow. “This much destruction is rather excessive.”

“People who have suffered terribly, all their lives, often do not have much reason to hold back once they have the opportunity to strike!”

“True enough.” Wicke had turned, and other matters called their attention.

Bismuth’s terraformers conjured forth enough rain, with a mild connection to the Elemental Plane of Water, to put out the fires and render the planet suitable for all of them to at least walk on. Several days onwards, they landed to investigate properly.

As they suspected, there was no life on the planet anywhere. Blaster had flown across the planet in her preferred aerial form with a massive armory of sensory drones, and there was no signs of life; no organic presence, no living movement, no hints of the electromagnetic activity that marked the presence of synthetic life forms. And the ashes of burned things did not account for all the inhabitants being dead, either.

Several days, the mystery continued to deepen as they continued the search on other worlds, and the pattern on the first repeated itself. Uncannily the same, at that.

And it WAS a pattern; Wicke was certain.

Above them, far in the sky, a red star seemed to appear; the figure within watched them dispassionately, weighing their hearts.

They shone bright and good. But, he judged, they did not have the burning anger he sought out.

He contemplated the Gem, however. There was the spark of fury there…. Perhaps later, then.

The red light flew away, leaving the battleground behind.

And in the meantime, unaware of this, Blaster’s team continued to search. Unexpectedly, they found something interesting on one of the cities that hadn’t quite been exploded.

Blaster was over sixty feet tall, her minibot offspring incorporated into her body in cassette forms and channeling their power to her, so she could achieve a far greater size and curve level than normal, and she had to be careful not to let her waist-level bustline demolish things worse. Slowly she leaned forward, studying something on the wall. “I found something!”

Bismuth was in her true form now that she had room to grow, and she stood over a hundred and twenty feet, not even a trickle of her full power being used. SHe wasn’t just an amazon, she was a gigantic gray-blue beauty, her multi-colored dreadlocks shining bright, her gem core just barely visible in the cleavage of two massive breasts with lower slopes extending past her mighty thighs. Power crackled in her hard light body, and she was cheerfully refusing to reign it in. (“This much awesome DESERVES to be on display!” she had boasted, and kissed her biceps.) “Whatcha got there, Blast?”

Toshinori approached. While he did have his own powers, they were so strong as to be a serious threat to his emaciated body, and he preferred to channel them through powered exoskeleton frames; in this case, he operated a mech slightly too large to be considered power armor, but small enough to operate on a human scale, which seemed to be the standard size on this world. It looked like a brightly colored egg, with powerful limbs to channel his energies through and punch things, and a colorful aura of energy created a luminous V-shape above him from the back.

Its sensors relayed it to him. Toshinori studied it. “Graffiti, or perhaps a calling card.”

Wicke, standing at a very far distance from everyone else in case she suddenly needed to grow to fight (and would thus need a LOT of space; she could exceed planetary size without even putting in effort), linked up to Toshinori’s mech to see it for herself. “It IS more recent. I think this was left as a message.”

It was all red against the slag; a bright cherry-red color that would have been friendly if not for it being carved into the collected skulls of, apparently, the most cruel and hateful tyrants in the entire system. It had been burned into them, in fact, possibly by whatever had set the planets on fire, and then painted over.

It looked a little bit, then, like a round circle. Two vertical lines were set on either side, with additional zags moving outwards over that. There was a short message, written in an unfamiliar script similar to the Daedric alphabet. “A curious sign,” Rewind communed to Blaster. “It resembles that of the Green Lantern Order.”

“Green Lanterns?” Blaster said aloud.

Toshinori shifted. “Green Lanterns, did you say?” He looked at the sign. Bismuth and Wicke were running a translation cipher, comparing the letters to the most likely solutions. “They were an ancient order of heroes! They predated the Cataclysm by many eons; I suspect the last of them perished trying to fight that disaster, though they left behind relics and lore.” He patted his chest proudly. “My heroic predecessor, One For All, supposedly refined the power I carry with Green Lantern secrets!”

“So perhaps whoever did this was evoking their legacy?” Blaster said. Well, Ramhorn asked, and she relayed it.

Toshinori considered it. “I think that is possible, but it would be an odd thing. The symbol is different; the Green Lantern sigil was a, well, a lantern, with horizontal lines above and below.” He pointed out another thing: two circles inside the sign, at angles. “Nothing like that there. And it was green, of course. Not… well, red.”

Bismuth glanced aside. “It does look like a lantern, though.”

“Yes,” Blaster said thoughtfully, surrounded by charred landscape, burned by the rage of those suffering for so long. “A red lantern.”

“Got it!” Wicke said triumphantly. “The script originates from Beforus! A curious thing; It hasn’t been spoken since Beforus.was lost; it is similar to various forms that have derived from it since then, but… oh, just a digression, not that important.”

Rewind perked up, eager to hear more, but Blaster was in a hurry. “So why Beforus? It’s not anywhere near here, and these worlds didn’t have a significant troll population.”

“Yes. That is the difficult part. And the language is fairly obscure; there are a few figures who survived Beforus and gained the ability to avoid aging who would still speak it, but I can’t imagine what they would be doing here.”

The Condesce, Blaster thought. The Dolorosa, mother of vampires. The Grand Highblood. The Blue Arrow and executioner of the degenerate. The Psiionic, sailor of the stars. And the others, the founders of modern troll-kind and preservationists of their culture; most were within the Fleet, and all of them had at least spent some time with it, in the past. Most were accounted for.

But not at all.

Bismuth frowned as the translation software ran. “The symbol thing is a bit wonky; someone chipped away a few bits here and there. See?”

“Yes,” Toshinori said. “It looks a bit like like an incomplete circle, then. I wonder if it was sending a message?”

Blaster leaned in. “And with those little circles inside, it kind of looks like the astrological sign for Cancer, doesn’t it?”

“Ah, it does!”

Blaster chuckled. “Now that’s obscure, what does that even-”

Oh. OH.

Bright red colored. Mutant red.

A sign that looked like what trolls called the Iron Manacles, the Crab Claws.

And Beforan script, as would be remembered by someone who had actually lived through the fall of Beforus.

And now, she realized, she had seen this level of brutal destructiveness, this unfettered and passionate rage.

She kept it to herself for now. “Is that translation ready?”

“Yes,” said Wicke. She cleared her throat, and spoke aloud. “Bear in mind, this is quite a rough translation, and the software likes poetic meter, but nonetheless, this should get the spirit across.”

Wicke translated thusly:

“With blood and rage of crimson red,

“Passed on by those long dead.

“Together with our righteous hate,

“We will burn them all.

“No one else will share our fate.”

Wicke finished. “And it is signed… I think it translates as the Anointed. Of… the Red Lantern Corps? I don’t suppose you know anyone by that term.”

“None that fit the situation,” Toshinori said. Bismuth said much the same.

“Kankri Vantas the first.”

Blaster said this heavily, with mounting shock.

The name called to mind a fussy and passive-aggressively angry young troll, a bit older than the likes of Terezi and her generation. “Uh, are you sure you have the right guy?” Bismuth said. “Kankri, you said? Chubby, really pretty? Has a really bad case of pent-up anger he needs to deal with?”

“Not him,” Bismuth said. “The other one.”

“What other one, I don’t- oh.” Bismuth’s eyes widened. “Oh.”

“The Sufferer.” Toshinori said, horrified. “He’s here!?”

“Or he was. It fits his… preference for rising up. But on a bigger scale. And of course, the Anointed is what Beforan religious practices named him. He’s never liked being called the Sufferer or the Signless.”

There was silence, then, for a time.

It was not bad news, exactly. But it was certainly concerning.

The Signless, the Suffferer or whatever you might call him, had come here. He had… slaughtered the worst of these worlds, and had done something with everyone else. The wording indicated numbers; the ‘we’ and all’. Perhaps… he had been recruiting?

For what?

They stared at the sign of a red lantern, shaped to be like the sign of suffering among trolls; an icon of enduring the unspeakable, a sign for those fighting to make a kinder world even if you did it on a tide of blood.

Kankri Vantas of Beforus was the kindest of his people. A living prophet to some, handing down law and covenant to mortals, fulfilling ancient prophecies and setting people free. He was a just man, a good man.

And he was also someone who had waged wars so bloody that even the Condesce, a woman no stranger to cruelty and ferocity, had been afraid of his savagery.

“Let’s get back up and upload our findings to the Eunoianet,” Blaster suggested. “We need to figure out what to do from here. And someone give the word to Karkat Vantas that I need to have a talk with him,” she said wearily.

“We’ve found his ancestor.”

-----

(It should be noted that some elements of this fic aren’t exactly in chronlogical order.

Yes, the Signless is the leader of the Red Lanterns here, rather than Atrocitus. As it is, they are the only extant Lanterns, but the others will soon arise, more likely than not. This much is certain!

However, I’ve planned for Signless’ Red Lanterns to predate the Fleet, at least as a fully functional organization. He may either have been making it during his initial time with the Fleet, or at some point, the proto-Fleet’s founding families discovered relics that the Signless was inspired to create the first Red Power Battery and rings from; it could be that he’s only recently made them fully practical and is expanding his Corps’ reach.

They are intended as heroes; merciless, angry and destructive, but they are good guys all the same. Their job is to make the monsters fuckin’ BURN. They are not antagonists, but the Fleet does not yet know what to make of them!)

#queued #my writing #fics #crossthicc AU #twitchy!wicke #twitchy!blaster #twitchy!bismuth #twitchy!all might #twitchy!su #twitchy!pokemon #twitchy!transformers #twitchy!homestuck #twitchy!signless

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raptorginger · 6 years

Text

I Will Follow You Into the Dark: Chapter 2

Nags Head, Outer Banks, North Carolina 1868

Rey hid behind the sack of flour as the boy thrashed about on the floor. He seemed to be fighting an imaginary assailant, his arms and legs flailing. The sounds were guttural and terrifying to Rey, and she let out an involuntary whimper. The boy stopped, leaping into a crouched position, one hand clutching the cut on his face the other helping to bear his weight on the rough wood floor. Whatever healing his wound had accomplished overnight was undone by his thrashing, and fresh blood began to bloom along the line on his chest and dripped through his fingers. His hair was a matted mess, his eyes wild. His breath was a hissing sound through clenched teeth. Rey thought of the feral dogs that sometimes roamed the beaches. They were another reason she was happy to have her crowbar.

She peeked around the sack of flour down at the dog boy, as she now thought of him. He was looking wildly from side to side before he raised his gaze to the top bunk where she was hiding, as if he could feel her hazel eyes on him. His ferocious expression shifted into one of confusion, and his breathing slowed. Rey leaned further out, edging away from the flour sack and resting on her heels at the edge of the bunk. The boy mimicked her, sitting back on his own heels as he continued to clutch at his wound.

They regarded each other for a long time, neither saying a word. Rey tilted her head a little. The boy was tall, but awkwardly lanky, like a puppy that still had to grow into its paws. His face was strange, mouth and nose and ears too big, but Rey liked it all the same. His eyes were a deep brown, but clouded by fear. Very little color had come back into the boy’s skin, and a terrifying thought occured to Rey.

“Are you a ghost?” she whispered. She’d heard the old men tell stories about Edward Teach, the pirate Blackbeard, and how his ghost roamed the shores on moonless nights looking for his head. Maybe this boy was one of his men, cursed to roam just like his captain.

One corner of the boy’s mouth twitched, and he shook his head.

Rey relaxed and pointed to the boy’s cut. “That’ll need tending to then. Will you let me? I know a little bit of medicine,” she offered.

It was the boy’s turn to tilt his head, and he nodded.

Rey scurried down the ladder quick as a mouse, and the boy hopped backwards, watching her with wary eyes. She went to a small box she kept on her table, tugging it off and carrying it over to the hearth. Opening it, there were some clean cotton wrappings, a bottle of clear liquid, and a jar of salve.

“Where’s my...oh, there it is.” Rey muttered under her breath. She walked back over to the bunk wall and picked up her knife, making sure to carry it limply back. The boy was watching the sharp blade carefully.

Rolling out a length of cotton, Rey cut it with the knife, repeating the procedure until she had a small pile of five bandages. She took out a small square of soft cloth from the box and dampened it with liquid from the bottle. The boy lowered his blood covered hand away from his face.

“This is going to hurt,” Rey said apologetically as she dabbed at the cut. The boy hissed through his teeth as the antiseptic came in contact with the open wound, but he held still for her. Rey cleaned his wound in silence, focused on her work and trying not to cause him any unnecessary pain. It seemed he’d already been through enough. With most of the blood gone, Rey took out the jar of salve and started smearing the sticky poultice on his cut, applying the lengths of bandages over it.

“This’ll help prevent too much scarring. I got it from Old Lady Maz in town. You’re in Nags Head, you know. That’s in the Outer Banks,” Rey murmured in a conversational tone.

At the boy’s shocked expression, she added, “In North Carolina. Outsiders tell us we sound British. Did you come from England?”

The boy’s expression drifted far away then, and Rey resumed her silent focus. He could tell her later. After maybe a quarter of an hour, Rey finished her work. She sat back and admired her handiwork. It wasn’t bad, all things considered. The wound shouldn’t become infected, at any rate, as long as she kept the bandages clean. She’d have to go get another kit from Maz. Maybe Plutt had some old clothes she could give him. She stood, barely taller than him even though he was sitting and dusted her hands.

“You need to rest,” she stated plainly. “You can have my bunk there,” she pointed to the middle of the bunk wall. “Go.”

His mouth twitched again, and he unfolded himself from the floor and stood. Rey had to almost crane her neck to look him in the eye.

“I have to go into town to get some things. You’ll be safe here,” she added when a panicked look flashed across his face. She took his much larger hand in both her small ones and tugged him to the bunk. She watched as he bent and maneuvered his way onto the bed. She inhaled sharply when she saw the scars that littered his back. Some were silvery and white, long healed, and others were still an angry pink, newer. She’d seen scars like that only on the backs of some sailors and the black folks around town. Maz had those scars. Finn had those scars. Flogging they’d said. Rey’s blood boiled. No wonder he was scared.

She readjusted some of his bandages and tucked her wool blanket tight around him. She rested her favorite doll next to his head on the pillow. It was a plain muslin doll with a rough stitched face and patchwork clothes that Rey had made herself. “This is Lottie. She’ll watch you while I’m gone,” Rey said with the confidence of a little girl that still had that faith that all small children do in the magic of their treasured playthings. The boy gave her a bemused look, but nodded all the same. She ran and got a cup of water and made sure he drank the whole thing before she grabbed her little shawl and her drawstring bag with some coins.

As she fastened the bag to her apron, she turned and said, “My name is Rey. You don’t have to tell me yours yet if you don’t want.”

The boy made no indication that he was going to answer her, so Rey opened the door to leave.

“Ben,” he croaked out, his voice still somewhere between a boy’s and man’s.

Rey hid her surprise. “Okay. Ben then. I’ll be back soon. Try to sleep.” She closed the door quietly behind her and ran towards town, skirts and hair flying in the rough sea breeze. A storm was coming.

***

She stopped at Plutt’s first to tell him where she’d stashed the crate she’d found last night. She had no intention of mentioning what else she’d found. She was afraid Plutt might turn Ben over to the constable, and there was no way she was letting that happen. Plutt lived on the edge of town in a modest sized home on stilts. A lot of the wealthier people in town had houses like Plutt’s, just bigger. She hoped she could live in such a house one day. Rey dashed up the stairs as fast as her small legs would carry her and knocked on the front door. A wizened old man answered the door. His white hair stood at odd angles around his head in irregular tufts. His clothes were maybe a hair younger than he was - a simple shirt, yellowed with age, grey trousers and suspenders, ancient leather shoes. His cheeks drooped and wrinkles made deep tracks in the dark skin across his face. His eyes were a clear blue, with crow’s feet in the corners. Plutt employed two servants, this man and his wife, a cookmaid. They always treated Rey kindly, which she appreciated. Not many people in town did. The cookmaid usually gave her a cloth sack filled with biscuits when she came by, sometimes with sweet tarts if she was feeling generous.

“Is he home, Mr. George?” Rey asked the old man.

“In the study,” George rasped.

Rey scampered past him. “Thank you!”

“Stop by the kitchen before you go. Matilda has a present for you,” George called after her.

“Okay!”

Rey ran past the main stairs and a series of dark empty rooms to the back of the house where Plutt’s study was. The door was closed, which was a bit unusual. Rey gave a knock.

“Aye!” she heard Plutt call from inside.

She opened the heavy door cautiously and with some difficulty. The knob required both of her hands to turn it was so big. It creaked on its hinges as Rey pushed it open slowly.

“Hurry up, Girl, hurry up,” Plutt called from behind his desk, his voice thick with annoyance.

Rey scurried inside quickly. Plutt, a large heavy set man, sat behind his ponderous desk, a heavy piece of dark wood, intricately carved.

“Well?” he demanded sharply.

“Number four. I found a crate…” Rey began before she stopped, realizing Plutt was not alone. A thin man of medium height stood off to the side of the room, obscured by the darkness and shadows. Plutt had the shutters pulled closed and only the lamp on his desk was lit, making the man almost impossible to see.

“Yes, yes a crate. With what?” Plutt snapped.

“Umm, twelve bottles of some liquid. They were heavy. Still sealed,” Rey stammered. The man in the shadows scared her.

Plutt clapped his meaty hands together, clearly pleased as Rey knew he would be. “Excellent excellent, Little One.” He fished around in his pocket and laid some coins and paper money on the desk for her. Rey dashed forward and was scooping it up when a gnarled hand with leathery tan skin shot out and grabbed her wrist. Rey yelped in protest, falling silent when she saw the pirate brand on the top of his wrist.

“Did you find anything else on the beach last night, Girl?” the man asked in voice that chilled Rey down to her very core.

“N-n-no,” she stuttered. “That was all.” The man released her. Rey skittered back as far away from him as she could, holding her wrist like she’d been burned. Her skin was freezing where he’d touched her. She only caught a glimpse of him before he retreated into the shadows, but she got the impression of a skeleton in men’s clothes. She was definitely going to make sure Plutt didn’t find out about Ben. She didn’t want him to tell the skeleton man.

Plutt waved his hands, dismissing her. “Go on then, I’ll let you know when I need you out again.”

She needed no further instruction. Rey ran out of the room, glad to be away from the skeleton man. She ran directly to the kitchen, eager to be surrounded by its warmth. Matilda was stirring something in a pot by the fire, a mop cap doing nothing to hide her wild white hair. She was dressed in a plain cream colored servants dress, a shawl pinned over her shoulders, the light colors contrasting sharply with her dark skin.

“Well hi there, Little Rey,” she said warmly, turning when Rey bounded in.

“Hi Miss Matilda,” Rey replied, rushing up to her, burying herself in the woman’s ample skirts, wrapping her slim arms around the woman’s middle.

Matilda patted her on the head, returning her embrace, giving a small laugh. “What’s got you all in a tither?”

Rey leaned back, looking up into the woman’s kind face, her eyes like gingerbread. “The skeleton man in Mr. Plutt’s study.” Rey shuddered.

“Ahh yeah, he’s a right terrifying sort,” Matilda said, patting Rey comfortingly on the back.

Rey looked around to make sure they were alone before she whispered conspiratorially, “He had a pirate brand on his arm.”

Matilda hummed thoughtfully. “Did he now?”

Rey nodded. “Have you heard anything about pirates around here, Miss Matilda?”

“Well now,” Matilda began as she sat in the chair by the fire, indicating to Rey that she should seat herself at the long kitchen table, “I hear talk that the fearsome Captain Snoke is about in these waters. Talk is he’s lost something and he means to find it.”

“Like treasure?!” Rey exclaimed as she helped herself to a bit a bread that had been left out, nibbling intently.

“No, they say he’s lost his most powerful weapon. A most fearsome ghoul named Kylo Ren. They say Snoke calls him forth from the pit of Hell itself to wreak his terrible wrath upon his enemies.”

Rey breathed a sigh of relief. Ben was called Ben, not Kylo Ren. And he certainly didn’t look like a ghoul from Hell itself. Rey had seen the kindness under the fear. Ghouls from Hell weren’t kind, didn’t get scarfed, and didn’t have soft brown eyes.

“So watch out when you’re out at night, Child. Dangerous beings about,” Matilda finished, standing up from her chair, the crack of old bones sounding softly in the warm room.

Rey leapt from the bench at the table. “Okay Miss Matilda.” She remembered she needed to get clothes for Ben. George might have been as tall as Ben once. “Oh, do you have any old clothes of Mr. George’s? I, umm, need them for something.”

Matilda’s eyes sparkled with mirth. “Something, ehh? I think I might have some lying about. Dressing a scarecrow?”

Rey gave a laugh. “Yeah, something like that. I want to scare the mean dogs away.”

Matilda gave her a look that said she didn’t believe one word Rey said, but she played along. “Alright Rey. You go wait by the door and I’ll be along with some of George’s old things for your scarecrow. Take that bundle, too.” She pointed to a neatly wrapped parcel on the table and Rey snatched it up, giving it a greedy sniff. It was warm in her hands and smelled of biscuits and fruit tarts. Rey’s mouth watered. She couldn’t wait to share them with Ben. She hoped he liked tarts.

She waited by the front door, bouncing on her toes, waiting for Matilda. The house was dark and growing darker as storm clouds started rolling in. Rey needed to hurry. She still needed to see Maz and get some things to make some food for her and Ben. She didn’t know much about cooking, but Matilda had taught her how to make a stew. It was the easiest thing Matilda could think of to teach a six year old at the time.

Matilda came down the stairs with another neatly wrapped bundle, this one much larger that her biscuits. It definitely held more than one set of clothes. Matilda had thoughtfully secured it with a pair of George’s old suspenders so Rey could sling it across her back instead of hold it in her arms. The clothes were wrapped in a large old wool coat of George’s, and Rey looked up at Matilda in surprise. She certainly hadn’t expected so much.

“I want your scarecrow to be warm,” Matilda said, smiling.

Rey rushed at her and gave her another hug, holding her tight. “Thank you, Miss Matilda. Say thank you to Mr. George too.”

Matilda waved as Rey dashed out and down the stairs, heading straight for the market.

George came up behind Matilda, putting his arm around her shoulders. “Storm’s coming,” he murmured, his old voice raspy and knowing.

Matilda grasped at his fingers, thinking of the little girl Rey and what she’d probably gotten herself into. She looked out to sea, where the outline of a ship could be seen in the distance, dark and ominous. “Storm’s already here.”

***

Rey dashed quickly through the market, grabbing the simple ingredients she needed for a stew. Meat, carrots, potatoes. She had salt and flour at home. She grabbed some herbs too. She had learned a little bit about different herbs and plants from Matilda and Maz. The market vendors didn’t have time to chatter with her today, as they were all in a hurry to get packed up and inside before the storm hit. The wind was getting rougher as Rey ran the final leg to Maz’s house. Maz lived on the opposite edge of town from Plutt, but she was closer to Rey’s so Rey had wanted to visit her last. She knocked sharply on the door, wanting to get home herself. A small dark skinned boy answered, her friend Finn. Finn and Maz had come over to Nags Head together after they’d been kicked out of Freedmen’s Colony on Roanoke after the war. Finn had no family, and Maz had taken him in. Finn stepped aside and let Rey in.

“Storm’s coming, Rey. Why aren’t you at home?” Finn asked, concerned. He was only a little older than Rey, but he was always concerned about one thing or another like a grown up.

“Where’s Maz? I need another medicine box or two,” Rey replied. “Can you please hurry?” Rey asked, jumping slightly as the wind picked up speed again and a crack of thunder could be heard off in the distance.

Finn nodded. “Maz!” he called. “Rey’s here. She needs medicine boxes!”

“Does she now?” came Maz’s distinct voice from the back of the cabin. Maz stepped out, her small form hunched with age. Finn rushed to help her, but Maz waved him off. She walked with a cane now, but her light eyes were still sharp. Rey sometimes thought Maz was a witch, but she was too scared to ask. Maz seemed to know everything, even knew things before they happened sometimes. The town had a doctor, but a lot of the poorer folk like Rey came to Maz.

Rey nodded in response to Maz’s question. “Yes, Ma’am. Please.”

“Fetch down two boxes, and wrap them up, Finn,” Maz said over her shoulder. Finn rushed over to a shelf that held a number of different and odd items, digging around until he found what he was looking for near the back. He stacked the small boxes carefully, wrapping them in plain cloth and tying the ends neatly before handing it to Rey. Before she took it, Rey reached into her pouch and held the remainder of her money out to Maz.

Maz shook her head. “No charge today, Child. I’ll think of another way.” She paused a moment. “Finn’s too small to do some repairs I need done around here by himself. Perhaps you know someone?” Maz asked, her clear eyes twinkling knowingly.

Rey tucked her money back into her pouch and took the package from Finn. His eyebrow was raised curiously. “Umm, maybe? Can I let you know?”

Maz smiled. “Of course. Off with you before the wind takes you away.”

Rey ran out into the coming storm, medicine in one hand, biscuits and food in the other, a huge bundle of clothes on her back towards her little home where Ben waited.

#reylo #fanfiction #reylo fanfic #kylo ren x rey #rey #ben solo #alternate universe #historical au #slow burn #childhood friends

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ugh-supersoldiers · 7 years

Text

I’ll Be Seeing You

MASTERLIST

Characters: Bucky x reader

Summary: You lost your vision at a young age due to an infection in your brain and you’ve coped with it well. You’re a successful professor at a local university, casually making your way down the hall when your friend and college Helen Cho introduces you to Bucky. You grow close over several months of late night coffee and the occasional stay in your apartment, but Bucky doesn’t want to tell you who he really is in fear of scaring you off. What happens when a miracle procedure might give you back your sight?

Warnings: light swearing, blind!reader (for most of it)

Words: 4726

A/N: Okay before you read this, I am not blind, I do not know anyone who is blind and therefore this is my BEST ATTEMPT to write from the perspective of someone who is visually impaired. Please don’t be too hard on this.

It’s amazing just how much of someone you can see when you can’t actually see them.

Your day started out like it always did; with the sound of your alarm blaring in your ear. You reached out to tap at your phone screen, one, two, three times until you finally hit the correct place that disabled the alarm.

The wind whistled and you heard the patter of rain outside of your small apartment. It must be horrible weather, you thought to yourself. You pulled the covers of your bed off of your body and sat up, dangling your feet over the edge of the mattress.

You propped yourself out of your bed’s compound, feeling along the wall to find the door so you could walk out of your bedroom. Once you’d managed to exit your room, you traced your hand along the walls of the hallways until your fingers caught on a doorway, you turned right.

Your life had been like this for as long as you could remember. You’d lost your sight when you about three years old due to a rare brain infection that the doctors caught a few days too late. It wasn’t all too troubling to you now, you were in your late twenties and had a wonderful job working as an assistant professor at a local university.

You were happy, every piece of your life seemed to be falling into place… Except of course for love.

You’d been single for so long you almost forgot what it was like to feel someone’s tight and loving embrace or how attached you can get to the smell of the person you love.

So many people had set you up on blind dates - and so many people had made the blind date joke - that every time a friend brought up a ‘wonderful guy’ they knew, you’d shut it down instantly. The blatant truth about every man you’d gone out with on those set ups was this; no one wanted to date the blind girl.

You’d all but given up as you attended friends weddings and baby showers, some of them. Perhaps you weren’t cut out for that kind of life, or at least that’s what you told yourself.

As you went through the motions of making coffee that you’d all but memorized, you felt the empty space of the base of your left ring finger and sighed heavily.

You drank your coffee in silence, your mind drifting off to the possible face of whoever Mr. Right might be, not that you’d ever see it for yourself.

When you made it back to your closet in your room, you peeled off your sleep shirt, feeling the hangers that hung in your closet for the braille lettering that told you what was hung there.

‘mom’s favourite dress’

That one you remembered the texture of, it was soft and lightweight but felt beautiful on. You decided that this would be perfect.

You put it on, walking back to your front door and feeling inside the drawers to grab for a pair of flats, which you found instantly by their feel.

You slipped them on and took your keys from the hook that you felt on your right, waiting for the familiar honk of a horn signifying your ride was here. When you heard the sound, you reached forward and grasped the cool metal of the door knob, twisting it and pulling it open, making sure to grab your long cane before you walked out.

“Hey, (Y/N)!” A voice, which you recognized as your co-professor, Helen Cho said.

“Hey!” You said as you felt the padlock for the keyhole, locking it and turning to walk down your porch towards the sound of the idling car.

You felt your cane hit the car lightly, so you felt along the smooth metal surface until you found the handle, opening it and getting inside.

The smell of the mint car air freshener hit your noise rather violently when you entered, but you got used to it after a while.

“Big day today.” Helen said as you began moving.

“Why’s that?” You asked.

“I managed to convince Banner to come and give a lecture on gamma rays.”

“Are you serious?” You gasped. You knew Helen worked for some high end clientele from time to time and only really took up the co prof job because she needed to be busy, but you didn’t know she had that much pull.

“Uh huh.” She said.

“Holy hell.” You mustered, “So we don’t even have to lecture today?”

“Nope, we push everything back for tomorrow.”

“It’s like a day off.” You laughed.

“And so, gamma radiation acts as an invasive form of…”

You had been zoning back in and out of Banner’s lecture, not that it really mattered anyways. It had been about a half hour so you excused yourself, taking your cane and making your way back out into the hallway to take a small walk to stretch your legs.

You’d made it about halfway down the familiar hallway when you heard a very unfamiliar voice accompanying that of Helen Cho.

“I know it’s hard for you being here, but I figured it would be good for you to meet her, I mean you’re perfect for each other- Oh, hello, (Y/N). Bored of the lecture already?” Helen’s voice said.

“Not that Banner isn’t a wonderful public speaker,” You mused, “But gamma radiation isn’t new for me. Nothing to learn really.”

“I figured as much,” She laughed, “Oh, this is-”

“Bucky.” The voice said.

Bucky had extended his hand shake yours but Helen nudged him and nodded down at the white cane you held in your hand and he understood, his face flushing bright red.

“Okay everyone, I’m blind not stupid.” You laughed, sensing what he’d done based on an immeasurable amount of experience and the awkward silence.

“It’s nice to meet you.” You said, extending your own hand out, which he took.

His hands were warm and rough and calloused, large palms and long fingers, but comfortingly so.

“And you.” He replied, something along the lines of shock in his tone, but you shrugged it away.

“Well, I’ll let you to get back to it.” You said, quickly dismissing yourself and turning to walk back down the hall when Helen stopped you.

“Wait!”

You turned back around.

“Bucky and I were going to go out for drinks later tonight, I figured you might want to join?”

You hesitated, social outings weren’t your thing, and Helen knew that.

“Or maybe just coffee?” She rephrased.

“Sure, if you want to meet at my place around 9?”

“God, you are such a nightowl.” Helen laughed.

“Yes or no, dearest, it’s not that hard.” You chided her.

“We’ll be there.”

“Alright, I’ll see you later. Nice meeting you Bucky.”

You finished your day quickly and thanked Helen when she dropped you back off at your apartment, ignoring the ‘wear something nice’ comment she made. You knew she was saying was ‘wear something nice because Bucky is going to be there’, but you didn’t say anything about it.

You didn’t know Bucky, you weren’t looking to impress him. If he turned out to be a great guy after tonight and you saw each other again, maybe you’d consider the whole ‘looking really good’ thing, but not yet. You didn’t want to put that much effort into an appearance that you couldn’t even appreciate yourself.

You made yourself a quick dinner. An aspect of your life that seemed to shock everyone around you was how well you coped independently. You were able to do almost everything by yourself based on muscle memory, hearing, scent, and a little intuition.

By the time you politely asked siri what time it was, it was around 8:30. You decided to change into a pair of jeans and a soft knit sweater, your favourite one.

You let your hair down from its fastened bun, loose curls hitting your face softly.

A sound of a car door slamming made you slowly make your way to the front door of your flat. You instantly noted that it wasn’t the same sound of slam as Helen’s car.

A buzzer went off and you pressed the button at the door.

“Who is it?” You asked.

“It’s Bucky.” The voice answered, and you remembered him by the sound.

You liked his voice a lot, it was rough and a bit patchy, but low and smooth sounding somehow.

You unlocked your door and swung it open.

“Hi.” You greeted him, stepping to the side to allow him in.

“Helen sort of bailed.” He admitted, and you noticed that his voice still came from in front of you meaning he hadn’t entered in yet.

This was another schemed date attempt on Helen’s part and you only now figured it out. You mentally cursed yourself for not being wise enough to see through it.

“I just figured I’d swing by and tell you, you probably don’t want to spend the night with a total stranger.” You heard him take a few steps back.

“Well, who said that?” You asked, as if your words came out faster than you could process.

There was something about this man that you liked quite a lot, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. He had an aura about him that you found relaxing.

“The coffee pot is already on, I won’t be able to drink it all by myself.” You said with a smile.

“Alright.” He replied and you felt the wind brush by you as his large frame made it’s way past you.

“Make yourself at home.” You said, moving back into the kitchen once you’d closed the door, “How do you take coffee?”

“Just black would be wonderful.” He said as you waited to hear him sit down on the couch, but no such sound came, “Can I help with anything?”

“Gosh no, sit your ass down.” You laughed, and were overjoyed to hear him do the same.

“Okay, okay.” He said, his footsteps moving back to the living room where he sat on the couch.

You poured the coffee into mugs and carried them out to where Bucky was, knowing he was on the couch. You handed one to him, slightly to the side but close enough that he could reach it, then made your way over to sit beside him.

“So, since it’s now just the two of us, I suppose I should get to know you.” You said.

“Suppose so.” You felt him shift uncomfortably, which made you feel like you needed to back off ever so slightly.

“Unless of course you don’t want to.” You added.

“No, it’s alright. i just don’t usual talk much about myself.” He said.

Bucky wanted to open up to you, just like he wanted to open up to anyone, but you seemed incredibly sweet based on what he’d heard from Helen, and - more importantly - you seemed to not know his history quite yet, so he was unsure about the whole thing.

“Well, you can ask me things and I’ll answer, and if you feel alright with it, you can answer too.” You suggested, sipping your coffee.

“That’s great.” Bucky smiled at your compromise.

For nearly two hours, Bucky asked you a multitude of questions about yourself stemming from what your favourite food was all the way to how old you were when you went blind. After a while, he told you that he wanted you to ask him a few questions, so you questioned him all about his childhood and where he grew up.

Brooklyn was a great place, he explained to you, full of really great people. You loved listening to the sound of his words when you knew a smile appeared on his face, it made everything sound sweeter from his lips.

You were beginning to really like Bucky, you felt a strong bond with him that you hadn’t felt in a long while, and you were enjoying every second of time you spent with him.

“Alright, can I ask you one more thing?” You inquired as a fit of laughter bubbled back down from your chest.

“‘Course.”

“What’s your favourite colour and why?”

“Hmm,” He pondered, “Blue. It’s really calming. Plus it matches my eyes.”

You nodded your head with a laugh, “I wish I knew what colours looked like.”

What you said nearly broke Bucky’s heart, he’d answered the question so nonchalantly.

“I thought you lost sight at three.” He said.

“I did, but even before then I was completely colour blind.”

“Oh,” He said, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” You said, “I asked the question because it’s always interesting for me to hear what different people answer… I’ve always felt like I’d like blue as well.”

“Yeah?” He asked, “Why so?”

“Everyone always says it’s calming, or cool, or reminds them of the ocean. It sounds pretty.”

Bucky stared at you in amazement as a thoughtful smile played on your lips.

“Can I ask you something else?” He said.

“Yeah.”

“How do you recognize people?” He whispered.

“Most of it is by voices, or smells,” You explained, “And if I’m close with someone, I usually memorize their face.”

“Memorize their face?”

“Here, like this.” You said, setting your cup down and reaching your fingertips forward until they landed on his cheeks gently. Your one hand moved to his brow, the other down to his brush over his nose.

You noticed that he’d tensed when you’d first touched him, but seemed to relax a bit more as your moved you hands along him gingerly.

Your fingers brushed down the stubble that dotted his face, moving down to the strong jawline that lay beneath it. Your other hands moved to brush over his closed eyelids, feeling the long eyelashes under them. The thumb that rested by his jaw went to trace ever so gently along upper lip, then back along his lower. You couldn’t help but noticed the cool air pass by your thumb as he sucked in a breath at your touch.

He felt so handsome, and the conversations that you’d had over the past hour only made you more attracted to him.

“Keep your eyes closed and try to do the same to my face.” You suggested, breaking the silence.

In a moment, you felt one hand reach out and press to your cheek, a thumb tracing its way from your brow down to your nose and lips, resting on your bottom lip much like you had to him.

A sigh came from him as you pressed a small kiss to the pad of his thumb. He couldn’t quite comprehend how sweet you’d been with him, but he wasn’t going to question it, not even for a second.

“You should try two hands.” You said, but Bucky looked down at the hand he wasn’t using, the ugly metal limb, and told you he could get by on just using one.

Your index finger made a trail from his chin down his throat and along his adam’s apple, which caused him to swallow rather hard. You knew the impact that you were having on him and it was something that you were proud of.

When your finger made it’s way back up to his lips, Bucky knew he was done for. You were possibly the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen and feeling your touch like this was intoxicating.

“One more question.” He whispered.

“Okay.” You said, enjoying the way his lip felt as it moved under you thumb when he spoke.

“Can I please kiss you?”

This time, you didn’t reply with words, you simply leaned in and kissed him, your lips replacing the spot where your thumb had been. You had never kissed anyone quite like that before, so full of passion. It was as if Bucky was kissing you like he hadn’t been kissed in a long time, and like he worried he might never get the chance again.

When Bucky left that night, you pecked him on the lips again quickly, and he assured you that he’d be in touch.

He kept to his word, calling the next day and setting up another late night coffee date. It continued this way for a good few months, each other you getting together multiple times a week to talk or listen to music, drinking various kinds of coffee all the while. There were times when he’d even stay the night.

The dangerous part of it all was that Bucky knew he was falling in love with you, but he still didn’t know how to tell you who he was. It scared him so badly because he knew you couldn’t love someone like him. A girl like you, with a beautiful heart who brought smiles to the faces of everyone she met, would never fall in love with him.

It was on one night when he was over at your place that he noticed you seemed different. He tried to shrug it off, to get you to laugh, but you wouldn’t.

Fearing the worst, he asked you what was wrong.

“There’s this trial,” You said, “A doctor called me saying I was eligible to be apart of it. They think they can reboot the part of my brain that causes my blindness. They think they can get me to see, again.” You said, your eyes filling with tears of an emotion Bucky couldn’t recognize.

“That’s great, doll!” He said, rubbing your shoulders.

“I know it is, I’m just terrified of the whole thing.” You admitted, “I’ve lived almost my whole life like this.”

“I know, darlin’, but there’s so much out there that you’re missin’.”

“Can I ask you another question?” You said.

“Of course you can.”

“Can you wait during the procedure? They told me if there was someone I wanted with me, they could wait there and come in afterwards.”

Bucky was shocked that you’d want him there, but he agreed with his whole heart, promising he’d take you there himself.

“I want you to be the first face I see.” You said with a smile.

Bucky had never heard anything so beautiful in his life, so he leaned in to kiss you with everything he had, unable to reply with words.

“I love you.” He blurted out.

You, shocked as anything, pulled away from him. Bucky knew he’d messed up.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t-” He began but you shushed him.

“I love you too.”

“What?” He asked.

“I love you too.” You repeated.

“(Y/N).” He whispered, pressing his lips back to yours again.

As happy as he was to hear it, he knew that he needed to tell you who he was. If he was going to lose you, then he needed to put himself through it now and not when you put the pieces together yourself.

“I need to tell you something.” He said between feverish kisses.

“Alright.” You said, still keeping up with the kissing.

“I’m not who you think I am.” He said, trying to slow you down.

“What does that mean?” You said, pressing another peck to his lips.

“I’m not- I did- I’m-”

“You’re James Buchanan Barnes, the Winter Soldier?” You deadpanned and Bucky’s jaw dropped, “C’mon, did you think I didn’t know? We met through Helen - who doesn’t talk about it, but works with the Avengers, you never stand to my right which means you avoid touching me with your left side, and when you talk about your childhood, it’s painstakingly obvious that you didn’t grow up in the 90′s like most people my age.”

“You knew?”

“I didn’t until the first night you stayed over.” You told him truthfully.

You squeezed his hand when you felt him shift uncomfortably at the memory. Bucky had a terrible nightmare when he’d slept on the couch of your flat one night, and you had to sprint out of your bed to wake him.

Managing to find him, you’d shaken his shoulder gently, pleading for him to wake up until you’d felt him jolt upright.

He called out your name questioning when he saw you next to him, and you explained to him that he’d had a nightmare. You’d instantly sensed his embarrassment as he apologized for waking you, but you were having none of it.

You knew him well enough at that point to know that he was all talk when he was trying to convince you he’d fall back asleep just fine. You told him to come sleep in your room, and he stammered out what sounded like a dismissal.

Eventually, after telling him you’d hold your breath until he agreed, he caved. You walked him back to your bed, where he laid next to you and held your hand until morning.

Bucky might never tell you, but he got the best sleep of his life that night.

“You knew?” He asked again.

“Yes, and none of it means a damn thing to me.”

You kissed him again with a burning passion, tongues dancing against one another as opened mouths melded together.

He’d never felt love like this in his life, and neither had you.

“I’m really scared.” You said as you sat in the gurney of the hospital a few weeks after yours and Bucky’s love confession.

“I know, doll, but it’s gonna go great. I’ll be right there when you wake up.” You felt Bucky’s stubble rub against your cheek as he pressed a kiss to it.

“That is the only thing keeping me from losing my mind.” You mustered a small laugh.

You reached forward with both hands, silently asking him to hold them. You felt his right hand grasp your left, leaving your free hand empty.

“Buck…” You whispered, and he reluctantly held your other hand in his left.

You’d assured him that you liked the arm, it was cold and solid and you loved to press your hand to it and feel the plates rotate when he moved. You saw beauty in its mechanics.

“Is it bad that I’m nervous too?” Bucky asked.

“Not really, I will be seeing your face for the first time.”

“You’re not gonna call me ugly are you?”

You burst out laughing, “I know you’re not ugly.”

“Oh yeah? How so?”

“I’ve felt your face.”

“Huh, you can tell by that?” He asked.

“Oh, yes,” You replied, “You’re far from ugly.”

A small laugh passed his lips, and you felt your heart flutter. You loved his laugh so much that it had quickly become your favourite sound on the planet, right in front of the almost unnoticeable sound of the vibranium plates in his arm shifting about late at night when he moved about in his sleep, of course.

“Ms. (Y/L/N)?” You heard the door open and shut closed as someone entered the room.

“Yes?” You asked.

“We’re ready for you now.”

Bucky kissed your forehead as you were wheeled into the operating room, holding your one hand tightly and whispering words of comfort until he was told that he couldn’t go any further with you.

“I love you.” You said, receiving a peck on the lips.

“I love you too.” He said back, “I’ll be waiting.”

“I’ll see you after.”

“Yes, you will.”

You felt his hand slowly retreat as they wheeled you into the room and strapped you down with IVs and God knows what else. When you felt a mask go over your face and you were instructed to count downwards from ten, you enjoyed your last few seconds of darkness before you went under.

When you woke you couldn’t see a thing, which alarmed you to an extent that is completely indescribable.

“Ms. (Y/L/N), you’re up.” A woman said, “The procedure was a success.”

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

“You have a wrap covering your eyes, we needed to shield them because they’re quiet fresh at the whole seeing thing, but you can take it off whenever you’re ready.” Her sweet voice said.

“Bucky.”

“I beg your pardon?” She asked.

“There’s a man named Bucky out there, can you send him in?”

“Of course.”

Bucky was in the room within seconds of hearing his name being called, he knew it meant you were awake and that you were ready to see him.

He was ushered into the room and saw you sitting up in the bed, clad in a hospital gown, a white bandage wrapping around your eyes.

Upon hearing the door close, you called out to him, and he was by your side in an instant.

“Hey, doll.” He said, pressing kisses to every part of your face.

“Hi, Bucky.” You said.

You let out a loud sigh and paused for a moment before instructing him to sit down on the bed in front of you.

“May I?” He asked tentatively and you knew he must be talking about the wrap.

You nodded slowly and allowed him to unravel it until it was completely gone. Your eyes were still closed, but the light that had filtered in through your eyelids made you gasp slightly.

You weren’t ready to open your eyes, not yet. A wave of panic set in and you couldn’t help but feel tears begin to fall.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Bucky said, his fingers wiping away your crying, “This is all extremely overwhelming for you.”

“I don’t think I’m ready for this.” You cried.

Bucky bit his lip and tried his best to imagine what this could possibly feel like, but he could barely comprehend. Then he remembered the first night that he was over.

“Here.” He said, reaching for your hands and placing them on his face, “Feel for now until you want to see.”

You nodded furiously, trying to keep your hands from shaking profusely as your fingers mapped out the face that you knew so well.

You felt a flesh hand reach up and trace along your cheek. Bucky had closed his eyes and done the same thing as he had before, except this time after about a minute, he added the other hand, the cool metal of his fingers brushing along your lips.

“I love you.” You whispered, a desperate cry from your mouth.

“I love you too.”

You listened to his breathing, the sound that brought you comfort in the night when he slept next to you, and willed yourself to open your eyes.

Your eyes fluttered open and an unpleasing light filtered in, but your main focus was on the face in front of you. His eyelashes were long against his cheeks as he held them closed, his jaw strong, lips plump.

A sharp cry came your mouth, your hands pulling away from his face as his eyes shot open to see you.

The intense colour of his eyes was something that took your breath away, you’d never experienced anything like it before. You decided that no matter what, that shade of blue would always be your favourite.

You began to sob, tight choking racking your chest as the overwhelming nature of seeing the man you love for the first time - and seeing much of anything at all - hit you hard.

Bucky pulled you into an embrace, holding you like his life depended on it. His heart was so full of love and care for you that he didn’t give a damn if your tears were soaking his shoulder.

Bucky held you for what felt like forever until your cries had softened. When you left, Bucky showed you every beautiful thing he could think of; fireworks, blossom trees, sunsets. He loved to see you light up when you saw something new.

He made a pact to show you every beautiful thing that the world could offer, but you assured him that the most beautiful thing you’d ever laid eyes on was him. And he’d shrug it off, but on the nights when you’d stay awake and stare at him, absorbing every little detail, you knew that it was the absolute truth.

Bucky was amazed by you with or without your sight, because either way you loved him, either way you held him on the nights he couldn’t sleep, either way you were the one he’d run to if anything went wrong.

Either way, you were the only one who had ever taken the time to truly see him for who he was, and his heart beat for you and only you.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #steve rogers #steve x reader #captain america #winter soldier #winter solider x reader #bucky barnes imagine

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